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wroteclassicaly · 2 years

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She’s Trouble

(Eddie Munson x Female Reader)

Summary: Tired of trailing behind, feeling like you don’t matter much, you decide that 86’ isn’t only going to be your bestfriend’s year.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Word count: 16,185

Warnings: Language, violence, mentions of drug usage, blood, NSFW, smut, drinking, Eddie is angry and sad in this, masturbation, slight voyeurism, breeding kink, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, angry sex, creampie, angst, fighting, rough sex, Dom!Eddie, and MORE!

A/N: I started writing this based off the scene of Eddie smirking at the cheerleaders he lets by after his cafeteria speech. And, well… it’s spawned itself a new life and turned into a whole lot more than I planned. But so is the life of an author, am I right? ;) Eddie is a dick in this, Reader is a lot more vocal than I’ve written before. I wanted to do something a bit different and I hope this accomplishes my mission?

I wanna thank @littledemondani for helping me out of my brain fart on which direction to take this! Also, do check out her masterlist, which is pinned at the top of her blog (it won’t let me link it here). She’s an incredible author and a fellow Eddie Munson slut, and one of my longtime best-friends! ♥️

Side note: I’ve also shifted a few things in the timeline of the show, for obvious reasons. The whole Eddie/Chrissy thing doesn’t happen on the same night as in the series. Chrissy and the reader have a good interaction and Eddie is a dickhead, but his reasoning will be explained. Also, while the reader is wearing a bustier top, this is an all inclusive fic, where the reader can be anything you imagine! I believe anyone can wear anything that they choose to—regardless of their size, so don’t let that bit of the story deter your perception, as I’ve left it open-ended! ;)

Enjoy! I’ve got a lot coming up soon! Part twos of multiple fics, prompts, plus other goodies! <3 - Kristen

~*~

You watch the way that he tries to be cute and coy towards them, attempts to impress with a dramatic wave through of his hand. Short skirts, tight little tops, bouncing ponytails, and a shitload of generic gossip on their painted lips—they pass by, everything included but those damned pom poms. Apparently they are giddy at his little show of calling out every group but your own in the cafeteria. Your eyes roll so hard that you feel a protesting sting, ignoring it to stab your fork into whatever creation is wiggling on your lunch tray. All the guys—freshman to seniors, and you—the only girl since founding, and Hellfire Club’s treasurer/manager to Corroded Coffin—make up the outsider table.

This year, however, you’ve felt so fucking off base with this group and their antics that you’re getting exhausted pretending to care about their shit when they don’t respect you or yours. Dustin, Lucas, and Mike are always the sweetest to you, even with Lucas joining a sport, he’s still quick to always give you a smile and a nod whenever you pass him in the halls. They’re young, unlike Eddie and the older guys. You’re finally a senior this year, but still behind your bestfriend by a year in age. All this used to be okay, Eddie multiplying how much he repeats the grade, you trailing behind him like a lost puppy without any brain of her own, but now—it’s unbearably smothering.

And thus, it’s been building. You’re over bringing chips that are from your personal stash and using your gas to go buy smokes with your small work paycheck, or clean equipment for Eddie’s band, or stay up all night just to design campaign posters for Eddie, only for him to be so fucking stoned that he doesn’t even appreciate it, nor remember it.

“Fucking fake losers,” Jeff mutters.

“So fake,” Gareth agrees, both looking towards Eddie as he settles himself back down, wiggling his brows at you.

It’s an unsettling pressure that boils inside you, crackling, and as soon as you look into your best-friend’s brown doe eyes—it all comes apart. “You wanna talk about fake?” Your chest pumps a rush of adrenaline, helping careen the words off your tongue before you can stop them. Everyone’s attention snaps quicker than you’re prepared for, eyes wide and shocked. Sure, you’re vocal and sassy, but never outwardly angry. “The fact that all of you will condemn the basketball players, but would give up any of your seats at our table for one of the bitches in a skirt that they chase, if they popped their gum or batted an eyelash. You’d all be a bunch of drooling, little horndogs.” You can feel your heart racing with each pronunciation of a word, rising from your seat, knuckles white from gripping the edges of your yellow tray so hard.

You hear Dustin whisper a ‘whoa’, but your vocal vomit doesn’t stop.

“Frankly? I’m fucking sick of all this.” You pick the tray up and slam it down for good measure, unwrapping your messenger bag from around your seat, and you leave the table of gaping young men behind you, not even indulging yourself in Eddie’s bugged out, concerned stare.

You don’t even have time to throw your bag across your chest, when Jason Carver shouts out from behind you, “Damn, look at Munson’s slut go!”

It seems your group aren’t the only ones taking an interest in your outburst. Your breath is engorged in jagged pants of pitiful air, a fire coursing through you faster than you can handle, your skin singing, prickling with goosebumps. Your cheeks redden in humiliation, your feet swiveling and carrying you, fast and quick to their table, you throw your bag off, body like some damned slow motion track. Everyone notices Eddie’s antics, but you’ve never garnered any attention. It’s a surreal high.

Your combat boots click across the cement flooring, your hair like a dead weight across your back. Carver and his entire group are expectant, chairs scraping across to get out of your way. It’s all such a blur that you don’t even know your fist has collided with Jason’s face until you feel the pressure bite into your knuckles, a crunch beneath your force. He shrieks, his friends jumping to his aid, your stance shifting, ready to take anyone on. Your ears are bubbling with a murky static, applause in some direction, shouts in others.

Your name is being shouted from two different directions, the one you see stomping angrily towards you belonging to principal Higgins. He’s calling for help, shoving his finger in your face, motioning to your shirt. “This Hellfire Club does nothing but cause trouble!”

You snort, completely coming off your hinges, shaking the ends of your shirt, before stepping back and flinging it over your head, leaving you clad in your jeans and a leather bustier top no one could ever picture you owning. You’ve always kept your shit to a minimum to draw less attention, but you liked the support it provided your breasts with. You spin around, hands in the air, using the shirt as a lasso, tossing it at your old table. You begin to giggle, honestly wondering if you should visit the school nurse, but uncaring. Higgins is literally sputtering, making you snort, waving a hand. “I’m a slut, I’m trouble. Anyone have anything else to add? No? Yes?”

You bend back over to snatch your nap sack up, motioning to Higgins. “Lead the way to your office, Sir! Please fucking do.”

The pep in your step as your principal is angrily leading you from the masses is such a euphoric feeling, you’re sure you’ll never feel again in your life. You can taste the drama on your tongue’s tip. You don’t even spare your friends a glance, not wanting Eddie to have a morsel of satisfaction. This is your moment. Not as Eddie Munson’s best-friend, not as his groupie. As Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N.

~*~

Eddie Munson has been clutching your discarded Hellfire shirt, doused in your perfume that is brimming his nostrils full, damn near trembling for the past twenty minutes that finish up lunch. He can’t move, that swelling between his legs keeping him glued to his seat, all the images of your fist soaring into Jason Carver’s face, ripping off your clothing in front of Higgins and the entire damned school. He went from concerned, angry at how you acted, to so fucking turned on that his stomach knotted up, sucking him to where he’s seated, his cock throbbing in his jeans. He’s never seen you like this.

The guys are silent, unsure what to say, how to even go about comprehending the you they just saw, that even Eddie himself has never heard of. He knows one thing for sure—okay—two. He has to find out if you’re okay and what’s going on.

~*~

You roll your eyes at the lovely note, signature of a three day suspension secured by Higgins at the bottom. Crumbling it up, you slide it into your back pocket, rifling through your pin tattered bag for a cigarette. You already know where you’re gonna go, and it sure as hell isn’t home. No one is there and no one is gonna care about your minor indecency. You can forge your mom’s signature, much like you do every good grade you bring home that she’s never around to see, or every comment from a teacher about how your folks are missing out.

It’s quiet at your house, your space. You parents more or less sleep there when they’re not gone on business. Pinching the filter, you cup Eddie’s stolen Zippo, that ashy hiss helping beckon that sweet bitter taste in past your lips. You don’t desire that home front solace right now, craving different scenery.

Maybe I’ll get lost…

You feel like Hawkins is your oyster, and you’re eager to explore on your own terms, by yourself. You’ve got your smokes, your pocket knife, and a pen and paper. That’s enough for you to make a decision.

Skull Rock it is.

~*~

One thing about Indiana is the ever predictable bite of hot weather that March brings. Spring is automatically Summer in the Midwest, and this is no different. Your leather top had stuck to your skin in an uncomfortable crunching press, making you eventually discard it, leaving you topless, your only accessories a chain with your birthstone pendant and a thicker silver chain, with a cheesy little guitar charm (a present from Eddie) nestled between your breasts. Your form is shaped against the rock behind your bare shoulder blades, a cool sensation that has you tilting your head back, stretching your neck, treetops breezing above you—tall and luscious. You smile softly, undoing the flap on your bag and seeking out your Walkman and sunglasses.

In moments your eyelids are fluttering closed, shielded from sun rays, your Walkman clicking in place, readying Heart’s Barracuda to nick your ears, coasting in welcomed caresses. It’s not thick heavy metal, but it’s you. And in the serenity of these woods, another cigarette you allow yourself—you begin to drift off in a galactic solitude that is solely your own. You’d learnt how to count beats, read sheet music, even sing a few notes from Eddie, so getting into your song’s groove isn’t hard for you, your fingers wrapping around your chain, tapping underneath the swell of your breast along with the chorus. You’re off the precipice and gone, demolished to the point you don’t hear the familiar footsteps, the sound of your name, or leaves and dirt crunching beneath white Reeboks, nor do you hear a throat-deep groan at his discovery.

~*~

Eddie and you always share this in synch kinda shit, which creeps a lot of people in your circle out. Eddie, however, welcomes it today. When he couldn’t find you after abandoning his lunch, spent what was left of the day attempting, only for Henderson to tell him he’d heard you’d been suspended for a few days—he made it his personal goal to find you. Your parents are gone so he knows the times you do and don’t like to be at home by yourself. And with the way you lashed out at everyone, you won’t go anywhere he has easy access to.

That leaves one place. Skull Rock.

~*~

The drive feels shorter to Eddie this time, but the walk longer. He has to shed himself of his denim and leather, tossing it over his shoulder and clambering up the path towards finding you, keeping your club tee in his back pocket. The more he walks, the more he wishes he brought a drink or his smokes, which remain on his dash. If he’s wrong and you’re not here, he isn’t sure if this is reality anymore. This day has been one big mindfuck.

Thankfully, as he hears a loud tone droning over the clearing, a soft hum, his heart patters in his chest, nostrils inhaling sharply. He rounds the corner’s pathway, already calling your name, his eyes widening, jaw unhinged, fists clenching at his sides. You’re reclining against the boulder’s curve, black shades perched over your eyes, hair draped across your neck, your boot clad ankle crossed over the other, a cigarette perched into your puckering pair of lips, your layered chains swaying, slumbering against your skin, and fuck—your tits, Eddie winces, gripping himself to adjust—frozen.

He can’t not notice how your nipples are reacting to the air. He can’t not detail your shape, how your waist is formed, zeroing in on the baby bat you’d gotten to match his larger ones, inked into your ribcage, and he certainly isn’t forgetting your jeans that are settled over your hips. His eyes glaze over, heat prodding his flesh, shrouding him a veil of desire and raw ache. You don’t notice him, calls of your name falling on mainstream rock’s ears. He doesn’t think approaching you is smart, like a cat and mouse, your behavior for once—unpredictable.

Has Eddie just not been paying attention to you that much lately?

Suddenly, when he’s debating a cowardly retreat, baiting his internal monologue for an excuse, your audible gasp is heard, his name crushed between your gritted teeth.

Fuck.

~*~

In all of his glory—stands your best-friend. He’s balling and un-balling his fists, eyes darting rapidly, tongue sucking against his teeth, feet ready to carry him far away. And the more he avoids your stare, the angrier you get. So what, you’re not good enough to look at because your breasts are out? Modesty to a back burner, you take your crossed arms off your chest, scraping your smoke out on the rock, pushing your glasses into a perch upon your head, body facing Eddie as you stand.

I dare you.

Your eyes complicate a challenge—craving him in your proximity, and hating his grunge blanketed sight. Eddie’s neck is a really pretty thing when he tenses, his jugular agitated against a harsh gulp of air. He answers you by meeting you in the clearing, palms sweaty, scrubbing over his back pockets. It’s a cool damned drink of water, as if you’ve been without, making thee Eddie Munson squirm. But he’s still your best-friend, and you are half naked.

Covering yourself back up so he will look you in the eye, you tuck your arms into a push beneath your sternum, forearms shielding your nipples. It’ll have to do.

“Eddie, what the fuck are you doing here?” You snap before he can voice a concern or a question.

Tethered to deep breathing techniques, Eddie is insulted, and is biting back in his acidic response. “After your own personal talent show antics at school, I was worried about you. Excuse-the-fuck-outta-me, Y/N.”

A bitter laugh comes from you. “Oh, you’re focused enough on my shit to actually be worried about me? How kind of you, Edward Munson.”

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I be worried about you?” Eddie is raising his voice, sizzling in a cautious rage. He’s usually happy-go-lucky with you, but you’re pushing these fucking buttons he isn’t aware he’s been hiding.

“You really need a list of reasons? Wait,” you say, moving to circle him, pinching your thumb between your teeth, “you’re probably, completely oblivious, because I’m just Y/N. I’m not your club, not your band, not one of your groupies that flounce around for an ounce from you, then leave your ass for their jock boyfriends.”

“Whoa, whoa!” Eddie raises a hand, rings clattering together. “When the fuck did all this start, Y/N?”

Your arms fall back at your sides with a loud ‘thump’. The heating has settled, your high wearing off, truth remaining as to why you’ve been upset in the first place. A caverning hurt carves its place into your chest, igniting an anguish that drowns you. You’re defeated. “It started when my best-friend forgot that I’m my own person and not his servant. Or maybe it began when my person was so stoned that he barely acknowledged a test I fucking flunked to stay up and make his campaign posters—which, may I add—he also gave zero fucks about-“

“So all this is because I didn’t kiss the very ground you walk on for some posters that you practically begged me to make, and wow—your A+ average went to an A. Curse me into the deepest depths of hell, please.” His bracelet slides down his wrist as he palms his heart.

Maybe you’re not the only one who is changing. Eddie hasn’t ever disregarded you in such a crude manner. Your tongue is practically salivating in need to layer on biting and cruel words, things you won’t be able to come back from. You remain silent, mulling over what to say, glaring, docked, stinging prickles of tears. It’s an elating elevation when the words do come. “I’m your best-friend, Eddie. Not your little groupie. I’m tired of you preaching about conformity, when all I do is conform to you. You don’t ever let me pick music, you always take for granted I’ll give you and the guys rides when your van isn’t working, despite if I might have something to do that doesn’t involve an all male ensemble. I spend my money to buy you cigarettes and snacks for the meetings. I manage gigs, I clean your band’s equipment.”

Eddie sniffs, looking pointedly at you, doe eyes dark and growing increasingly fed up. “Didn’t know you were keeping a tally, Y/N.”

“That’s… That’s all you’re taking from everything I just said to you, Eddie?” You can’t keep that hurt out of your tone this time.

Eddie shrugs, crossing his arms, coldly spitting out, “Seems to me like you’re sick of me. And that’s not my problem, that’s yours.”

Your head is swimming in turmoil, all your acting out and emotions swirling into a mindfuck. He doesn’t care. You’re standing here finally pouring your entire soul out in heaps and your person is pouring gasoline on the pieces, dangling a match.

“I’ve never kept a tally, Eddie. I do these things because they make you happy, and that makes me happy, but it fucking sucks when you don’t appreciate them or care about anything in my life, either.”

“That’s what you really think, Y/N?” There’s a flatline in how he’s speaking to you.

“No,” you murmur, “it’s what I know.”

Eddie’s jaw clenches, teeth grinding. He kicks at the ground with the toe of his shoe, brows raising. “Breaking Jason Carver’s nose and my cold, dead heart.” He splays a hand across his chest. Those rings, which are always a comfort to you, reflecting off the sunlight, dripping in judgement.

Your trembling wavers, crackling sentence structure falling apart. “Eddie. Don’t.”

“No. Fuck you, Y/N. Seriously, fuck you!” He shouts, snapping a finger in your direction.

Your hands rub up and down your goosebump soaked skin, finalizing what you need to do. Heaving in a deep breath, a sentence escapes your lips. And you pray, pray Eddie will heed this warning and value what you have enough to understand, to work it out. “Maybe it’s time to fess up to the fact that 86’ needs to be a bigger year for us both.”

Mind reader. A power you’ve never wanted more than in this moment as you claw at the cusp of your best-friend’s reaction. Outwardly, Eddie shifts, Adam’s apple bobbing, thumb swiping underneath his nose. Your mouth waters, throat reflexes threatening a fountain of vomit. And Eddie takes your warning, slaying through it, every bit of ground beneath your boots threatening to cave in.

“You’re right. Hell, Carver is right. You do act like my slut. And you have every right to change it, because it’s only holding us both back. And it probably has been for a long time.”

Kicking you would’ve hurt less. You’re unable to see Eddie’s form longer, muddled to a watery silhouette, your brave bravado dissipating. You won’t beg him. You’re nothing to him anymore, he’s just confirmed. You try not to think about the first time he taught you how to dance before your first snowball, or how you both snuck Jim Hopper’s cigarettes when you’d get in trouble at school and be sent to see him for minor misdemeanors, or Eddie’s pride when he managed to get you on stage to sing one song with the band, rubbing circles on your back the whole time you both sang to a trio of drunks, or splitting beers on his van’s roof and nearly breaking limbs when it started raining and you had to climb down, how he taught you to drive in the fancy neighborhood and you knocked over the mayor’s mailbox, when you watched him buy his ‘sweetheart’, tears in his eyes at a possession so gorgeous and all his own, his hands gentle as they held you the nights you cried from one stupid thing that felt massive to you, when he was your person and you were his.

Your wet, quivering breaths are what you hear. Birds chirping, wind rustling, even Eddie’s heavy breathing drowned out. It takes what feels like eternity, before Eddie is slashing the quiet, guarded and stoic. “You need to put a fucking shirt on.”

Your jeans are covered in tear drops from a bowed head, fingers shaking hard enough that your knuckles roll into a crack at the motions. You wipe your tears in time to see Eddie hold out your Hellfire shirt—second edition—his being the first. His reverie breaks briefly, and you think… maybe. It’s gone in those brown eyes that you can no longer read or recognize. Filled with loathing and disgust at you, his last words imprinting on your psyche, a physical recoil.

“On second thought. You won’t be needing this anymore.” Eddie makes his way around you and finds his lighter atop your bag, flicking a flame to life and nudging it at the end of your shirt. It catches quick, burns fast, like every fiber of friendship with Eddie Munson.

Eddie tosses the tattered, charred remains to the forrest floor, pocketing his lighter, walking away from you and out of your life.

~*~

He can’t stay any longer and watch you fall apart, not when he’s running away from his cowardice. And he does, run. He moves and clambers, stumbles until he’s from you and the cries that he hears pour off your lips. His chest is thumping sporadically, pulse in his blurry vision. His five fingers catch a tree, slamming, splintering, a sob breaking free of his tear soaked lips.

Eddie Munson forces himself to remember how unsure you looked in your dress when he held you around your waist, never feeling more himself in his entire life than he did with you— at thirteen—during some cheesy school dance, how you entertained his tunes so he could teach you the counting method he uses for his music to move your feet to the beat, all your encouragement every time he hit a new note, or your midnight phone calls to ask what he’d like on his posters, your body trusting him to keep you safe on those nights when everything became too much for you in your life, but you had tried to hide it, or when you both snuck in to see Carrie when you were pre-teens and you couldn’t sleep without him, so he made a makeshift mattress next to your bed for a month, about that time you were so tired from an all nighter that he had walked into his room and found you curled up in his bed, using his vest as a makeshift pillow, your nagging him to study more, because he’s always capable of anything he sets his mind to, and those cookies—the only thing you can bake without having to call for Hawkins fire department—a container you’d brought for him and his Uncle, still sitting on his kitchen counter.

He was your person and you were his. And now? You’re gone. Eddie runs away. He keeps running, leaving you to your own miserable anguish, drowning in his own, getting himself in his rust bucket and going back to his trailer to get completely fucked outta his not-so-right mind.

~*~

By the time your suspension is over and you can no longer barricade yourself into your room and finish off another bottle from your dad’s liquor cabinet—it’s sheer dread. You’re not only the freak who broke Hawkins Highschool’s Prom King’s nose, but you’re the freak without anyone by your side—a true and thorough outsider. As you stand outside your school, nails pinching into already weakened threads dedicated to your bag’s strap, you’re really regretting those couple of drinks this morning and how you’d poured more vodka into a flask to take your Tylenol with. Hell, it’s not like you can get a fix from the school dealer anymore, is it?

Those damned double doors are louder, a jolt to your already throbbing headache, fluorescent lights sparkling in your retinas through your shades that cover a nursing hangover and distraught, red and puffy eyes from a three day sob fest. Each step your boots make sounds like you’re walking to your death, your outfit—sans any Hellfire related attire—is all yours. Your two chains limited to one, Eddie’s gift waiting in a cardboard box you’d half-assed assembled, and tossed in random shit he’d given you. The deeper you get into every hallway, making simple turns you know like the back of your hand, your nausea grows as to what might be awaiting around each corner. Or who. It’s a short lived relief upon arrival at your locker.

You pinch your shades off, raw eyes protesting the moment fresh tears staple your skin in brushes. In red letters, diagonally capitalized across your door contains what you haven’t wanted to face since it happened.

The freak got dumped

You choke on your salvia, throat wet and enduring a suffocation strong enough to have you gagging on the piece of toast and water you’d forced your famished form to consume this morning. You barely make it into the toilets before double over and expelling everything, diaphragm on fire, bones vibrating through tosses. Hair dangling in your face, plastered to your mouth, you sniffle and tremble, vision blurring. You ponder getting yourself fucking expelled, but you made this whole ordeal about it being your year. If you retreat now, what will that do? Mustering all your strength, your courage, you flush your bile, clean off your mouth and face, pop a mint, take a swig out of your flask, and make your way to your first class.

~*~

By the ever popular lunch time, you have managed to clean your locker and pinpoint the culprit (an ashamed that a girl broke his nose, Jason Carver), but neither of you speak on it. You keep your head down, you focus on your school work, you take your Tylenol, and you sip on your vodka. Enough to keep an edge off, but not enough to send you down a despairing hole filled with regret and torment. You know you’re being stared at as soon as you hit the line to get your tray. It’s fake smiles and refusal to acknowledge it that gets you in search of an aisle, and hopefully out of sight. You aren’t so lucky…

“Hey, Y/N! Over here!” You hear an all too cheery voice belonging to Dustin Henderson. It halts you in your tracks, a wince causing a physical recoil.

It’s not his fault you and Eddie no longer have anything resembling a relationship, and he apparently has not told them, and they’ve not seen Jason Carver’s masterpiece.

Good.

What isn’t good is that Eddie is very much at your old table and you know it’s unavoidable. You wished you had borrowed some concealer for your under eyes, but it’s too late. There’s a grand staircase cloaked in invisibility beneath your feet, your stomach knotting in crushing vices, your cheeks stained with red. You walk to your former friend group, trying like hell not to side eye Eddie Munson. Keeping a steady focal point without blinking against your scratchy lower lids is damn near impossible. And guys are going to be guys—much to your chagrin. Gareth is drawing further attention where nothing needs to be, popping off with a, “Damn, Y/N lookin’ like she went on a bender.”

“A week long bender,” Jeff chimes in.

Biting the inside of your cheek between your teeth, you shrug a shoulder. Better them having knowledge of your binge drinking celebration than knowing about how messed up you are.

Don’t look at Eddie. Is your mantra for today.

He, on the other two hands, is not prioritizing that same aspect.

“So what if I did? I know of about ten girls who can drink your asses under the table, myself included.” You smirk, gripping your tray’s edge.

“Been holding back on us?” Gareth is grinning from ear to ear. It eases your shouldered weight tremendously, breaking tension in your table’s ranks.

“You gonna have a seat or what?” Mike Wheeler interrupts, his hands flipping towards a desired target, one that you wish you could keep pretending you never knew.

Fuck it.

You really crave for some divine intervention to help you, because meeting those chocolate brown eyes that are distraught, angry, and rimmed red—your heart constricts to painful blows, windpipes crushed beyond speaking capabilities. Eddie’s been somewhere off planet earth with that kinda high, you remember seeing his demeanor that way only a handful of times, including this one. Maybe he does care? No, doesn’t matter, don’t go there. It’s over and done.

Still, that idiotic, massively moronic part that Eddie owns of you—it’s billowing hope. Eddie Munson dashes it in seconds flat.

“No.”

You glance away, jaw twitching to control an automatic quiver. Dustin is laughing it off as a joke, someone else asking why. Eddie reclines his legs in your empty chair, loud enough to get your attention back. He wants me to see.

“No traitors.” It’s a simplistic answer, aggressive, no room to argue.

Ever-the-curious-freshmen, Dustin and Mike peg their leader for questions. You halt it, tone breaking apart, fingers tucking into your shirtsleeve as you balance your lunch on one hand and wipe across raw flesh to clean fresh tears from your eyeline. That’s when Eddie does look away.

Coward.

“It’s okay, guys.” Is what you say.

“What’s going on?” Gareth asks.

“I won’t be around meetings or practices anymore, but I’m still here if anyone needs anything, okay? You know where my locker is, and where I live.” You pat yourself on the back for that robotic but truthful statement.

“Unless you’re sick of everyone else too…” His deep voice rumbles.

Like a deer in headlights— you’re frozen, a blinding rage of hurt and red hot anger pouring over you in a storm. You explode. Picking up the first thing in your sight, which happens to be on your plate—a glob of some chocolate goop (possibly a brownie)—it’s slung directly at your former best-friend’s crisp white Hellfire shirt. Your second cafeteria incident that, yet again, everyone notices. Eddie yelps, shouting out your name in brisk spits.

You further it, abandoning your food in a repeat of days ago, floating to his side and shoving him back two steps. Eddie stops his rapid shirt swipes and immediately presses his form into yours, chests smashed, food squishing through your top. His hair is frazzled from the humidity, his toffee colored irises slowly polishing into a thick black gloss of dilated pupils. He sucks his tongue against his teeth, swaying into you, not touching you with those hands, an air about him that is beginning to swarm your initial reaction and bend it over, fucking it into the next decade. He’s taller than you remember, but you latch onto your own, tasting that cigarette soaked breath, lips hovering over his, hot tears matting your lashes.

Whether it’s regarding his inability to respond to your reasoning for this whole situation, his lack of expression, your self-disappointment for something roused inside you at his huffing proximity, you crown him with a title off a jagged voice box, damp in her sorrows, just as Dustin steps between you two, gently prying. “You’re a fucking coward, Eddie Munson.”

Teachers are starting to flock in, and you shake your head, hand over your eyes briefly, before sprinting in strides from the room in search of a place to collapse.

~*~

If you had told yourself at the beginning of the school year that you’d be in a camaraderie with the girl’s bathroom—you would have laughed. And if your mind had convinced you otherwise, you’d have expected Eddie to be right beside you, arm around your shoulders, sharing his lunch, making stupid jokes, coming up with lame ideas to make you feel better, but in that endearing Eddie Munson kinda way. You let out a soft cry, giving up on that stinging beneath your lids. You’re a hot mess and the whole building probably knows how alone you really are now. When the outcasts cast you out, where else can you go?

Clenching onto the sides of the ceramic sink, bag slipping off your shoulder and onto the floor, you keep your head bowed between your shoulder blades, not noticing someone come in and approach you, a gentle set of fingers laying upon your shoulder. Through foggy vision you can make out the green colors of her uniform and her perfectly straight ponytail, her face seemingly concerned. Your laugh is exhaustion on steroids, expression bombarded with emotion. “Okay, what the fuck is next? A girl craves some independence and the whole school turns against her. Let me guess, your boyfriend sent you to get even? Why don’t I make it easy for you and you can call your friends in here, and… and—“

Great.

Your lungs start to burn, your ribcage pounding with an erratic heartbeat, throat feeling like it’s been dusted with a thick blanket of ash. You’re panicking in front of Chrissy Cunningham. That alone has you feeling more pathetic than ever before in your life, and it worsens your heaving sobs—broken and unguarded. Chrissy’s eyes are drinking you in, irises glossing over with tears of her own. She grasps your other shoulder and squeezes, not releasing her hold on you, her soft voice strong when she speaks, but gentle enough between the expanse of your shared airspace.

“One, two, three, four. Okay, now deep breath in, and release it for me, Y/N.” She’s actually calming you, keeping you steady on your feet, which feel as if they’re sinking into the flooring below like led weights.

“Chrissy…” You aren’t sure how to articulate, still alarmed and attempting to breathe with her.

“I’m right here. Just keep breathing and counting with me.” And you do. And that’s when it hits you.

She has experience with this mind numbing panic too. That otherworldly anxiety. You feel a connective pull towards the cheerleader—seeing—not this persona you’d imagined, but her calming features, her easy going manner towards you, how she lets you find your lifeline, but also lends you her own in case you need it. When your breathing slows, she gives you a look, a silent communication of question. You may be able to breathe a little easier now, but it doesn’t stop the weight of your situation from crashing down and demolishing what’s left of you.

“Can I… I’m gonna hug you, is that okay?” At this point, if she’s going to put a sign on your back you don’t care. You need the human connection, the comfort. You agree and your schoolmate takes you into a light grip, but folds her arms around you and lets you bury your cheek against her perfumed sweater.

You both stand in the embrace, no trace of awkwardness, a sense of kinship and knowing. It’s when you pull back that hint of a questionable concern with her, wiping your sore eyes with a hiss. She notices.

“Are you here because of Jason? I just need to know.”

“Jason was a dick, Y/N.” Her language shocks you, having only heard her be proper before.

You laugh, your first genuine giggle in days. It’s contagious, as she joins in, hip jutting against the sink. “No, I’m here on my own terms. I promise. I saw what happened with your friends…”

“Yeah, I can imagine how everyone must be amused right now.” You bite your lip, facing away.

Chrissy gives you a saddened smile, but attempts to reassure. “I know this is gonna sound incredibly lame coming from me, but you’re stronger than all this, Y/N. The way you’ve stood up for yourself these past several days… I admire it.”

You frown deeply, wondering if this is a trick, because no way is Chrissy Cunningham admiring someone like you.

“You admire a loser that can’t even manage her own newfound independence?”

“No,” she says with a pause, looking down at her French tip manicure, before facing your curious gaze once more. “I admire your ability to stand up for yourself, despite what everyone is saying or doing to you. It’s a good quality to have, one that many of us are afraid of, you know?”

There’s this hollow pain in her eyes and your continued recognition has you pulling her in for another hug—this time for her benefit, rather than yours.

“Looks like we’ve fallen into the cliché trap, Cunningham.” You grin, pulling back.

Chrissy tilts her head, curious. “What do you mean?”

“A freak and a cheerleader thinking the same as what their peers think, and getting each other totally wrong.”

Her sweet eyes light up, her head nodding. “That’s exactly it.”

You share a knowing smile, a newfound bond forming. Chrissy situates her small shoulder bag, pulling out a compact and tugging you by your sleeve. “C’mhere. Let me fix that.”

She takes a gentle hand, not rushing as she speckles your sore under eyes with her own stash of makeup. After she blends it with soft fingertips, she snaps the lid closed and places it back in her bag, turning you to the bathroom mirror, brushing some of your hair through, giving your back a rub. “Is that any better, Y/N?”

Your circles are mostly covered, puffiness disguised enough where you won’t be embarrassed. You look and feel much better, and you’re overwhelmed with gratitude for the blonde at your side. You incline yourself into a swivel, leaning in her direction. “Chrissy Cunningham, I think you’re one of the sweetest people I now kinda, sort of know.”

Her giggle is infectious, and she gives you another squeeze. You drop down to swoop your messenger bag into your arms, grabbing out a your notebook and a pen, scribbling your home phone on it, hesitating, before handing it over. “If you ever need to talk to someone about all the bullshit, whatever it is, consider me your new confidant.”

She holds the simple sheet paper as if it’s another lifeline and you’ve just given her a treasure. Going back into her own bag, she has a cute little pink embroidered stationary paper that she jots her number on, and uses a smiley face to dot the i in Chrissy. Seconds later, her friends and a group of other girls burst into the bathroom, gossip on their lips. You and Chrissy flash each other a secret smile, and you make another hasty retreat.

~*~

Eddie had to hear a bunch of shit from the guys, overly bearing questions sounded off by Henderson and Wheeler. The eventual revealing by a passerby group of cheerleaders about your specially decorated locker, had surprised him too. As if there’s not already a weighted dagger wedged into his ribcage, one interlocking into his heart muscle—he lost control with his bitter mouth again, and it fueled your temper. But deep down, deeper into those subconscious recesses, you both felt that ignition start, a kind of coercing heat that is waging an internal war in Eddie’s head. His sole reason for blocking you out and refusing to talk about anything with you in the woods.

Eddie Munson is in love with you. Eddie Munson needs to fuck you.

It’s something he’s always done—built walls, got high, stayed drunk, coped with humor, hid behind his guitar or his campaigns. And without his right hand woman, he feels naked, too vulnerable to all the bullshit he’s tried to keep out. And your absence has become a set course for his weakening concentration on anything that isn’t you. His ultimate warrior princess is also his Achilles heel. Your feelings in wanting to branch out, they scare Eddie.

His brain is flipping logic into thinking you are seeing what everyone else sees in him: freak, failure, piece of shit, a nobody, a criminal. He pushed you out before he could pull you back in—easy, abrupt. And it’s not just changing him—no—he could smell your vodka soaked breath across the table, see your eyes swollen and glazed—absent. For the first time in years you weren’t wearing your limited edition shirt (thanks to him), and Eddie isn’t sure why he expected you to still have his chain around your neck. It fucking hurts.

As the room slowly falls back into their daily routine, Eddie loses his appetite and leaves his herd behind, urgent to get the fuck outta this building, out of Hawkins. Hell, maybe even the country. Like you, however, Eddie Munson’s retreat isn’t one that is unscathed. In his urgency, he smacks straight into you, stumbling over his own clumsy ass feet, gripping your forearms to keep you both steady. He’s processed your scent before he even takes in your beautiful features.

Fuck…

You look less like you’ve been partying all weekend, but Eddie knows better. Your pupils are dilated to the bright overhead lights of the hallways, making your sclera more visible. It’s bloodshot red, lower lids swollen and tinged a rough crimson beneath the fresh makeup that Eddie now sees. He swallows and looks away, but he doesn’t let you go. His grip isn’t harsh, it’s simply what it’s always been with you two. Easy and sturdy, safe.

You’re the first to downcast your gaze, focusing more on your shoe wear than on Eddie. It kills him. Even through these notions, this fear, whatever anger you’re both harboring, it’s as if this whole damned school and everyone passing you two are mere bodies, Eddie Munson and Y/N Y/L/N floating, tethered. His stomach churns its lunch contents, teeth clenching tightly. You make a brisk dart off, but Eddie attempts to catch you, instead tugging too hard on your shoulder strap, causing your bag to dump and spread out its contents at his sneaker clad feet.

Eddie’s eyes are quick to see it before you realize. Shining underneath hallway lights, scattered amongst notebooks and pens, is a small flask. His brows perch, he crouches first, scooping it away from your jutting hands. Gareth’s words rewind and play on repeat in his head.

“Damn, Y/N lookin’ like she went on a bender.”

The way his heart rate spikes, hostilely spitting that acid all over his lungs, battering his throat muscles with a pummeling storm. He’s already sure what he’ll smell if he presses the lid to his nostrils, but Eddie has to feed his anxious curiosity, unscrewing the cap with nervous hands, sniffing, shrugging off your grabs. It burns his mouth from its strength, his distraction giving you enough leeway to wrap your hands over his fingers and pull. Eddie locks your digits within his own, second thoughts gone. Against everything inside him he is getting angrier by the second, the anger masking itself, easier than being petrified and scared in front of you.

And Eddie is scared. Is he really so fucking stupid to think you weren’t at all affected by any of this?

“What the fuck, Y/N?” Your fingers sliding through his own, flood him, prickling every vein running beneath his skin, cutting off his blood flow—scorching.

~*~

Having Eddie’s hands on you again, his body so close, despite your shame at his discovery, it’s a feeling that comes more natural than breathing. You avoid his question, feeble grasping docked.

“Why do you have a flask full of fucking vodka?”

“Will you keep your voice down!” You hiss the words, finally breaking off him and retrieving the rest of your items on the scuffed up floor, and securing them back into your bag, Eddie holding back your liquor.

“Did you drive to school drinking this crap? Tell me you didn’t, Y/N, cause’ I swear to god—“

You chortle, a humorless boom smacking across your chest.

“Eddie, this faux best-friend act is getting old. Your on and off switch is enough to drive anyone to drastic measures. But don’t flatter yourself into thinking I’d be an idiot and drive drunk. Not even for you.”

His irises that are glossy with concern, they cave to dilating pupils, an animalistic rage priming them. “Oh, you have got to be the most clueless bitch alive, Y/N.” He steps towards you, frame towering slightly. You’re not afraid, never fearing if he’ll do something, because that is not Eddie, no matter what. But, you are very much dripping with rage at his words.

He pockets your flask in his left back pocket, rings clinking against it as he pats it for good measure. You try to dive around him, beneath his arm, but he swoops in on his own, using that strength for his slender frame, literally scooping you into a half bring-away, only discarding you back onto your feet once you’re both outside. You try to shove at him, palms resting on his stained club shirt. The bell has rang to signal your free period, but you don’t give two fucks, giving up and being the one to leave.

“Who’s the coward now, huh? You’re gonna walk away from me when I call you on your shit, Y/N?”

You spin on your heel, dirt and gravel specks crunched beneath your step. “I thought I was a clueless bitch, Eddie? A traitor? Or, your slut.” You scoff, crossing your arms.

Guilt briefly flickers across his features, but he shuts it down tenfold. “Just because we’re fighting doesn’t mean I want you to destroy your fucking liver or your life. Jesus Christ, you really think I’m that big of an asshole?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore!” You fling your hands into the air. “One minute we’re at each other’s throats, the next you’re up my ass. I don’t know what to do here, Eddie.”

“Thought you craved some individuality and independence.” Though there’s meant to be flare behind the words, Eddie’s tone has splintered across each word, voice breaking apart. Your guts sink into your ass, as does a particularly pointed swallow that stabs at your jugular.

“Didn’t say I wanted to be completely independent from my best-friend.” Your own response is gentle, voice soaked with impending emotion.

Fuck. Stupid fucking tears burning again. Not right now.

Eddie’s attention snaps back on you, proximity closing in. His jaw clenches, he moves it from side to side with a closed mouth, sniffing, whistling air through a wet breath. “Feels like you’re leavin’ me and I can’t do anything to stop it…”

It makes sense suddenly. A catapult of truth slamming right into your chest, spreading throughout your body.

He thinks I’m leaving him. That I want to leave him.

As if the last seventy two hours haven’t happened, better yet, as if they haven’t mattered in the grand scheme of things—you’re the one that meets Eddie, reaching to push that curly hair from his eyes, his head downcast and posture sullen. His brown eyes are brimmed with tears that spill over his lash line, a permanent frown creased between his brows, mouth red and spit slick. Those freckles on his nose are suddenly very prominent to you. You’ve never seen Eddie Munson this vulnerable. Your heart shatters, the ache so physically strong that you have to remain close to him to hold on and find that strength again.

How could you have gotten this so monumentally wrong? Maybe if you’d have expressed what you meant more instead of feeding off Eddie’s anger. His communication and yours both need nurturing, but your sudden shift in mood must’ve made him feel like you wanted to abandon him, not just do things for yourself. He may not realize that yet, but you do. And it fucking sucks.

“Eddie. I’m sorry.” It’s all you can say in the seconds that your heart heaves into your throat.

He shakes that shaggy mane. “Don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me, especially you.” He backs away from you and you see his entire expression crumble, tears spilling onto his cheeks.

That pain drowns your throat, seeing him cry because of your lack of explanation and mutual avoidance. You chase after him, running around to block his view, unable to let him go, gripping onto his waist beneath his jacket to keep him planted. Another familiarity. He tenses beneath your touch before relaxing.

“Eddie, will you please listen to me? I think I know what’s going on now.”

“And look who is the one flipping her emotions this time.”

“Because, I… Eddie, I—“

“What lame ass line do you want me to buy, Y/N? You think I’m not used to worthless promises or idiotic reassurances? Yeah, good.” His sentence is fragmented, voice rough and breaking apart on each word. “You know I still care about you, but I don’t need you to lie to me, you don’t owe me a damn thing, I promise you—“

You press a finger to his quivering lips, halting him. There’s a shift in the atmosphere, a pause in the universe, your legs heavy, fingertip stroking along the plumpness of your best-friend’s full, lower lip. Eddie’s chest is moving up and down swiftly, tongue against his teeth, that warning look. You fail to heed it and Eddie’s hands tremble at his sides before he gives up and cups the sides of your face, bringing your foreheads together. His lips part to speak, your finger still on them. “Think we’re in trouble here.”

You can do nothing but nod as his declaring statement, inclining your head further, nose nudging his own. It doesn’t feel as if you’re standing any longer, every mean thing that Eddie has said, every disproportionate attempt of yours to communicate—obliterate, shrouding you both in the process. His breath is hot as his mouth opens and he sucks your finger inside, tongue licking its tip, biting the digit between those milky white teeth. It sends that throbbing nudge, snapping between your thighs, making you arch into your best-friend. You whisper his name and his fingers move along your jaw, across your ear, sliding through your hair and rubbing a pathway to your necks’ nape, sending an army of goosebumps across your flesh, the coolness of his rings stimulating your skin.

“Yeah, you feelin’ it too?” Your lids flutter closed, Eddie using his thumb pad to brush the corners of your lashes, signally for you to open them. “Didn’t say you could stop looking at me, did I, sweetheart?”

You grind against him, unable to stop. Your last several days, everything between you both is on hold, these buried urges able to finally win out. This dominant side of Eddie Munson has you an inward and outwardly quickening pile of mush and hormones, of fucking need. Eddie about loses his cool when you obey him, pupils blown, mouth looking parched and in need of his kisses. He leans, walls starting to slip, resolve crumbling, his pouting mood long gone.

Years of built up tension and confusion, being rightfully by one another’s sides, it all comes apart, the seams, begging to be repaired into what it has to be now.

You envelop his hold on you, hands sliding into slips beneath his jacket, around his waist, tracing over his back, before dipping under his armpits and grasping his shoulders, knuckles pushed down by his leather jacket. One more step and he’ll kiss you. He’s closing a gap, no more breaches, you tapping his shoulders right down to the blades in encouragement. It’s parted mouths hovering over one another, cigarettes and vodka, school lunch and weed, it’s—

“Hey, guys! Higgins is so pissed off right now… After that shit went down in the caf, he’s ready to expel you, Y/N! Pretty fuckin’ sure.” You hear Gareth approach, and just like, Eddie releases you.

You have to steady yourself, want simmering into a slumber in your belly, not yet gone, but still reminding you where it lives. Your glare is directed at your mutual friend. Eddie, feeling as if he’s been doused with ice cold water, and the moment is shattered, you see those walls rebuilding rapidly, and she shrugs off your hand, leaving you and Gareth, and that slickness that has collected in your panties.

~*~

You aren’t sure just exactly what Eddie is feeling, but you’re very aware of what you are. So driving to his place once you know Wayne has left for the night shift—it’s a no brainer. You’d debated bringing Eddie your box of treasures, even your necklace, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. Maybe, maybe your best-friend doesn’t want you to…?

Want.

A dynamic shift in your relationship, or what it used to be. You can barely sit still as you wrack your brain through all the levels of hazy blurs. So much has happened in three days, but… today, with Eddie nearly kissing you on the mouth, and you nearly grinding against him in the Hawkins High parking lot—yeah, you two have to talk about all of this. As you squirm in your seat, hands tightening around the wheel, that approaching trailer park sign signals your arrival to his residence. You can’t stop the way your heartbeat feels as if it’s ping ponging around in your throat, or that anxious twitch of your mouth’s corner—forget even attempting to deny your cascading memories of the way his chocolate irises wore an expression unlike anything you’ve ever seen on Eddie Munson.

His trailer comes into your sights, that tickle swooping your guts and holding them hostage. You swallow a thick ball of anxiety, parking next to his van, cutting your engine. The lights are all on and you’ve got no excuse to chicken out. It’s your year too, right? Fucking fuck it.

With your keys clutched in your palm, you make your way to Eddie’s trailer, rasping on his door lightly. You don’t hear his music blaring, so he might be reading, planning a campaign, writing some music he’d mentioned wanting to practice with the guys soon, get a feel for its sound—just last week. You have given about three octaves of knocks and are about to give up, head pressed the door, thinking he was just lost in lust earlier, and maybe you’d fucked up on your end beyond repair. Exhausted by the stampeding pain that brings your insides, you flip the Munson’s spare key off your key ring and unlock the door. A bold move—albeit—a very stupid one.

That familiar scent of Eddie and Wayne’s shared carton of cigarettes hits your nose, along with the leftovers from dinner you see sitting out on the stove. Your cookies, which have been devoured, are missing their note. You panic, briefly thinking Eddie probably trashed it, only to come back from that brink seconds later. It’s not what you’re here for. You glance at the couch and it’s empty, not even Eddie’s usual indent on the cushion is there.

Swinging your keys from your pointer finger, you peek down the small hallway to Eddie’s closed door, light spilling out underneath. He could be sleeping, possibly ignoring you, or he snuck out the back door…

Your feet make an echoing squeak across the trailer’s flooring structure, your fingers twisting the knob and pushing, pausing, deciding to go ahead. If he wants you to leave then you’ll go, if he’s asleep, you’ll go, if he left… You can’t fathom that thought, another ignorance that you partake in. You aren’t sure exactly what you expected, but seeing your best-friend’s tallish frame, with his back facing you, lean leg propped atop his mattress, right arm bent at a very clear angle, his left propped on one of his many amps he’d apparently moved since you’d been here last—is sure as hell NOT it. Eddie’s curly hair ruffles and is jostled across his shoulders with each movement his arm makes, his delicious ass clenching as his body thrusts into his rhythm, the outline of his chain on his perspired neck and damp strands of dark hair—clear. You don’t have to hear the thick, slick and wet stroking to know what he’s doing to himself.

You cross an ankle over the other, squeezing your legs together tightly, trying to bounce on the balls of your heels to get relief. Your fingers white knuckle his banged up door handle, your mouth parting. Whether it’s that bond you two share, or your very visible labored breathing, Eddie’s shoulder blades pinch together, his motions abruptly cut. He turns as if caught doing something he shouldn’t be—definitely something you aren’t prepared to handle. It’s like your mouth is speaking for you, eyes in a trance, enslaved to your lustful abiding.

Fucked out, blown up pupils shave off the color of your irises, your tongue gliding across your teeth, that take a turn to sink into your bottom lip, your toes curling in your shoes. You feel hot, body battered in melting flames that won’t cease, won’t let you get in a normal burst of air flow. You know without having to fix your posture that you’ve made a mess between your legs, panties soaked to hell—completely ruined. You’re honest to fuck not sure if you can make it out of here in an upright position, that painfully strong ache tackling your cunt, breaking off your common sense, leaving you Eddie-drunk. Helping yourself to a swiping look between his legs, he’s still got a ring clad hand wrapped around a very generous girth—shiny—a length that leaves saliva pooling on your tongue’s tip.

His chest is slick with sweat, tattoos glossed beneath, nipples hard from the cool air let into his bedroom. Which, you note, is really fucking hot, and the window is steamed up. Your eyelids flutter in rapid blinks to help you reign yourself in, but all you see are glimpses of Eddie’s fist around himself, that creamy and swollen head, full balls on either side, trimmed curls at the base of his shaft. You want to die. And oh, what a sweet and sinful death that would be.

“Mhm… fuck.” You say through the gap between your panting mouth, words take the opportunity to bust free, joining a high pitched whimper.

Eddie’s chocolate eyes are completely black, leaving no room for anything else but purely raw desire. They widen, a sharp heave in his inhaling chest, abdomen flexing as he holds himself tightly. When you don’t move Eddie takes the initiative, slowly approaching, a softness there beneath the want and knowing. He reaches your space, still giving you enough, but you’re able to still feel that radiating body heat. Neither of you speak, because what is there to say right now?

You’d be a pleading mess of profanities, apologizes, and begging to be taken and used.

Thankfully, Eddie makes another move before you. His spare hand joins your own on the door knob, fingers brushing your knuckles, encouraging, giving you one more opportunity if you’re in distress or uncomfortable. You hook onto his offer and you surprise you both by finding something to say after all, throat parched, yet still damp with wanton rasp. “Start touching yourself again, Eddie. Please?” Fuck, well there’s a beg.

Eddie, assuming you want a show, nerves being dipped in lava and left to forever sizzle and smoke—gives in, both of you shutting his door and closing the two of you off from the outside world. He doesn’t wait for you to back away, pushing his hips to a rise, his cock gliding through his closed fist. You let him lean over you, frame against his door, watching his legs spread to widen his stance, obeying your plea. He almost asks, but assumes it would be too hopeful if you would want to touch yourself in front of him too. You’re out of your mind, common sense obliterated for all eternity, watching your bestfriend practically pin you to the door and fuck himself in front of you.

Those sounds you’ve imagined, pictured, they’re even more pronounced in person. Some low enough that it’s a stifling whimper, a needy sobbing. If you don’t do something about the gnawing throbbing between your thighs, it’ll be total combustion. There’s an empowerment that winds itself around a pulsating set of nerves in one’s decision to masturbate in front of their best-friend. That coolness works itself in your palms, your fingers tossing your keys over and onto Eddie’s dresser, toeing off your shoes, his eyes steamy in their grasp on your every move.

You’d wished you had brought your camera to photograph his expression when you walk over to where he stood in front of his bed, turning to face him, your fingers undoing your jeans and the zipper, a resounding echo in the room, Eddie’s tongue poking out on his upper lip, he holds himself around the base, the urgency to fuck his hand as you take your seat on his mattress and scoot with your back to the wall, hips lifting to help you pull off your jeans and panties. You struggle momentarily, but neither of you are saying a word, gazes steady and unwavering.

Discarding your clothing with a soft thump onto his floor, you’re heartbeat thumps in your throat, ribcage taking an unsteady hammering of its resounding drumming. You heed Eddie’s silent command to continue, agreeing to this turning point between you two. Your thighs fall open and that sticky want strings to your swollen folds, glistening in the creases of your thighs, your cunt sopping wet. You’re dripping, and Eddie isn’t missing it when your arousal finally does drizzle from your neglected pussy and onto his bedsheets. You shift to get comfortable, hand cupping yourself, immediately smothered in your own juices, legs falling into a drop, toes finally able to curl without the barrier of your shoes, bunching Eddie’s sheets.

Eddie watches you from where he can see, still eager to be closer, but unable to stop himself from stroking along his length, teasing that vein that runs alongside his cock. You do it again, rubbing your palm up and down your lips, a crude squelch causing Eddie to almost black out, and you shiver. He releases himself, heavy and hot between slim thighs, and he’s moving. He puffs out a gravelly hiss from pursed lips, stalking towards you and giving a cat like crawl across his own bed, planting himself shoulder to shoulder with you to your left. He must be feeling the overwhelming change that is occurring, as he reaches for your hand to give it a reassuring squeeze.

You gravitate towards your hand, fingers slipping through your slickness, your head bowing in embarrassment. Eddie grips your chin and tilts you his way, shaking his head, that same hand dropping to your thigh and lifting to pull up and to the side. And he looks. He fucking memorizes you between your legs with these little mewling coos of appreciation that cement themselves into your subconscious. You do the same, helping yourself to an up close and personal view of what he’s been hiding.

Eddie leans forward and cups the nap of your neck, his other hand taking your wrist and removing it from your self-touches, shushing your protesting whine. He brings it up to his mouth, which is hovering close to yours, your own fingers pressed against your lips, and he licks a straight stripe up your creamy covered palm, humming underneath his breath as he does so. You want to slap him and ride him on every available surface in this trailer. You’re the one to speak, having to.

“Eddie…” It’s a meek little trail-off.

Eddie lets go of your wrist and uses that hand to pull his cock off his stomach, a wet patch left behind in his happy trail. He still doesn’t let your neck go, his fingertips tapping an invisible beat, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He’s laughing, tufts of air settling across your mouth. You narrow your gaze, moving to shut your legs, Eddie’s hand quickly preventing the action, stroking the meat of your inner thigh. “Only fair if I’m exposed, sweetheart.”

“But… you’re laughing.” And it hits you then, why he’s really chuckling in that Eddie Munson way. It’s an incredulous and mind boggling turn of events. Best-friends that broke up when they were never together, now side by side and in a very compromising situation.

You grin and falter into his embrace, your hand working its way into a wind around his neck, taking sweaty strands in scoops between your fingers, his pick chain draped across your knuckles. Eddie licks across his bottom lip, tapping your hips as he moves, your hands falling, and sprawls his legs into a propped spread, cock neglected and flushed, much like the rest of his skin, that you’ll die if you don’t put your marks on. He’s motioning for you to turn in a slow facing position in front of him, and that’s how you end up—vulnerable, so fucking vulnerable. He’s muttering words, huddled and unintelligible, reaching out and tugging you to him by your ankles, stopping, resting, eyes dark as they do a once over to gauge your mental stability. When you don’t protest, palms splaying out to keep yourself upright behind you, Eddie lets his legs flatten against his sheets, a smirk pattering his lips, indenting its knowing presses beside his mouth.

His exhale catches on a ragged breath, a passionate declaration signing off on what’s about to occur, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he pulls you close, your ass resting on his hairy thighs, waiting, held, his arm wrapping around your lower back and lifting you completely into that ink splattered, silk-slick chest, his skin sticking to your long sleeved t-shirt, ruining it with sex-soaked perspiration. You think that there’s nothing—no—you know that in this entire world, no matter what, that whatever will happen to you is never going to compare to the moment when Eddie’s maneuvering hands glide your wet cunt over his cock, using your drenching heat as his own personal lubricant. Your ankles lock around his waist, no choice from the close band that your best-friend has re-tethered you to him with, leaving no room or space where you’re not touching or breathing in the other. Your arms curl around Eddie’s neck, hands draped down his back as you help yourself to pinching and clawing the flesh beneath, relishing every little grumble and groan off his pretty lips. Your face takes solace in his neck, nosing your way through his curly hair, nose bumping his chain to lift so that your mouth can claim him.

“Fuck.” His throat constricts around a swallow, your teeth sinking into a piece of Eddie’s flesh and biting, releasing, lips closing over that angry spot to soothe, tongue tasting salt, licking it off, indulging.

He lets your have your way with his neck, a particularly harsh slap landing on your ass in following of your mouth on his jugular, letting your tongue following that curvature into his jawline. You don’t stop his wandering hands, you don’t dare fight off his vice grip on the globes of your ass, his kneading, using as them leverage to place you right where he wants you. You let him take control, an unspoken agreement, a having to have. Your head falls back as Eddie rolls his hips beneath, rocking his lap, solid presses that drag his fat cock over your embarrassingly wet pussy, scattering your thick arousal and smearing it across his happy trail, getting caught in that patch of curls at the base of his shaft. You’re dripping all over him, quite literally. Caught on a trapped hum, hung in its hisses between your clenched teeth, you croon into Eddie’s neck, your stomach tightening, that velvety drag of his dick through your swollen folds making your lids flutter closed, colors dotting in their dances—translucent.

You aren’t sure where to move your hands, comfortable with having them shred Eddie’s back and empty out the past few days of frustration and desperation. Eddie encourages, palming handfuls of your ass, creating a cresting twist, a thigh trembling rub of sopping wet desire. He’s merely whimpering, appreciating, not overly vocal until his swollen head catches your neglected clit, and his head drops back, fingers pinching so tightly into your skin that it burns.

“Oh, shit. Dammit, baby.”

You’re simpering on a series of whimpers, agreeable and speechless. Eddie is feeding off it. “Yeah? You needing this too? Little clit feels so good rubbing on my dick, sweetheart. You want me to do it again?”

When you’re not immediately able to be vocal, Eddie pulls back a little, shoving his hand between your thighs and drags his rings directly through your arousal, coating them in a glittering shine. His first real touch where you need him the most. You both inhale sharply. It’s the pain from the cool metal of his jewelry that makes it feel so fucking good. He curses, telling you how messy you’re being, flinging his hand in your sights, dragging you in a pry off of his neck, holding your jaw and flashing his knuckles.

“See what you did, messy little angel. You gotta clean em’ now for me.”

His eyes are so fucking demolished, brown crushed beneath a midnight sea of black and insatiable attraction. You’re mewling, tongue lolling out, licking that metallic onto your tongue, sloppily sloping around his knuckles, lips suckling what your tongue can’t catch, your own taste fresh off your mouth. That’s when Eddie brushes a calloused thumb across your bottom lip, tugging it down to expose your teeth, and he brings your lips to his, a feral groan stealing your breath, sharing your juices in your first kiss. It’s a shift in the energy you share, a no going back, no running away, a fate sealed. Eddie loses all control and flips you off his lap, pinning you beneath him, kissing you with such feverish vigor that your hand tangles into his messy curls, and you pull, hard.

His tongue licks your lips open, greedily removing what’s left of your taste that remains. It’s noisy and nasty in the expanse of his small bedroom—diabolically sinful. One hand caresses your throat’s expanse, the other dropping down with a snapped wrist between your thighs, palm smacking your cunt, a guttural groan vibrating from his mouth into your own. Saliva strings on the break away, Eddie’s gaze switching to watch the hand on your cunt, out of it.

“Your pussy always this wet, baby? Or is it just for your best-friend?”

“Only for you, Eddie. Always you.”

Fallen into the depths of satisfaction, Eddie permits a slender digit to drag down your slit, taking that thick honey with it, a squelch echoing in the room when his finger wiggles its way inside of you. You clamp around him, chest heaving with shaky breaths.

“Jesus Christ. You’re gonna drown my dick when you let me fuck you, aren’t you?”

You’re incoherently babbling, tapping the hand that’s on your throat, hungry for it. “Tighter.”

Eddie’s brow raise is comical, a surprise coating his features. “So miss Y/N likes it rough? Never woulda guessed.”

You gulp a pump of air that vibrates across his hold, trying to gain more depth from his finger. It’s moving in exploration of your softly wet walls, an excess of arousal being pressed out upon that squish. Eddie tightens his hold on your throat, before he taps his fingers to your jugular and releases, hand toppling down your side and caressing, bringing. “Fuck, my best-friend’s got such a perfect little pussy. S’ made to be destroyed and used.”

You’re nodding so hard that the motion causes a cracking pop in your neck, Eddie laughing that noise under a cute breath. He’s thick with it, wiggling in a second finger and causing you drop your hands back behind you and push into the sensation, chasing, hunting it.

“Desperate to get away from me all week, now look at you. What a whore.”

Eddie has a mouth on him, something you’d always wondered about in your daily daydreams and nightly fantasies. As vocal as when he’s singing with his band. He’s saying words to you, snapping your attention, you’re whining as his fingers leave your cunt, and he’s pulling you into him so hard your lips split apart, cushioning his cock, cradling him in that overwhelming slick. He must not have meant for that action to cause it, as he jumps when you do, this feral look flickering behind those heated orbs. You know… it’s time.

Eddie is barely able to stand, clumsily bringing you with him by a laced grip in your hands. He gets you upright and you’re dizzy, his hands taking purchase on your shirt (the only remaining piece of clothing on you), and rips it with gritting teeth and anger, as if he’s pissed it’s not the club shirt, or sickened with himself for destroying yours—you’re not sure. Spit pools at the corners of your mouth as you let him tear off your tattered tee and yank your bra down, impatiently yanking the clasp apart and discarding it, helping himself to your tits, closing those plush lips over a nipple. Your hand wraps around his throbbing cock, fingers barely touching around the width, squeezing him—tugging. His hips stutter and he whines against your breast, teeth biting the flesh with a harsh precision.

Your other hand works its way through his wet curls and massages his scalp, tenderly altering in beckoning strokes, ones that switch off into root tugging pulls. Eddie’s hands keep your breast cupped, switching off to the other, whilst you dip lower and fondle his balls, letting your pinky drop off and scratch into his inner thigh. He’s doing that humming thing underneath his fucked out tone again, and you’re focusing your attention on his cock, thumb pad stroking that weeping slit, spreading it around and over that vein, enchanted with how it causes a thin bright shine over him, your own cream matted into the curls at the base of him, pathed up his stomach. His mouth leaves your chest and those big hands grip your cheeks, both of you watching as you jack him with a sticky tug.

Fuck me.

“Who’s the whore for his bestfriend now, Eds? You gonna admit that half the shit I’ve done this week has gotten your dick so hard you can’t decide what you’ve hated me for more,” You say, pausing to twist your grip, making him fold into your holding hand, “my smart mouth or how much you need this.”

Your powering dominance is short lived, hand falling off his erection, with Eddie kneeing you into a shove until your back collides with his desk, his arm reaching around to push most of its contents off and onto the floor, not caring where any of it goes. He nudges your thighs apart and slots his lean frame between, thumb catching the corner of your mouth, his instruction clear, yet awaiting your consent to cross this no back-stepping boundary. “M’ gonna fuck you right here, and you’re goin’ to watch me take you, Y/N.”

You’re pretty sure you’re gonna pass out at any given moment.

“I’m gonna watch you, Eddie.” You agree, zoning out and sprinting after your pleasure.

“Good girl.” Eddie breaks briefly, mouth on your shoulder, hand winding your hair around his fist and tugging it back so hard that the ache inside of you becomes an inferno. He finds the underside of your chin, voice honey-hot. “Because you’re not leaving this room until there’s a puddle of me running back out of your cunt.”

You launch forward so fast that Eddie falls into you, chest smashing against your breasts, your lips crashing into his for a brutally intimate kiss. You sink your teeth into his bottom lip and tug, biting down so hard you taste copper—licking it up and making Eddie’s cock jump. His ring covered hand attaches itself to your throat and he drags you off your prop against the desk, spinning you around and securing you to it, those hairy thighs pressing into you, wet cock so close to where you need him the most. His hand wraps around your hair again and lifts your gaze to that small opening in the mirror where posters and his most prized possession hangs. You’re flushed and soaked with sweat, mouth swollen and streaked with red from biting into Eddie’s plump lip, your pussy dripping thick strings of your creamy essence, slowly slithering in dangles from your pussy and onto the floor.

“You’re so fucking messy, Y/N. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, baby?” Eddie is like the devil on your shoulder, and you, you’re his angel of eternal damnation.

You’re about to beg, but Eddie saves you the trouble, his fingers tapping in tips down your spine, caressing, stroking, before they spread your lips apart and dip inside, palm flat. “Should fuckin’ split you open, do it raw. Cum so deep inside that you end up pregnant with my baby and have no choice but to always think of me, be around me.”

Though there’s a tease behind his passionate words, there’s this primal exclamation that overtakes you and you clamp down on his fingers. A series of fast paced images are vivid in your mind. Your tummy swollen and breasts heavy, Eddie having you bent over like this—one hand on your belly, the other on your throat, feeling your pulse galavant beneath his touch.

“Y/N… Fuck, sweetheart.” He’s so fucked in his descending tone that the depth is gruff and tipping off his diaphragm, you imagine. He presses his cheek against your own, chin resting on your shoulder as you drink each other in, in the mirror’s expanse, Eddie’s tone weak. “You really willing to carry my kid?”

You meet his eyes in the cluttered mirror, nodding, a softness carving out permanent residence in your features. It’s a topic you’d never shared with anyone else, never banked too much on thinking about, but beyond the idea of how hot this all is, you can’t imagine a scenario like this that doesn’t involve Eddie Munson. Vulnerable and barely above a brisk whisper, you’re answering him with, “Yeah, Eds. Want a family with you.”

At your admission, he lets his hand go in languid thrusts. You groan and let your head shift, but Eddie is jerking you back to stare into the glass, both of you panting and on the cusp of an out of body experience. It causes you to grin, licking your lips as your best-friend pumps those experienced digits to cause a purposeful squelch, his rings clinking together. His hard cock is pressed between his own stomach and your back, that pre-cum pooling onto your lower back and smearing in streaks down your ass. You’ve had more than enough teasing and you’re well aware that Eddie has too.

His look briefly falters, turning to mouth at your chin, a silent question. It’s you who uses your words, or rather, trembles in your feeble attempt. “Eddie, just put your cock inside me, or I swear I’ll—“

He’s smirking wildly at your slack-jawed expression when his fingers slide out of you and stick together with your cum, to which he helps himself to and coats his cock, then lines himself up and presses the thick head into your opening, leaning down to bite at your shoulder and leave an exposed imprint. Your legs feel like jello and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. He’s going to ask you to beg, and you’re an all in willing participant. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t. He inhales sharply, you hold your breath, and both of you watch him sink into your slick and soft cunt, inch by inch, until his balls rest against the globes of your cheeks.

You’re still holding your breath, releasing it when you feel him sigh, grip on your hair loosening a little, too caught up in the fact that he’s where he belongs, after so much time doing without this. Your legs are about to buckle, jerking, toes curling against the carpeted floor, overwhelmed by everything that’s happened, and by your best-friend’s cock throbbing in your aching pussy. “E-Eds…?” It’s a pathetic cry of a question.

Eddie’s brows pinch together, sweat beaded between. He grips your jaw and his fingertips tap you back to meet his mouth, hovering over your lips. “S’ okay, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.” He briefly drops the playful gimmick, reassuring you that he’s right here with you.

It’s more than enough to have you arching back into him, a brash pummeling of his hips that sends you into the dresser, having to reach out and catch yourself. Eddie is quick witted, gripping your wrists with one hand and pinning them behind your back, stepping with you in toe, elongating his arm to snatch those handcuffs on his wall, that cold metal biting into your wrist, that dull noise presenting itself as the cuffs lock you into place, Eddie gripping onto the chains’ excess expanse, using it as a leverage. A sliver of a chalky moan trickles off your kiss-swollen lips, appreciative. The way Eddie is manhandling you has you so fucking euphoric that you’re sure you’ll be in a comatose state before either of you can cum. Your best-friend’s large hand finds purchase in your hair again, drawing his hips back, the other on the chain of the cuffs—steadying himself into a rhythm, riding you like all that matters is your destruction and his ultimate ownership.

Eddie Munson has owned you since the very moment that you two met.

The way he’s executing such precise and rough thrusts, making sure you’re high on the bring up, toes pressing into the carpet, that you’re stuffed full of his fat cock until it hurts, twitching in overstimulation, sore and fluttering walls eager to be soaked in everything he has to give you, that you are taking in every inch, catching every ridge, leaving you a shambled, panting mess, in pieces only being put back together again when Eddie will allow your release. His hair is tickling your shoulder blades, his fingers leaving the cuffs to press into your mouth and curl over your tongue, relishing in how you gag around the digits. You’re weak, so fucking weak for him, and he knows it.

“Can’t wait to hear you gag on my cock, Y/N. If you have trouble with these bad boys?” He puts an emphasis, wiggling his fingers against your tongue, giving them a secondary push to over extend your gag reflexes, his dick twitching inside you.

You bite down on his fingers, sucking them in, accepting his challenge, willing it to happen. His balls slap into your ass, heavy and hot, every movement causing the metal to rut into the skin of your wrists. He’s got a steady tempo going, alternating it by dipping his hips to bring you with him, letting you nearly collide with your chest flush to his desk. He reaches up and shoves that poster back by peeling tape, revealing more of your fucked out forms. Your eyes widen at your disheveled and unrecognizable appearance, Eddie using your cuffed hands as reigns. Riding you so hard that you can’t breathe anything but his hot air curling around the shell of your ear.

“Dammit, you are such a good girl for me, Y/N. Always pictured you takin’ my cock, but you’re not even crying yet, just taking what I give you.”

Yet… Fuck me running.

Your scalp is tingling with a prickling crowd of flames from his harsh grip, his other hand reaching to smack your ass, using some mechanism on the cuffs—albeit—struggling with his spit soaked fingers that were just in your mouth, to unlatch them and discard them at your feet, and he watches the flesh of your ass cheek redden and jiggle beneath his biting palm. You fist your fingers into a strewn pair of his blue denim jeans left on the desk top, dipping your forehead down and arching your back, trying to look between your own legs from this new angle to see Eddie’s cock cradled in your puffy lips. He tuts at your unsuccessful action, forcing you back into watching him doing his hard work—the hardest he’s worked at anything (sans his band or the campaigns, if he’s being honest with himself)—to make this unforgettable for you. He hits that spot located inside, the one you have to strain an arm to barely graze, and you lose all coherent capabilities.

“Eddie… that’s, oh my god, oh FUCK. Right there!”

Eddie’s throat crumbles under a weak pant, which ends up coming out as a whimper. He remains firm, however, still using your hair to keep you right where he wants you, his other hand reaching around to pet his own shaft as he slides out just enough to make you wetter.

“Yeah, baby? That spot gonna make somethin’ happen for you?”

You don’t answer, mumbles and babbling gibberish. He shakes that precious head of his, curls tickling your back and shoulders, a sigh breaking free. “Sorry, sweetheart. Can’t believe we’re doin’ this in front of you. Both my girls right here with me, one of them at my fuckin’ mercy.” Your attentions snap over your shoulder and you see Eddie looking at his fucking guitar, that is one of the only things remaining on the mirror. You gape, but aren’t surprised in the slightest.

He continues on, pretending he doesn’t see your partial seethe. “Makin’ a mess all over me, but I bet you like to see it too, don’t you?” He sinks his teeth into his lower lip, still talking to the inanimate object. “Both my sweethearts are such sluts for their owner.”

You can’t help that rattle that clamps around your bones and slices through your spinal cord, seizing your abdomen, right down into your cunt. Owner? You have zero time to warn him, ask if you can, alarms unprepared, skin slapping on skin, his taste on your mouth, his breath on your flesh, that slippery glide that has cum running down your thighs, and it’s a sudden wave crashing over your insides and drowning them in your painfully interstellar-esque orgasm. Your eyes burn with tears as you watch your best-friend feel what’s happening, realizing. He’s covered in your release, and instead of being mad, he is influencing you like the little devil that he can be, plump lip pressing to your ear lobe with one continuous command. “That’s it. C’mon, Y/N. Drench my dick.”

You wish you could bottle the feeling of your first orgasm with Eddie Munson, your best-friend—forever. Finding yourself growing into that vulnerability that comes with the high, you seek to find solace in Eddie’s arms, whimpering at the overstimulation of his thick cock. With that connection still in tact, Eddie is spinning you around, dick sliding out with a messy mixture of arousals covering you both—his member completely doused in your cream, painting the trimmed curls at the base of his shaft with even more of you, slicking back some more of that happy trail. You want to be embarrassed, but as he’s red faced and struggling to breathe, you know that there’s no need to be. He steers you back onto the bed, falling easily between your spread thighs, drawing them up and around his waist.

He presses his forehead into your own, kissing each corner of your mouth, rings circling in dusting sweeps on the apex of your thighs. His voice is a shivered whisper. “Fuck, baby. You okay?”

There’s words on your tongue, Eddie’s taste on your mouth, things you’ve known for years, but are unsure if Eddie has, or if this is something he needs because he’s afraid you’ll abandon him, but that he doesn’t feel what you do. Your head is spinning and Eddie brushes sweaty strands of hair off your forehead, taking his cock through your swollen folds, pressing that spongey head into your clit—both of you crying out. “Y/N, m’ right here. Care to join me?”

And god help you, the way that you look at him. Really allow yourself to see him this way—unabashed—it stirs all those feelings Eddie has bottled down since forever. You press your thumb into his mouth, your other hand sliding down to grip onto him, gliding your hand back and forth, relishing in how his abdomen tenses, muscles flexing, body gravitating towards whatever you’re willing to bestow. He doesn’t let you touch him much longer, taking what your hand isn’t around and guiding it back into your cunt, that scrumptious burn brimming you, making your thighs drop open, back arch, only to tighten your ankles around him, digging your heels into his ass. He suckles your fingertip into his mouth, licking the digit in until it’s down to the knuckle.

Your head presses sideways, cheek on his pillow, inhaling his shaving cream and that spicy scent. He pauses his movements, making you frown in displeasure. He lets go of your spit tainted finger, gripping your chin, a possessive fire overcoming him. His irises remain completely black, putting you deeper into that comatose trance of agonizing sin. “I want you to fucking say it, Y/N.”

You start a beginning questionnaire, Eddie shaking his head and pressing in harder on your chin, fingers splaying across your jaw, rings pinching your chin in the most delightfully painful of ways. “Say you want me, tell me you fucking need me. That you’re not tired of me, and that you’re proud to be the freak’s slut.”

Your hands wind around his back and you sink your nails in as hard as you can, bearing down on him, sucking him in deeper, both of you in a state of no return. His hand tickles down from your face and grips your neck. “Still sick of me, baby?” He situates your gaze, lifting his hips to a raise so that you can see where you’re connected. You’re inconsolable, that fire already blazing your gut, turning every sense into nothingness.

When Eddie starts back up again, he slams himself into you so hard that your vision goes dark and you shred your own bottom lip open, body moving closer to his wall due to the force. He’s licking beneath your jugular, words sensual and filthy, making your entire body spike in a sudden electricity. “Gonna cum in every hole you’ve got, so you remember that they’re mine.”

This time you’re more than ready to give him a warning, body beginning to shake beyond your control, breaths stuttering in your chest. Eddie reaches down between you, calloused thumb flicking your clit. Everything is so fucking wet and the way it sounds in the expanse of Eddie’s small room, it has you opening your mouth, out of control and greedily begging for more.

“Eds, harder. Please? Almost…”

He’s grinning in that special way that weakens you—heart and soul, body and mind. “So much more than a slut.” His thrusts become choppy, his own babbling tone turning into Eddie-speak. “You are way more than you know, Y/N.”

You fondle his pick chain and bring him into your immediate airspace, mouths hovering. He’s nearing his end, cock getting fuller inside you. “Need you to tell me how much you love me.”

You both completely go slack. Eddie stops himself all together, body trembling, head bowing. Your heart rate increases, feeling as if you’ve skipped a staircase thousands of feet in the air and you’re now free falling.

Love… You don’t have to think twice.

Your hands move to cup his face, holding on, your eyes shining with tears at all overloaded emotions and senses. “I love you so fucking much, Eddie.”

At your admission, those beautiful eyes—dark with remains of passion—they fill, and he gives you his all, driving his cock into you in calculated presses, trying like hell to get you to cum first. When he speaks, his voice cracks apart. “Let me know that you’re right here with me, Y/N.”

“I’ve always been here, Eddie.” Is what you manage, thumping your hand against his wrist and helping him bring his fingers back to your clit.

He doesn’t let you look away, noses smashed together, sticky foreheads pressing, hair curtaining the apples of pink, sex stained cheeks. Your eyes widen as that knot begins to tighten in your stomach, unraveling so violently that Eddie has to grip your quivering thigh in one hand, the other keeping steady on your clit. You dig into his back, other hand tugging on his hair, and Eddie is giving a throaty seduction. “That’s it, be my good girl and cum again for me.”

And you’re coming apart at your very core, every cell exploding and rebuilding, gluing yourself to Eddie to seize the ache that scrambles your insides and leaves you breathless. He’s cursing, keeping his finger on your clit to help you coast over the high, immediately following you with the lowest, sweetest, whimpering moan that you’ve ever heard. Both of your eyes still drinking in the other’s pleasure, tears spilling over your lash line as Eddie’s hips cease and he holds, his cock swelling and that soft, creamy warmth coating your sore walls in spurts. He collapses onto your chest and you hold him there in a vice hug, his hand still trapped between your exhausted bodies. He gently eases it out, groaning around the wetness that he’s all too eager to sample until the layer of shine is off his fingers.

Holy shit and fuck me…

Your legs fall to the side, unable to stay upright any longer, Eddie keeping a hovering hand to soothe your shaking. He kisses your neck with a plush mouth, his chain dangling between your breasts. You’re petting his hair—which is so soaked it’s as if he’s been in the rain or come from the shower—off his forehead, wincing as he slides out and keeps himself by your side. You gasp and he joins, fascinated by your cum and his own seed pouring from your cunt. He raises up a little. “Mhm. Let me see?”

He props your thigh, sliding his fingers back and forth, zoned in on his bedsheets being ruined from the literal puddle of your shared cum that runs from you. Seconds pass and he grins widely, plopping onto his back, his fingertips caressing your shoulder, down to your arm. It’s a comfortable quiet, even with the intense meaning of the words that were spoken, until Eddie starts with a, “So..?”

And you cut him off, trying to get your uncomfortably hot body closer. “So I love you. And I have never stopped needing you, or wanting you, Eddie. I just hope all this wasn’t because we were fighting and you got scared I would leave, and —“

He doesn’t let you finish this time, that chocolate-ly brown ring swinging back around his pupil in a brisk develop, showcasing the moisture in his eyes. “I was scared because I love you so damn much that I would charge headfirst into Mordor, or some alternate dimension without any weapon or any shield, just for you. You gotta know that, Y/N.”

His softness, that glittering fragility, it makes you seal your mouth to his, kissing him full of your feelings. He cups the nape of your neck, drawing in closer, thumb coaxing a shiver from you as it passes over a certain spot behind your ear. On a wet break away, you’re nodding your head. “Guess we spent all week fighting when we should’ve been fucking and talking about our feelings.”

Eddie smirks, then is serious. “Be that as it may, I’m sorry I’ve been shit at showing you I appreciate all that you do for the guys and me. And for forgetting that you are your own person too. S’ not like I meant to, I swear. I just get so fucking caught up and I shouldn’t take for granted anything that has to do with you or with us.”

“Have I ever told you that you’re my best-friend, Eddie Munson?”

While it’s still true, you’re wondering when the words leave your lips. Eddie just fucked you so hard you probably won’t be able to sit down for a week or walk upright for hours, so friendship isn’t exactly the most appropriate term anymore, is it?

Eddie taps his fingertips to your temple, drawing your dazed expression, clinging to the cosmic connection once more. “M’ yours, Y/N.”

“Oh yeah, Munson?” You’re so high that you could fly out of here right now and make rounds around the whole globe. Your chest is aching with a tempo that promises new hope and ease.

Eddie is giddy too, that wide set smile, cheesing. “Just gotta get you a new shirt.”

The memory of your old club attire being one with the forest floor seems like so long ago. Eddie knuckle grazes your cheek, apologetic. You shush him. “I ruined yours, so we’re even.”

There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes and he’s tackling you beneath him, pinning your hands in a lace above your head. “Nah, we are just getting started on bein’ even, baby.”

~*~

Tagging: @littledemondani @prettyboyeddiemunson @gothbitchshit @thisishellfire @ethereal27cereal @likedovesinthewnd

-I really need to form a bigger tag list! I’m sorry :/-

Lemme know if you want on my general tag list, please! :)

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lunar-wandering · 10 months

Text

"what the fuck is the mech doing here"

Summary:

"Uh, congrats on the kid, I guess?"

"Monkey King, I'm too young to be a father."

Or, in which Monkey Mech is sentient.

Word Count: 15k

Read on Ao3

Three days.

That's how long it had been since Monkey Mech had woken up.

It had been a rather boring three days, if he had been honest.

(He?? They?? She?? No, 'he' sounded right).

Nothing had truly happened, outside of that one event at the very beginning, when his creator had controlled him to destroy the Demon Bull King (he's fairly sure that that's what that guy had been called, but he could be wrong for all he knew). Or, well, not destroying him, he supposed, more so defeating him. He didn't think the Demon Bull King had actually died. No, he was pretty sure the Demon Bull Family had all escaped without any deaths.

The lack of any deaths, civilian or otherwise, was an honest miracle, Monkey Mech was pretty sure. After all, he'd had a while to think about it, having remained standing in front of the large, smoking, empty crater that he and his creator's final attack had left on the ground. He hadn't had much else to look at.

A few people had stopped by, a couple of times. Some had been observing the crater- Monkey Mech figured they were some kind of official people, from the way they were dressed. He wasn't... entirely sure how he knew that their outfits made them official people. He didn’t know where that information was coming from, but he was fairly sure that it was right. Probably.

...He should ask someone about that sooner or later. Of course, that’d only be once he got the chance, to talk to someone.

There'd been some other people who had shown up. Most had been seemingly curious civilians who had taken the opportunity to try and get a selfie with him. Not that it was really hard, as he was standing perfectly still, but he had still had to witness some people take hours trying to find the perfect shot to get as much of him in the frame as possible. Monkey Mech didn't really think that was necessary.

After all, why take a picture with him, when they should really be taking a picture of his creator?

Speaking of his creator, he had not actually seen him since the day of his creation. Him, Pigsy, Tang, Sandy, and Mei, (how did he know those names? He'd never truly met them. Was this leftover information from his creator?), had all left the scene shortly after the Demon Bull King's defeat, leaving Monkey Mech by himself.

All alone.

Standing still.

Which he had remained doing for the past three days.

...Okay, so maybe he was just the tiniest bit spiteful about that. Like, come on. He was starting to get restless!! He couldn't just stay like this forever! He wasn't some sort of inanimate statue, he needed to move!!

Of course, he supposed that he could just move at any time. Whenever he wanted to. But there was a reason why he hadn't.

Just one reason. (Definitely only the one. There wasn’t… anything else. Definitely).

And it was really quite simple.

The humans around him, including his own creator, did not believe him to be sentient.

He was quite certain about this. Considering the way people had been treating him when they walked up for selfies, and the way he had caught some of those official people muttering something along the lines of “what should we do with the tin can?” it was fairly obvious that the people thought he could not think for himself.

And it seemed like his creator likely subscribed to that theory as well, considering he hadn't shown up to check on him yet.

...Not that he could truly blame him for it. Monkey Mech supposed he hadn't given his creator any proof as to otherwise during their brief amount of time together. So it made sense that he simply would not know.

And, well. Monkey Mech... didn't want to frighten anyone. Or, at the very least, didn't want to go against their expectations. He didn't really know how the humans would react if they discovered the giant robot was, y'know, capable of thought and had free-will. It was probably better for everyone's sakes to pretend that that wasn't the case.

...And also he didn't want to have to explain the standing around for three days thing. In truth, complete and honest truth, initially he had frozen up because he didn't know what to do, how to interact with his creator and his friends, and then they had left before he could figure it out, and then other people came around, and, well.

Monkey Mech had an inkling that, for some reason, he'd probably get teased if it was revealed that he had stood around completely still for three days because he was shy.

(Despite not even knowing her, something about Mei gave off that kind of vibe to him).

(Once again, possibly leftover remnants from his creator? Monkey Mech wasn't sure).

Still though, it had taken everything in him not to turn around when he heard his creator's voice again.

“Okay team!” MK yelled, arriving at the edge of the crater, dropping a table he had been carrying onto the ground in front of him and spreading out a blue sheet of paper on top of it. “It's go time!”

The others congregated around him, and Monkey Mech felt curiosity overtake him. Exactly what was his creator doing back here, now?

Patiently, he waited until the whole group was seemingly occupied looking over MK's shoulder, at what he was drawing on the paper, and then, making sure there were no civilians or anyone else around that could possibly see, Monkey Mech slowly and carefully bent over to try and get a better look.

(...He supposed it didn't really matter if a civilian happened to see. After all, since his creator was here, they'd likely assume that MK was the one moving him around. There wasn't much danger in that.

No, it was MK and his friends that he had to be careful of).

He was glad they had chosen to stand in a place that was already covered by his shadow, as it meant none of them noticed his shadow shifting to cover them more.

It... seemed like MK was designing some kind of blueprint?

Pigsy mumbled something, to which MK laughed- but what they were saying was so quiet that, at his height, Monkey Mech couldn't hear them.

He leaned down a little closer.

Mei seemed to bristle, and Monkey Mech took the warning for what it was and quickly returned to his prior position before she could turn around.

Her piercing stare settled upon him, almost kind of frightening, and it was only through three days worth of practice that Monkey Mech didn't instinctively fidget.

After a few seconds of analysis, she slowly turned back around, looping an arm over MK's shoulder as she pointed at something on the blueprint.

If it was possible for Monkey Mech to breathe a sigh of relief, he would have.

After a few minutes, just for safety, he started to lean down again- moving a lot slower this time than before. He wasn't entirely sure as to what had notified Mei that he had moved, so he wanted to be extra careful.

Thankfully, it seemed that he went unnoticed this time, as he was able to lean much further down than before- able to get a better look at what his creator was designing.

It looked like... buildings?

Monkey Mech glanced up at the crater in front of him, and then back down at the blueprints.

Huh.

By his calculations, the buildings in the blueprints would fit inside of the crater perfectly.

...Why was his creator designing the official replacement buildings for this area? Shouldn't that be the job of some government designer, or something?

...Now that he thought about it, were government designers even a thing? He was sure that there were some people who had designing as a job, but he couldn't recall if there was a government position for it or not.

Well, there probably was. Maybe. There were government positions for restaurants after all! Why else would Pigsy have so much authority?

...Something about that didn't feel quite right, but as it was, Monkey Mech didn't have enough facts to be able to dispute it, so, he supposed he should just be better safe than sorry and consider it true.

That still didn't answer why MK was designing these buildings though.

Oh, Monkey Mech really wished he could just ask him. But they all looked so focused on what they were doing, he didn't want to disturb them, and he especially didn't want to make them angry.

(He didn't truly want to admit it, but Mei's stare had been outright terrifying. Despite being a giant robot, he had actually felt threatened. He was certain that he absolutely did not want to get on her bad side).

So, he really had no choice other than to sit there quietly observing.

He was just starting to become entranced in the way MK drew the swooping lines for his designs when Mei abruptly turned around again.

This time, Monkey Mech was not as fast as he should've been.

He returned to his prior position standing up, yes, but it was obvious that Mei had caught the movement this time around, if the way her jaw dropped was any indication.

The both of them stood perfectly still for a moment, Mei's jaw slowly closing as she seemingly processed what she had seen. Monkey Mech stared back down at her.

And then she was opening her mouth again, in the process of turning around to, most likely, inform the others, and Monkey Mech panicked.

Bending down slightly again, he waved his hands silently, pausing for a moment before making a shushing motion. Mei froze again, but-

Tang had seemed to notice Mei's actions, and turned around to see what she was looking at.

The next few minutes, despite Monkey Mech's panicked shushing movements, were a clean and simple chain reaction.

Tang, in his shock, took a step back, bumping into Sandy, who automatically turned to stabilize him, thus seeing Monkey Mech in motion. While the river demon did not react with shock, per say, he did seem surprised, and immediately nudged Pigsy, lightly, on the shoulder, prompting the pig demon to turn around as well.

Monkey Mech found himself being stared at by all four members of his creator's friends and family.

He could feel his joints start to lock up- causing his motions to slow down. If he was human, he was certain that he'd likely be sweating from anxiety right now.

None of them had said a single word.

MK still hadn't noticed. He was completely in his own little world, happily drawing on the blueprints, seemingly having no clue what was going on.

That, unfortunately for Monkey Mech, didn't last long.

Mei put a hand on MK's shoulder.

“Hm? What's up-” MK cut himself off with a strangled noise as Mei abruptly spun him around, outright picking him up off the ground in order to do so. He didn't let go of his pencil, still holding it in one hand like he was about to continue drawing. “What was that fo-”

Monkey Mech froze completely as his creator's eyes locked onto him, but it was far too late.

“Oh.” MK said, completely deadpan.

And then he opened his mouth and screamed.

Within instants, everyone was screaming. Monkey Mech, surprised by the sudden action, screamed too, and that just seemed to make the other's scream louder-

On a logical level, Monkey Mech knew exactly why they were screaming.

But, for a brief second, pure instinct took over, the want to protect that was literally written into his very being activating.

Not even thinking about it, he scooped the group up into his hands and ran.

It wasn't until he was sitting behind an abandoned building, glancing over the top of it (rather easily, as he was much taller than said building) for any sign of danger, that he realized what he had just done.

He turned his head back to look down at the group in his hands just in time for MK to summon the staff, seemingly moving to attack him-

Only to very clearly overbalance, as the staff grew larger and connected with Monkey Mech's head with even less force than if he had been lightly flicked on the forehead.

The staff automatically shrank back to more comfortably sit within MK's hands as everyone went completely still.

Monkey Mech blinked.

“...Was that really necessary?” He asked, and everyone quite promptly started freaking out once more.

“Holy shit, you can talk?!” The staff vanished into golden light as MK's hands moved to grasp at his hair in clear distress. “The mech can talk?!”

“Yes, I can talk.” Monkey Mech had to admit, he sounded a lot calmer than he actually was. Well, he supposed that would probably work in his favour.

“Why didn't you say anything before?” Mei asked- seemingly taking over the questioning as MK suddenly looked like he was having a crisis of world-ending proportions.

“You didn't ask me anything?” In truth, it was, well, as previously stated, because Monkey Mech hadn't known what to say, and was quite frankly too nervous to attempt it.

But he wasn't just going to tell them that.

“Why.” MK whispered, and it was only because he was holding them all so close to his face that Monkey Mech was able to hear him.

“Why what?”

“Why did you just stand there???” MK clarified, and Monkey Mech was so glad that he had not actually been built with the ability to form facial expressions, cause he was certain that if he had, the one he would be making now would've been very revealing.

“...The view was nice?” Oh, he should not have said anything. His voice had been steady beforehand, but now there was a certain tone to it that made even him able to tell that it sounded nervous.

There was a collective deadpan look, all of them clearly knowing that what he just said was very much not the truth, but there seemed to be a collective decision to not mention it yet (hopefully it would never be mentioned again, ever-), as MK suddenly removed his hands from his hair, a look of determination in his face.

“I need to go get Monkey King.” There was a bright golden flash, and then suddenly he was gone. Monkey Mech could just barely make out the visual of him struggling to pole vault with the staff in the distance, occasionally being thrown way up into the air.

...His creator should really have someone help him learn how to control that better before he goes off trying to vault across the ocean on his own, he was probably likely to fall in the water with the way he was doing it.

But, Monkey Mech realized, that was not the priority right now.

He glanced back down at his hands, where the remaining four stood staring up at him.

“Uhhh.” He didn't like how quiet they were being. What did people do when they were in this kind of situation? “...Hi? I'm... Monkey Mech?”

MK arrived at Flower Fruit Mountain with a bang- as he crashed into the beach.

Groaning, he pulled himself up out of the small impact crater he had left behind, shaking sand out of his hair and wringing ocean water out of his jacket.

(He hadn't exactly... perfected the art of vaulting across the ocean, yet. He had, unfortunately, lost his grip, and ended up taking a little dip on the way there).

Straightening himself out, he rushed up the stairs to the waterfall cave as quickly as he could.

“Monkey King!!” He yelled, as soon as he was past the waterfall entrance, “Are you in here?”

There was a loud crash, like something falling over, and MK winced.

“Just a second, kid!” There was a bright flash, and, as soon as MK had blinked, there Wukong was, standing in front of him. “What's up? Surely there can't be another world ending crisis already- besides, you could definitely handle it on your own!”

“That's not the issue.” MK sighed, opening his mouth-

“Oh, is this about me training you then? I thought I left a letter in your apartment telling you when we could start that-”

“Yes, yes! I read that- starting this weekend. Yes. I'm very excited for it actually! But this isn't about that.” MK said. Wukong opened his mouth as though he was about to speak again, and MK quickly reached out, slamming a hand over top of Wukong's mouth, preventing him from saying a word. “Could you just let me finish what I have to say?”

Wukong gave a nod, and MK slowly pulled his hand back.

“...What was I gonna-” With all of Wukong's distractions, MK had almost forgotten- “Oh, right- Monkey Mech is sentient!!!”

“Yeah, he is.” Wukong summoned his cloud, back flipping into it, laying down casually, like this fact wasn't a surprise to him. He even went as far as to pull out a bag of peach chips and start eating them before he noticed the incredulous look that MK was giving him. “...Did. Did you not know?”

“You knew?!?!” If anything, MK seemed more distressed than he had been before at this discovery.

“Uh, yeah? I could sense the life energy in him from the beginning, when you made him.” Wukong's tail swung back and forth with a nervousness that MK did not pick up on. “I thought you knew.”

“Well I didn't!! I only found out today!”

“...Uh, congrats on the kid, I guess?” The joke did not land, if the way MK collapsed down onto his knees was any indication. “Woah, hey-”

“Monkey King, I'm too young to be a father.” MK muttered, seemingly in despair. Wukong reluctantly got off of his cloud to hesitantly pat him on the shoulder.

“...You can be his brother, then?” Wukong tried, and, shockingly enough, this attempt seemed to almost kind of work.

“I've always kind of wanted a younger sibling…” MK trailed off, looking back up at Wukong. “But, Monkey King, this is a giant robot we're talking about. Like, giant!”

“So?”

“He can't even fit in the Noodle Shop!!”

“That's your biggest concern?!?!”

Monkey Mech being alive, surprisingly, was a concept that took very little adjustment to. People seemed to accept things as the new normal far too quickly in this city, in Monkey Mech's opinion. He thought there'd be more of an uproar than this.

Of course, that didn't mean that there hadn't been challenges. In just the one week since his sentience had been discovered, there had already been a group that had tried to run him out of the city.

'No Giant Robots Allowed!' Had seemed to be their catchphrase.

After one meeting with them, however, their leader had mumbled; “Well, I guess he seems rather polite”, and the issue had been dropped.

Of course, there still was the general concern about the overall destruction he might cause, even if it was accidental, which, Monkey Mech found that concern entirely fair. So, he did his utmost best to stay in one section of the city, mainly around the parts that had already been destroyed by the battle against the Demon Bull King, and, when venturing out, made sure to stick to the same paths- usually stepping into the footprints he had previously left behind, so as to not create more damage.

Really, the only reason he had for venturing out anyways was to go and visit his crea- (“MK, call me MK. Hearing myself be called your 'creator' just feels... wrong, for some reason.”)- no, MK, at the Noodle Shop. And, even then, most of the time the others just came around to visit him, instead, so he didn't really need to go anywhere.

(There had been, some kind of... vibe when he had first shown up outside the Noodle Shop. Pigsy had offered him some noodles, and Monkey Mech had allowed the tiny bowl to balance on his pinky finger for a good five minutes before something seemed to click in the other's mind.

”Can you even eat?“ Pigsy had asked.

”No, but I like to feel included!“ Monkey Mech had been genuinely happy at the time, but the energy coming from the others…

It had felt a little sad.

Monkey Mech didn't like it.

So he much preferred it when the others would come and visit him, instead).

He had never gone further than the Noodle Shop.

Which was why he hesitated when a commotion started up over at what he was pretty sure was the Weather Station.

He stood, in the middle of a street, ignoring the sound of traffic carefully moving around his feet as he stared down the road. He'd never gone down this way.

But... something was definitely happening down there. He couldn't just ignore it. What if MK was in trouble? They might need his help.

(Or, well, maybe not. He was pretty sure that they could handle themselves, most likely. But that didn't stop him from being worried).

A louder bang came from the Weather Station, and Monkey Mech made his choice.

Carefully, he started walking down the street to the Weather Station.

He kept his eyes on the road below him, paying close attention to make sure that he didn't accidentally step on top of a person- or their car.

(Someone who's car he'd stepped on had been a very vocal part of the 'No Giant Robots Allowed!' group. Monkey Mech would rather avoid going through that whole experience again if he could, thank you very much).

It wasn't until he was directly in front of the Weather Station that he realized that this building was actually slightly taller than him. Carefully, not wanting to knock himself off balance (falling down when he was surrounded by so many buildings was most definitely a worst case scenario), Monkey Mech stood up on his tippy toes in order to look inside.

MK wasn't there, but Mei, Tang, Pigsy, and Sandy were. They were all tied up, and seemed to be varying levels of mad about it. The Demon Bull King's son, Red Son, happened to also be there, sitting in the chair at the Weather Station's computer. All of them had their backs turned to him.

Well. This was a less than ideal situation.

Monkey Mech reached out, to attempt to gently tap on the glass to get the attention of one of his friends- and quietly ask them how he could help out.

Unfortunately, things did not turn out that way, as his 'gentle tap' completely shattered the window, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

“...Oops.” He quickly withdrew his hand. “I... didn't mean to do that.”

“What…” Red Son muttered, and then continued, much louder than before; “What the fuck is the mech doing here?”

“Hey!!” Mei yelled, looking outright feral, “Watch your fucking language around the mech!”

“...You guys say the f-word all the time though?” Monkey Mech's head tilted to the side in confusion. Red Son looked absolutely flabbergasted at the situation, and Tang turned to the side, seemingly to hide laughter.

“Holy shit, he censored it.” Mei said.

“Say 'fuck' Monkey Mech.” MK chimed in.

“Do it Monkey Mech, say fu-” Mei started to continue, but was interrupted.

“I don't have the time for this nonsense-” Red Son said, his head in his hands, before he paused, and slowly raised his head, blinking, as his eyes locked onto MK. “What the fuck- when did you get back here?!?”

“Oh, around the same time Monkey Mech absolutely destroyed the window.”

“I said I didn't mean to!!”

It had been a few days since what Mei had promptly dubbed the “MK Clone Revolution” incident- which was a rather uncreative name, but Tang's idea of “Duplicatnation” had been outvoted. In all honesty, MK had felt a little bad to have to get rid of all the clones, especially the more sentient ones, like Painter, Delivery, and Porty... they had almost given off a vibe rather similar to Monkey Mech, if he was being honest.

Even so, that hadn't stopped him from making a clone or two to help him out with a few things.

He just made sure that he didn't leave them around for too long! He even had Mei develop a little check in system to make sure that he hadn't left any clones unaccounted for.

“Clone Check!” Mei yelled, appearing out of nowhere behind him, and it was only due to the fact that MK had grown used to this behavior over the years that he didn't startle. “How many clones did you make today?”

“Mmm, three?” MK was fairly sure that sounded about right. It had been a pretty busy day- between his third training session with the Monkey King that morning and the intense rush hour that afternoon, he'd needed a bit of an extra hand (or, well, hands) with things.

“Okay, and, did you dismiss all of them?” Mei asked.

And MK... paused.

He... couldn't remember.

Had he dismissed the clones he made today?

Apparently his silence was answer enough, as Mei narrowed her eyes dangerously.

“MK...”

“I don't remember.” MK admitted, “But, y'know, I probably did, right?”

He winced as Mei gave him a Look.

“Alright, alright.” He said, before letting out a sigh. “I... probably didn't dismiss them.”

Mei sighed too.

“Guess we're going on a clone hunt.”

It was quickly discovered that there were far too many places within the city for a hair clone to hide. Over two hours had passed, and between him and Mei, neither of them had found a single clone. It was getting rather frustrating honestly- this was eating into MK's free time. Well, he supposed that was a valuable lesson to himself; don't leave a hair-clone active unless you want to waste hours in the city searching for it.

Eventually, their search led them to the outskirts of the construction area- where people were working to repair the damage MK, Monkey Mech, and Demon Bull King had inadvertently caused. (MK was just glad that his only punishment was to design the new buildings, not pay for them. The Demon Bull Family was the one charged with the financial aspect of it, thankfully). Monkey Mech usually hung around in this area- he said it was to stay away from buildings he could actually damage, and to help with the construction efforts, but MK was pretty sure it was actually because there were less people over here. He had a niggling suspicion that the giant robot was, for some reason, shy.

(This suspicion was only strengthened by how Monkey Mech still continued to avoid answering the question of why he had chosen to stand around perfectly still for three days. The longer they went without a proper answer, the more MK was certain that the mech was almost embarrassed about it, which, on some level, was kind of hilarious if you thought about it).

Sure enough, in their search, they eventually stumbled across Monkey Mech, who was sitting on the ground, seemingly doing nothing.

(...Weird. For some reason, MK could swear that the background soundtrack was oddly louder in this area...)

“Hey! Mecha-dude!” Mei called, catching the robot's attention. “Have you seen any rogue MK-clones running around?”

“First of all, it's Monkey Mech. Secondly... no. I haven't seen any MK other than the one beside you.” Monkey Mech said.

“Huh. Guess... they're not in this area.” Mei let out a groan, leaning on MK's shoulder to take weight off of her own feet. MK allowed her to do so without protest. “Ughhh, where could they be? We've been searching all over for them…”

“I don't know, Mei.” Was it MK's imagination, or was the soundtrack getting louder? “Maybe they... happened to 'poof' on their own? Hair-clones can't actually stand up to much stress, physically.”

No, yeah, the soundtrack was definitely getting louder.What was up with that?

“I think the hair-clones would know fully well what they can and cannot do without 'poofing', MK.”

“Ehh, I'm not so sure-”

Man, that was really loud. What was up with the-

Wait.

That wasn't the soundtrack.

MK turned on his heel to face Monkey Mech, not missing how the giant robot seemed to nervously startle at his action.

“And what is in your cockpit young man?!?!” MK shouted to be heard over the music, pointing at Monkey Mech in accusation. The music stuttered for a moment and then died out, Monkey Mech slouching slightly as the entrance to his chest opened-

Revealing Delivery, Painter, and Porty to be standing inside- slightly tangled with one another, as though they had been arguing.

They quickly straightened up when they saw that MK and Mei were staring at them though.

“Oh, uh. Hi, OG.” Porty avoided eye-contact, the other two clones following his lead and mimicking his actions. “How's it goin'?”

“Where have you three been?” MK asked, a note of exasperation leaking into his voice. “We've been searching for you three for hours.”

“Well, we've just... been here. Chillin' with big bro mech.” Porty said, lightly knocking his knuckles against the side of Monkey Mech. MK looked up at Monkey Mech expectantly.

Monkey Mech sighed.

“They're kinda like... well, they feel a bit like younger siblings to me.” He said, reaching a hand up for the three clones to jump onto, carefully and gently moving them back down to the ground. “They ended up wandering over here and wanted to hang out before you 'poofed' them away.”

“Well, you could've told us about it.” Mei huffed, “We went on a three hour long goose chase looking for them.”

Monkey Mech and the clones all hung their heads as though they'd been admonished, and MK let out a world weary sigh.

“Just... tell us about it next time, okay?” He said, pretending not to notice how both the clones and Monkey Mech brightened at the mention of a 'next time'. “I don't want to have to go searching all across the city again.”

The three clones saluted him, and Monkey Mech quickly copied their action.

...MK hoped he wouldn't regret this.

Monkey Mech didn't need to sleep. This, however, did not stop him from daydreaming.

Which, of course, is why he startled when his inner comms device suddenly rang.

“Hello, hello?” Mei's voice came through, “Testing, testing… Monkey Mech?”

“...Hi?” Monkey Mech said, slowly. He... didn't know his comms could do that, actually. Considering Mei had contacted him with them, he probably shouldn't tell her that, though.

“Oh good, it worked!” Mei said, “Anyways though, we've got a tiny bit of a situation.”

Well. That was never good.

“What's up?”

“Y'see, Tang and Pigsy have been kinda kidnapped.”

“...Kinda kidnapped?”

“Yeah, by some kind of spider-demon, apparently.”

A full body shiver suddenly made it's way through Monkey Mech's non-existent spine. He wasn't even sure he knew what a spider was, but just hearing the word was enough to convince him that he did not like it in the slightest.

Mei seemed to be completely unaware of this, thankfully, as she continued.

“She's down in the sewers, so we're starting a little rescue mission, but, well, MK is kinda scared of spiders, so we were wondering if you could lend an extra hand, somehow.” She said, and Monkey Mech could just barely make out the sound of MK saying something about spiders in the background- something about being tiny with lots of legs?

Yeah.

Monkey Mech did not like the sound of that. He wanted to help, that was what he was for, but…

...Mei had said that the spider-demon was 'down in the sewers'. Well, in that case…

“There isn't an entrance to the sewers that I can fit through.” Monkey Mech said, “And I don't exactly wanna destroy a city street just to get down there...you should probably save me as an absolute last resort.”

“Oh. Yeah, you're right. Y'know, sometimes, I forget just how big you are.” Mei said, and Monkey Mech did his best not to wince. “Sorry for bothering you! We'll contact you again if we need you to do some... demolition.”

Monkey Mech did not like the way she said that, but didn't get the chance to respond, as she hung up almost immediately afterwards. After a few seconds, he let out a sigh (he couldn't actually exhale air as a sigh, but something about making the sound of one did help to release some tension, somehow, so he kept doing it), feeling like he had just dodged a bullet-

“What are you up to, buddy?”

Monkey Mech jumped, cringing as the buildings around him briefly shook from the motion. Paying attention to his surroundings, out of the corner of his eye, he could just make out the Monkey King standing on his shoulder.

“N-not much.” Monkey Mech hadn't actually interacted with Wukong, outside of that one time the monkey had stood on top of him before turning into a bird and flying off. He had sensed the Monkey King's magic then, but other than that, he'd never had any contact with him, so... “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I'm just checking a few things out.” Wukong said, sitting down, swinging his legs back and forth. “Where's the kid and his friends?”

“...Tang and Pigsy got kidnapped by some kind of... spider-demon. In the sewers. So MK, Mei, and Sandy are gonna go save 'em.” Monkey Mech explained, Wukong nodding along with every word.

“Ahh, Spider Queen, huh? So she's hiding out in the sewers? Good to know.” Wukong said, “Well, since everyone else is gone…”

Before Monkey Mech could properly react, one of Wukong's feet swung back with much more force than before, whacking him, and causing the door on his chest to swing open on instinct. Within seconds, Wukong had swung down and flipped his way into the cockpit, the door automatically closing behind him.

“Wha- hold on! What are you doing?!” It took all of Monkey Mech's strength not to move as Wukong started pressing buttons and moving the controls. “Hey!”

“I've always wanted to try driving a mech.” Wukong said, pulling one control stick back. Monkey Mech couldn't stop himself from lifting one arm in response. “Ooh so that's how that one works-”

“Okay, just, wait a second!” Monkey Mech forcibly brought his arms down, shaking with the effort not to move as Wukong kept messing around. “Just- can we at least move somewhere where there aren't so many buildings first?”

“Huh, why?” Wukong asked, sounding genuinely confused, before realization seemed to finally hit him. “Ohhh, property damage. And mortals. Right. Okay, yeah sure. I know someplace where we can go.”

And that, was how Monkey Mech ended up following Sun Wukong's instructions to a nice, large, abandoned clearing a good 20 minutes outside the outskirts of town.

“Right, we shouldn't bother anybody out here.” Wukong said, “Now come on, I wanna test this whole thing out!”

Monkey Mech glanced around for a second, double checking to make sure that no-one else was around, before he let out another audible sigh, just to let the Monkey King know exactly what he thought about all this, and then let Sun Wukong take control.

(Later, after calculating the exact number of trees they had accidentally uprooted, as well as the damage done to the ground, both Wukong and Monkey Mech agreed that Wukong should not be allowed to take the controls unless it was in the case of an absolute emergency).

Monkey Mech didn't normally get summoned for any kind of problem. He was rather big, after all, and his fighting style caused a lot of destruction. It was, usually, a better option for him not to get involved.

He knew this. He knew MK and the others knew this.

Which was why he rushed to MK's location at top speed the instant he felt the calling magic from the staff activate.

He had sensed that something was wrong all day. Or, for the past week, really. There'd been something off with MK, definitely, for sure. Some kind of magic that hadn't been there before. MK had vaguely mentioned having a bonus teacher “giving him a few extra pointers” when he had asked, so Monkey Mech had mostly shrugged it off.

However, he had also noticed... something strange about the overall magic in the city.

Over the past two days, the magic levels in the city had spiked. By, a lot. And the temperature levels seemed to be dropping too, for some reason.

Monkey Mech could only assume that the Demon Bull Family were up to something again. Something of this scale seemed like their forte. However, with his size, he couldn't exactly pull off any kind of investigation, so he had to leave it be.

As he jumped down into a giant hole in the ground and caught MK and Mei within his cockpit, though, he kinda wished he hadn't.

He didn't pay much attention to what MK and Mei were saying, instead observing his surroundings, as well as making sure that they didn't fall any further down the hole. Man, there sure were a lot of Demon Bull...Clones? Bots? Now that he thought about it, Monkey Mech wasn't sure what they were called.

Next thing he knew though, MK was falling back down the hole again, and Mei was maneuvering him back up to the top.

“Woah, hey, wait-” Monkey Mech said, even as he let Mei move his arm to deflect an attack away from himself. “What's going on?”

“Don't worry big guy, just let me handle this.” Was the only response he got, as Mei promptly threw herself entirely into fighting the enemy. Very quickly deciding there was no point in trying to get any kind of answer from her- she did have a tendency to be rather impulsive, sometimes even more so than MK and Wukong after all, Monkey Mech allowed her to do as she wished. The only time she paused, was when she happened to mess up a step, causing Monkey Mech to fall over backwards.

“Agh- sorry!” She said, even as she quickly readjusted while Monkey Mech stood back up.

“It's fine- you're doing better than Monkey King did, anyways.” Monkey Mech lifted a leg, lightly shaking off the Bull Clones(??) that had gathered there, sending them sprawling across the ground.

“Monkey King? When did he- ah, you know what, you'll have to tell me about that later, okay?!” Mei's tone left no room for argument, and Monkey Mech knew he would be forced to tell the whole story to her one way or another- despite the fact that he had told Sun Wukong that he “would keep the whole thing a secret”.

Well... it is in the nature of secrets to not stay secret forever, he supposed.

There was a large crash that was, most definitely, not fireworks.

Monkey Mech stood up almost immediately. From the outskirts of the city, he couldn't exactly see what was going on in the city center, and that... well, that worried him. He had picked this spot because it was far enough out that he wouldn't be in the way of any of the celebrations, but would still be able to hear everything, as well as see the fireworks, but now he worried that maybe this was to his disadvantage.

For a few moments, he wondered if maybe he had just heard wrong, if perhaps a stall had gotten knocked over or something, and the sound had just echoed louder than it should have. Maybe someone's generator blew a fuse?

The screaming proved that theory wrong.

He quickly started towards the center of the city- not daring to run, not quite yet (besides, he could cross the general area much faster than most cars could just by walking), when he caught a glimpse of Wukong and MK out of the corner of his eye.

He turned a bit, to put them in his sights better, just in time to watch MK completely freak out.

MK looked terrified.

Confusion ran through him. What could possibly freak MK out so much that he would-

Monkey Mech glanced back in front of him, and immediately came to a direct halt, a kind of fear he didn't even know he was capable of sweeping through him.

The shape of this-this mech. The way it was moving- the- it's legs-

Based on the way MK had reacted, there was no doubt in Monkey Mech's mind that this- this was a spider.

He felt almost sick at the sight of it, terror almost locking him in place. The spider-mech moved forwards, knocking into a building, sending debris falling to the ground.

He could've sworn one of it's various 'eyes' swirled around to look at him.

For once, Monkey Mech was glad for the general confusion and chaos of the panicking citizens.

Cause it meant that nobody noticed when he turned around and ran away.

“Hey, uh, has anyone seen Monkey Mech?” MK asked. The colours in the sky from the explosion were steadily beginning to fade, and MK had realized- “I don't think I've seen him in a while... He would've definitely heard the commotion, right? He usually always comes when there's some kind of trouble.”

“...Now that you mention it, no, I don't think I did see him.” Pigsy said. “You'd think a giant robot would be, y'know, easier to spot.”

“I can see where he normally hangs around from up here.” Mei curved her hands in front of her eyes like binoculars as she focused in on the direction of the construction-zone as well as the outskirts. “I don't see him at all…”

“...Strange.” MK muttered, standing up from the ledge of the building. “Maybe we should go look for him. It'd be bad if he'd gotten hit by some weird kinda robotic spider-virus or something.”

“I... don't think that's possible-” Tang started, but MK ignored him, instead heading for the stairwell. He was far too tired from the day's events to try pole vaulting around the city.

Soon enough, everyone had piled into Pigsy's van, and were driving to the outskirts of the city.

About halfway there, Mei pointed something out.

“Are those... Monkey Mech's footprints?” She asked, and Pigsy brought the van to a stop as they all turned to look. Sure enough, there were giant footprints in the ground- ones that abruptly turned around and went back in the direction that they had come from. Mei tilted her head to the side. “I don't... think this is one roads he normally goes down... Plus, he usually makes sure to step in the prints he already left, so as to not leave much damage behind…”

The sense that something must be wrong settled over them like a suffocating blanket.

Pigsy turned the van around and took off, following the footprints.

It turned out, Monkey Mech could cross quite a distance when he wanted to. It was a full hour and half before they found him- they'd even needed to go off road, following the trail of crushed trees and flattened bushes until they reached a fairly large, fairly destroyed, clearing.

(MK had worried, for a brief moment, before he realized that none of the damage seemed truly recent. Good. At least 'giant robot gone rogue' wasn't on the menu for today. With everything that had happened already, MK wasn't sure he would've been able to handle that).

Monkey Mech was sitting in the center, his legs pulled up to his chest, his tail held within his hands.

Overall, he looked a bit like an upset child.

MK was out of the van before it had even come to a complete halt.

“Monkey Mech!!” He yelled, wincing as Monkey Mech seemed to actually startle- the resulting small jump the giant robot did enough for the ground to shake, sending MK temporarily off balance. Seems like Monkey Mech hadn't heard the van.

...That was weird. Normally he was more aware of his surroundings.

“...Monkey Mech?” MK said again, gentler this time. “Is... everything okay?”

“Uh-” Monkey Mech's voice crackled a little bit, slightly staticky as he let go of his tail- but it only swished once before he seemed to think better of it and grabbed hold of it again. “I- yeah. Everything's fine. How'd uh- how'd the fight against Spider Queen go?”

“It's over now, but-” MK started, but was cut off by Pigsy.

“If you knew the city was being attacked by Spider Queen, then why didn't you come to help?” He asked, and Monkey Mech visibly shrunk back, seemingly trying to make himself smaller- a completely impossible task. Pigsy let out a sigh. “We're not mad at ya. We just want to know.”

Monkey Mech let out an electronic noise that, if MK didn't know better, would've almost sounded like a whine.

...The giant robot's next sentence was so filled with static that it was impossible to tell what he had just said.

“...You wanna try running that by us again, big guy?” Mei joked, and MK harshly nudged her in the side.

Monkey Mech made another static-filled noise.

And then, after a minute of heavy silence, there was a staticky sounding sigh.

“I'm…” Monkey Mech's voice was still filled with static, but at the very least was now understandable. He sounded...almost nervous. “I'm... afraid of spiders.”

“Oh.” MK said, ignoring the various looks and noises of disbelief from the others as he stepped forwards, using the staff to help himself up to stand on top of one of Monkey Mech's hands to be closer to eye-level with him. “Uh. You uh, probably got that from me. Sorry. But, hey!! Spider Queen and the others are gone now, so there's nothing to worry about!!”

That statement, for some reason, seemed to do very little to assure Monkey Mech, as he let out another static filled noise. MK sat down and tried to give off the best comforting vibes he could, watching out of the corner of his eye as the others started pulling out blankets and some snacks. Seemed like they were all aware that they were probably going to be here for a long while.

It was an hour before Monkey Mech spoke again.

“...I'm sorry.” He mumbled. MK, who had been leaning to the side, starting to fall asleep, jumped, before straightening up. Once Monkey Mech knew MK was paying attention to him, he repeated himself; “I'm sorry for running away.”

“Oh, hey- it's okay buddy.” MK said, gently patting Monkey Mech's hand. “Like Pigsy said, none of us are upset with you. Heck, if I was you, I probably would've done the same thing if that was my first encounter with a spider. Nobody blames you.”

“But what if you had needed me?” Monkey Mech asked- “What if you had called for me, and I didn't come?”

“I'm sure I'd find another way out.” MK swung his legs back and forth, creating a steady rhythm. “I have my friends with me after all. And, even if that had happened, I still wouldn't have been upset with you. Concerned, maybe, but not upset.”

This didn't seem to reassure Monkey Mech as much as MK had hoped- but the distressed energy he had been picking up from the robot started to slowly recede, so at the very least it was somewhat working.

Monkey Mech didn't speak again- MK wasn't entirely sure if he even believed what MK was telling him, but he wasn't outright arguing with it, so MK figured that there wasn't much else that he could do except wait.

...In the end, he must have ended up falling asleep, because when he next opened his eyes, he was laying on the ground, on the blanket with the others. Sitting up, he could see that Monkey Mech had moved slightly- unfurling from his previous curled up position into one that looked much more relaxed than before.

The sun was rising.

MK stared at him for a few moments more before laying back down, rolling over to curl in closer to Pigsy and Mei, and fell back asleep.

Everyone in town was asleep. All because of some stupid app.

Obviously, MK had to go to the Cloud to fix this.

...But before that…

Well, he wanted to check in on Monkey Mech first. Everyone had simply fallen asleep after all, there wouldn't have been any screaming, Monkey Mech probably wouldn't even know that there was a crisis at hand. So, deciding to put his plans to, y'know, save everyone, on hold for a brief second, MK vaulted to the outskirts of the city.

It was rather easy to find Monkey Mech this time around- he was standing beside a nearly finished building, his tail slowly swinging from side to side a little bit- MK wondered if Monkey Mech had to physically hold back from letting his tail swish more.

Well, at least he didn't seem to be asleep. (Could Monkey Mech even sleep? Now that MK thought about it, he didn't think he had ever seen, or heard of, Monkey Mech sleeping. Huh. Maybe he should ask him about that. If he was capable of sleep, the fact that he hadn't was... kinda concerning).

Anyways, right now, Monkey Mech not being asleep was a good thing.

MK landed on the rooftop of the building beside him, waving to get his attention.

“Yo!! Monkey Mech!!” MK called, and Monkey Mech, thankfully, didn't startle, instead just turning to face him. “You doing okay?”

Monkey Mech gave him a thumbs up.

“...Alright, good.” Something about this seemed...a bit off, but MK wasn't entirely sure what specifically was wrong, yet. “Um. Are you aware of what's going on in the city?”

Another thumbs up.

“Oh, so you know that everyone's fallen asleep because of that video game?”

Yet again, a thumbs up.

...Oh. That's what was wrong.

“...Why aren't you talking?” MK asked, and the slight swaying of Monkey Mech's tail immediately froze. “Is something wrong-”

“I'm fi--ine.” Monkey Mech's voice seemed to almost glitch mid-way through the word, going staticky and skipping a little- like a broken CD player. “Nothin--ng's wro--ong.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah. Suuuure.” MK said, leaning against his staff with the most deadpan pose he could muster. “Really believable, Monkey Mech. Now, tell me. What's up with your voice?”

“My voi--ice? Nothing's u--up with my vo--oice.”

MK didn't bother responding to that, instead fixing Monkey Mech with the best 'Disappointed Pigsy' look he could muster. (He'd never quite been able to nail the expression, but there had been people who had told him it was rather effective anyways, so...).

Sure enough, it only took a minute or so before Monkey Mech caved.

“...I'm no--ot as unaff--fected by the vi--rus as I see-em.” He finally said, sounding slightly defeated. “Bu--ut I can't sle-eep, so...”

“So it's just... making you glitch out?” MK asked, and got a thumbs up in return. “Hm. Well. That's. Less than ideal.”

“You're tel--lling me...” Monkey Mech mumbled, crossing his arms. MK let out a sigh.

“Okay. Okay.” He said. “Alright. I gotta get to the Cloud. The only real issue seems to be your voice so... keep an eye out to make sure nothing else happens?”

Monkey Mech saluted him, and MK saluted back, and then spun his staff and slammed it into the ground.

“You named me after what.” Monkey Mech deadpanned, looking down at where MK and Mei were standing in front of an arcade game with a very familiar name. MK laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, well... it's what you're designed after, after all.” He said, “I didn't know you were going to be, like, sentient. Alive. I would've picked a more serious name for you then instead of just. Y'know, what you are. You're... fine with this name though, right? We can always change it if you want to.”

This...gave Monkey Mech pause.

Did he want a different name?

...Maybe if MK had asked him that at the start, he would have, but, now, quite frankly…

“Nah, I think I'm too used to this one.” He said, “I'm fine with it. I just, can't believe I never noticed that I shared a name with the video game you're always playing before, though.”

“I mean, you are rather big.” Mei said, “It makes sense you wouldn't be able to see the letters on the screen down here.”

That... was true. While he could read, oftentimes, Monkey Mech wasn't sure what most signs or written letters said- simply because they were too small for him to actually see.

However…

“Can I watch you two play?” He asked, carefully kneeling down. “This arcade screen...seems big enough. I'll probably be able to see it.”

“Oh, sure!” MK said, before muttering to himself, “I wonder if we could somehow make a controller and screen large enough so that you could play it too...”

...Yeah. Monkey Mech wondered that too.

Honestly, there were a lot of things that he frequently missed out on, just due to being too big. Going to movies, hanging out in the Noodle Shop, playing video games... yeah. There wasn't exactly much that he could do.

Sometimes he wished he was smaller.

As it was, he would have to settle for this, doing his best to focus in on the tiny screen in order to take in every single detail of the video game his creation had apparently been inspired by.

Mei woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of a large boom, immediately followed by shaking.

She got out of bed as fast as possible, grabbing her jacket but not bothering to change out of her pajamas as she raced to the door- a large crash and shaking in the middle of the night could only mean one thing.

There was some serious mystic monkey business going on.

Swinging a leg over her motorbike, she turned on the engine, switching her phone on and checking the most recent social media to find out where the attack was taking place.

Only to find… nothing?

Sure, there were some posts, mainly from her general area, about a large crash and shaking, some even asking if there had been an earthquake, but nobody was mentioning an actual incident.

...Huh. Maybe it really had just been a normal explosion, or earthquake-

That idea was promptly dismissed as there was another large boom, and the ground shook again. This time, Mei was awake enough to be able to somewhat pinpoint what direction the sound had originated from.

Pocketing her phone and revving her bike, Mei pulled out of the driveway and drove out of the city.

Over the next hour and a half, she thought she'd picked the wrong direction a few times- or that maybe whatever was going on was now over and dealt with. That thought was always overruled, as another large boom would ring out, followed by more shaking- sometimes closer together, and sometimes further apart.

It was when the booms started to get loud enough to the point she had to put headphones on that she noticed the giant footprints on the ground.

Hm. Well, that certainly painted a scenario, but she wasn't going to make any assumptions just yet.

But, as it turned out, her assumptions would've been right anyways, as she pulled into a very familiar clearing, turning off her bike and hopping off of it, staring up at Monkey Mech.

He hadn't seemed to have noticed her yet, too preoccupied with-

He moved suddenly, with enough force to make the ground shake- as well as knock Mei completely off balance, tumbling to the ground, her headphones slipping off her head. She remained on her back for a moment, briefly dazed, her ears ringing, only just managing to catch a glimpse of Monkey Mech starting up another movement out of the corner of her eye.

“Ah- wait!” She yelled out just in time, Monkey Mech freezing before his foot could make contact with the ground. “Monkey Mech!”

Slowly, Monkey Mech turned around, with a lot more carefulness and precision than he’d had in his previous motions. He carefully knelt down once he caught sight of her, the ground still shaking with his actions, but not nearly as bad.

“...Mei?” He asked, and she could just pick up the slightest bit of hesitance and nervousness in his voice. “What are you doing out here?”

“That's what I should be asking you!” Mei pushed herself off the ground, wiping dirt and grass stains off of her pajamas. “You woke me up, I'll have you know.”

“Woke you up- ah. The, uh, the noise?”

“And the shaking, yes. Nearly knocked my shelves off of the walls, the entire west side of the city thought there was an earthquake!” Mei said, stretching her arms above her head for a second, before letting them drop back down to her sides. “What are you doing all the way out here anyways?”

“Oh, uh, nothing much”” Monkey Mech said, and Mei raised an eyebrow. Monkey Mech looked away from her. “...I'm sorry. I thought I was far enough away that nobody in the city would be affected.”

“Maybe the other parts wouldn't, but the entire west side certainly was.”

Monkey Mech still wouldn't look at her. Mei slowly crossed her arms, analyzing him. Something was niggling on the back of her brain, but what-

The expression she made must have somehow given away the fact that she had figured it out, as Monkey Mech let out a groan, dropping his head into his hands, as Mei pointed a finger at him accusingly.

“You were copying the moves from the Monkey Mech video game, weren't you!!!” With the way she said it, it wasn't really a question, more so a triumphant realization. Monkey Mech made a noise filled with static, but didn't attempt to deny the accusation. Mei cackled, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “Oh, MK's going to love this!”

“...Must he know about it?” Monkey Mech asked, his head still covered by his hands. Mei's loud laughter was the only response he got, indicating that, no matter what, MK was definitely going to find out about this- and there was no point in trying to delay the inevitable.

Monkey Mech found MK sitting on top of an abandoned building, cross-legged, his staff sitting on his lap. He didn't seem to be doing anything, simply staring off into the distance, in the direction of the ocean.

He only tilted his head to the side slightly in acknowledgement when Monkey Mech came to a stop beside the building. There was silence for a few moments- Monkey Mech couldn't help but think something about MK just felt off today, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what.

But, after a bit of pondering it, he decided to brush that issue to the side.

He had a more important question after all.

“Soooo.” He started, drawing MK's full attention to him. “I heard you managed to shrink your staff?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, yeah- I can make myself go all tiny too, if I want.” For some reason, MK didn't sound as excited by that fact as he should have been, but Monkey Mech didn't think too much about it.

“Well, in that case…” Monkey Mech looked side to side, confirming that no-one else was around, before leaning closer towards MK. “Could you... make me smaller?”

“What?”

“Y'know, smaller! Like, person-size, preferably?” Monkey Mech couldn't keep the hope out of his voice. MK gave a sigh.

“I... I don't know.” He said, “Maybe I could, but... I don't want to try it. Risk it.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I made you, right?” The staff vanished into golden light as MK slowly stood up, turning to be able to face Monkey Mech fully. “You're created from like, my energy, or whatever. I just, I don't know if trying to make you smaller would like... mess with that. I don't want to risk losing you.”

Oh. That... was reasonable, Monkey Mech supposed.

He didn't exactly want to be 'lost' either.

“Besides…” MK muttered, under his breath, too low for Monkey Mech to hear. “We're going to need as many heavy-hitters as we can get.”

Something was wrong.

MK and the others had headed out to the desert to train today. Monkey Mech had considered following them, but had been explicitly told by MK to stay in the city, and keep an eye out for trouble. He was under no circumstances allowed to slack off today, apparently.

Monkey Mech had picked up on the fact that it seemed like MK had been more anxious lately. And it was starting to look like he'd had good reason to be.

The magic levels in the city spiked again- to numbers that went even higher than the last battle against the Demon Bull Family. Monkey Mech's sensors pinged as the temperature steadily started to drop.

But, weirdly enough, it didn't seem like the source of the magic spike was in the city.

Monkey Mech was in the middle of trying to place where exactly the magic source was coming from, when a bright flash of blue light shone from the corner of his eye.

The desert.

MK.

Monkey Mech didn't even think twice before abandoning his post, turning and starting to run in the direction he now knew the hauntingly cold magic spike to be coming from.

A pang rang through his chest, causing him to almost stumble. It felt like something had grabbed hold of the energy contained within him and squeezed it.

Something was happening to MK.

Monkey Mech started to move faster.

Even so, with the pangs in his chest resonating throughout him, he knew he wasn't going to make it to the desert in time.

Which was why he gladly accepted the staff's call, allowing it's magic to encircle him, teleporting him directly to MK's location.

He had only just registered MK's presence in his chest, safe but drained, as well as the small figure in front of him-

There was a brighter, bluer flash.

Something grabbed hold of him, and cold ripped through Monkey Mech's sensors faster than he could process.

Alarm notifications flared in his vision as connection to his left arm was severed.

He could hear MK's voice, faintly, but he couldn't make out what he was saying over the ringing- and the whispers.

“M....K....” His voice was staticky, barely understandable, as he struggled to move, to get up, to protect.

Something cracked.

Darkness.

MK slipped out of Wukong's grip and slammed onto the deck of Sandy's air-ship, skidding slightly before coming to a complete stop. He groaned- it felt like every muscle, every bone in his body was aching.

Slowly, he started pushing himself up, glancing over at where his mentor was starting to do the same.

His breath caught.

“The- she-” He choked, coughing, Monkey King turning and looking at him with obvious concern. “Monkey Mech- we have to, we have to help-”

He pulled himself to his feet, only to freeze at the sight of Wukong's expression.

That... that was not the expression of someone who believed there was still someone to help.

That there was still someone to save.

MK stumbled backwards, collapsing into Pigsy's arms.

Monkey Mech was gone.

It was almost like... dreaming.

Except Monkey Mech was not supposed to be able to dream, and, instead of a dream, if he had to compare it to anything, he'd say it was more like a nightmare.

He hadn't been expecting to come to awareness again at all, really.

And especially not like this.

It was a bit of an overly polite way of describing it, honestly. He wasn't entirely sure if he could call what this was 'awareness'.

It was still dark. He could sense things moving around him, sure, and he thought that maybe he was moving too, but he wasn't in control of it.

It was cold.

He felt like he was rotting from the inside out.

MK stared up, gaping, at the armored monster Macaque had created.

Those... those were Monkey Mech's parts.

A ringing flooded MK's ears as a bone-chilling anger crashed over him.

The Lady Bone Demon was gone.

MK guided the mech over to a nearby cliff, moving the hand up in front of the entrance to the cockpit, letting the door open, the other's silently stepping out onto the hand, which MK lowered to the ground, allowing the others to hop off before he jumped out of the pilot seat himself. Landing on the ground, in a crouched position, kicking up a fair amount of dust, MK slowly stood up and turned around, facing the mech behind him.

Since summoning him onto the field, Monkey Mech hadn't said a single word.

Not a single thing.

With MK no longer in the pilot seat, the mech simply stood there. Still.

Not a single sign of movement.

“Is... is he…” Mei trailed off, not wanting to voice what they were all thinking.

Monkey Mech was back, in body yes, but in spirit?

MK wasn't sure.

There was a flash of golden light out of the corner of his eye, and MK turned his head just in time to see Wukong change out of his bird form to land on the ground, Macaque stepping out of the shadows behind him. Wukong wasted no time in tearing off the armor he'd been wearing, tossing it off to the side as though it had personally offended him.

He was in the middle of making quick work of tearing off his outer shirt when he noticed the looks on all the others' faces.

“...Why do you all look so sad?” He asked, before seemingly finally noticing how still Monkey Mech was being. “...Oh. Hm. Weird.”

“Monkey King... is Monkey Mech-”

“He's... there, yes. Just not... awake, I guess? His energy is definitely there, but it's not at the forefront.” Wukong said, tilting his head to the side, golden eyes flashing. “Maybe if you give him a lil smack on the side?”

“Monkey King.”

“What, it works for laundry machines!” Wukong tried to defend himself from Mei's glare, raising his hands innocently. Her glare only hardened to pure steel.

“Monkey Mech is not a laundry machine, Mr.King. We are not going to sma-”

She was cut off as a loud clang resonated through the air. As one, the group turned to see Nezha, who was slowly pulling the flat end of his spear away from Monkey Mech, analyzing him.

There was a brief pause-

And then suddenly Monkey Mech was reeling back, stumbling, almost like a delayed reaction. One hand went up to the spot where he'd been hit, protecting it from a second attack.

“Ow.” Monkey Mech's voice hissed, filled with static, “What was that for- Oh. Hi guys. ...Did we win?”

“Holy shit.” Wukong muttered, the only words spoken as the others simply stared up at Monkey Mech in frozen shock. “I did not think that would work.”

It was a few hours after Nezha and Macaque had both left, Macaque saying he was going off to do some scheming, and Nezha simply saying that he need to return to the Celestial Realm, when Wukong brought it up.

“Y'know,” Wukong started, pausing mid-way through his fourth bowl of noodles that night, “I've been wondering this for a bit but. Why doesn't Monkey Mech just join us down here?”

“...What do you mean?” MK asked, from his position of sitting on Monkey Mech's shoulder. “He's right here.”

“Well, yeah, but like, he could be down here, is what I mean.”

“...I'm afraid I don't follow.” Tang said, “Once again, what do you mean by 'down here'?”

“Ugh, y'know!! Down here!! With us!! Eating!!”

“...I don't know if anyone told you, Monkey King, but I'm a robot.” Monkey Mech gently lifted a hand so that MK could jump onto it, carefully bringing him down so that he could be closer to the conversation taking place around the campfire. “I can't eat.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know you're a robot.” Wukong waved a hand dismissively. “My point is, you don't have to be a robot right now.”

Silence.

“...Monkey King.” MK said, slowly, and Wukong finally seemed to realize that maybe, just maybe, he was privy to some information that the others weren't, if the way he suddenly started to shrink under their collective stares was any indication. “Are you telling me. That there's been a way to make Monkey Mech human this whole time?”

“Uh…” Wukong shrunk down more, looking nervous as the others didn't take their eyes off of him for even one second. “...Kinda.”

“What do you mean, kinda?” Pigsy asked, “Either there is, or there isn't. Hurry it up and spit it out.”

“Okay, okay, fine so like, he would not necessarily be human, I guess?” Wukong scratched at the side of his face, seemingly thinking about it more intently. “It'd be more like... a hologram? Except he'd be able to interact with solid matter. He could form a new body outside of the mech, and just, transfer his energy into it. Of course- me or MK would have to help him make it the first time, and it doesn't really need to be a human form... but it's possible.”

A much longer silence. Wukong's tail started to swing back and forth nervously.

“Did, did you guys not kn-” He started, but was interrupted by Monkey Mech's voice.

“I could've been going inside the Noodle Shop this whole time?!?!”

“That's what you're the most concerned about?!”

The rest of the night ended up being entirely and completely dedicated to designing Monkey Mech's mortal form. Wukong had said something about how Monkey Mech “needed to feel like himself in it” in order for it to work- so MK had rushed inside of the van to grab his sketchbook and pencils, and had quickly gotten to work, creating multiple designs with Monkey Mech's input.

Realistically, it should've been a relatively short process.

That is, if Monkey Mech would just pick one design.

“...No, it's not right.” Monkey Mech said, for what had to be the 23rd time that night, and MK let out a groan. The others had all mostly accidentally dozed off, leaving only MK and Monkey Mech awake. (Or, at least, MK assumed so. Wukong was curled up on top of his cloud, but for all MK knew, the Monkey King could very well just be pretending to sleep. MK kind of wanted to pull a little test, just to check, but considering Wukong had probably had little sleep these past few days in general, he didn't want to risk accidentally waking him up if he was, in fact, asleep). MK shoved the paper he'd been working on to the side, grabbing another one, and waiting for Monkey Mech's next drawing instruction.

“Um... I, uh…” Monkey Mech trailed off into silence. MK turned to look at him, but his face was just as blank and unreadable as always. His body language, however, read as… nervous. Unconfident. MK stared at him for a minute, then back down at the papers covered in various designs all around him, and then back up at Monkey Mech.

“...You do know that it doesn't need to be perfect, right?” He asked, receiving no response. “Nobody's perfect, after all. It just needs to be you.”

Monkey Mech slowly gave a nod. After a longer moment of silence, he quietly gave a new request, and MK turned back around to focus on drawing.

By the time morning came, the sun rising over the horizon, Monkey Mech had made his choice.

“Alright.” MK said, clapping his hands together as the others sat on the nearby logs they had set up for the campfire the night before. “Let's get this show on the road!”

“Uh, kid, did you even sleep at all?” Pigsy asked. MK ignored him.

“Monkey King!” He said instead, “You uh, got any advice on how to do this?”

“Eh, just concentrate your magic in one spot while focusing on the visual in your mind.” Wukong shrugged. He raised an eyebrow upon noticing the deadpan stares he got in response for his simple answer. “...What? The kid's pretty instinctive, it'll work out. Besides, if it's not working, I'll step in, don't worry.”

He then proceeded to yawn and roll over, seemingly going back to sleep, which was, y'know not reassuring in the slightest.

MK turned to look up at Monkey Mech, trying not to let his anxiousness show.

“You ready for this big guy?”

Monkey Mech gave a simple thumbs up. MK suspected that he wasn't speaking so that the nervousness in his own voice wouldn't show.

“Right. Okay.” MK took a deep breath, muttering to himself. “You got this. You can do this. Simple. Easy. Just picture it in your head…”

MK closed his eyes, holding his hands out in front of him, doing his best to hold the mental image of the design he and Monkey Mech had chosen within his mind.

Red fur... golden eyes... hair pulled back, with just a tiny bit of it remaining loose to frame his face... that stupid jacket that Monkey Mech seemed to enjoy for some reason that MK didn't have the heart to refuse adding to the design…

A few minutes passed with seemingly nothing, and Monkey Mech was about to speak up to tell MK to maybe take a break from this whole thing, that he could wait until later, when-

A spark.

A flash.

A bright ball of light appeared in between MK's outstretched hands, flickering, before slowly growing and morphing. The others watched in raptured silence- even Wukong sitting up (proving that he had not, in fact, gone back to sleep), as they watched the light slowly morph into a more humanoid form.

Another bright flash, one that had everyone covering their eyes-

And then there was a body, standing on the ground, frozen still, eyes closed, almost as though they were asleep.

“Yes!! I did it!!” MK cheered, before pausing. After a moment, he turned his head to the side to look at Wukong. “Uh... Monkey King, what do we do next?”

“What do you mean?” Wukong asked.

“He means, uh.” Monkey Mech said, leaning down to get a closer look at the body meant for him. “How do we get me into the body?”

“Oh. That…” Wukong said, trailing off. Mei, sensing mischief, pinched his arm. “Ow, hey!”

“You better not have been about to say something along the lines of 'smacking him like a laundry machine' again.” She hissed, and Wukong leaned away from her.

“Please, of course I wasn't!” From the expressions of everyone around him, nobody actually believed that statement. Wukong coughed awkwardly. “Ahem. Uh, anyways it... should come naturally, really. Just, you can feel the energy inside you, right?”

“Yes…” Monkey Mech said, slowly.

“Right. So, just, mentally imagine that, condense it into one spot, and then... just imagine it leaving you and going into the body I guess?”

“You guess?” Pigsy crossed his arms, “What do you mean you guess?”

“Well I've never done this before!”

“What do you mean you've never- how do you know this will even wor-”

“Oh. Hey. It worked.”

Everyone turned to see that the light in the giant robot's eyes had faded, and-

The smaller, monkey demon form on the ground was now moving.

Monkey Mech had barely taken a step before he was stumbling, not used to his new size. MK quickly moved forwards to catch him. Monkey Mech's hands clung onto MK's jacket, shaking for a moment, his tail swinging as he looked up to meet MK's eyes.

“...Hi, MK.” He smiled at him. MK smiled back.

“Hi, Monkey Mech.”

That seemed to be all the permission the other's needed to tackle the two of them, sending them both tumbling to the ground, trapped under the rest of the group.

“Agh- hey!” MK struggled, trying to squirm his way out. “Not fair!! I wasn't ready for this one!! Let me go!”

“No can do, kid.” Pigsy said, “Y'see, Tang's done the numbers, and we're pretty sure you have not slept in the past three days, at least.”

“And, well, Mr. Monkey Mech has never slept at all…” Sandy said, “So…”

“Yeah. We're not letting either of you up until you both fall asleep.” Mei finished.

MK huffed, pouting, but not directly protesting the treatment. Monkey Mech, for his part, looked shocked-

And then he burst out into loud laughter, some tears running down his face, startling everyone.

“Uh, guys?” Tang said, “I think we broke the mech.”

Monkey Mech swung his legs back and forth. Getting used to being able to transfer himself into such a small form was... definitely a weird adjustment. He was grateful for it, most definitely he was, he finally got the chance to play arcade games with MK, Mei, and Red Son, as well as go in a car, and into the mall, and the movie theatre, as well as the Noodle Shop-

(Monkey Mech looked at the area around him with wide eyes, half supported by MK and Mei as they led him in. He still wasn't quite used to walking around in such a small body yet.

“Y'know…” Monkey Mech said, “...The inside of the Noodle Shop is much smaller than I thought it'd be.”

“I don't know if I should be taking that as an insult or a compliment.” Pigsy sighed, walking past them. “It better have been a compliment.”

“Oh- uh, trust me, it was!”

“You don't sound very confident in that statement.”

“C'mon- it was definitely a compliment- MK back me up here!”

“Sorry dude, you're on your own.”).

So yeah, overall, it'd been great.

Didn't mean that sitting on his own shoulder didn't feel really weird though.

Monkey Mech swung his legs back and forth again as he thought, staring out at the half-constructed buildings around him. He'd been leaving his real robot body here for now, but he'd probably have to move it soon. Construction was shockingly fast within this city, sooner or later people would start to move back into this area... he'd probably have to move himself to the outskirts then.

Now that he thought about it, that clearing that Wukong had shown him would probably work just fine…

Lost in his own thoughts, he almost missed the shadow portal forming directly beside him.

The keyword being almost.

Monkey Mech did a double take, whipping his head around just as Macaque stepped out to stand beside him, giving him a little wave.

“Yo, Monkey Mech!” He said, “Uh, congrats on the new form. Heh. Um, I just came around cause uh. I wanted to... say sorry for, uh, stealing and using your corpse. From one resurrected guy to another, that was, uncool of me.”

...Was that meant to be a pun? Monkey Mech had some vague memories involving Macaque and feeling like pure ice was tearing through his non-existent skin.

Hm. Now that Monkey Mech thought about it, pretty much all of his memories associated with the time Macaque had been using his parts had felt... wrong.

Hm.

Macaque seemed to be growing nervous at Monkey Mech's lack of a response, the anxiety in his expression slowly growing more obvious as Monkey Mech slowly stood up.

“...So, yeah, that was all I wanted to say, so, I'll just be going now-” Macaque went still as Monkey Mech vanished in a flash of golden light, returning himself to his robotic body. Before Macaque could recover from the shock, Monkey Mech raised one hand, carefully grabbing Macaque by his scarf. Macaque immediately struggled, trying to kick and scratch at Monkey Mech's fingers to no avail. “Woah- hey-”

Macaque let out a strangled noise as Monkey Mech unceremoniously tossed him into his cockpit, shutting the door behind him.

“Hey!” Macaque shouted, and, having landed in the pilot seat upside down, quickly readjusted himself to be sitting up. “What are you-”

“During your time using me, you felt a little... off.” Monkey Mech crossed his arms over his chest, preventing Macaque from being able to kick the door open. “So, I'm running a diagnostic on you.”

“What? You can't just- you know what, I don't have the time for this.” Macaque huffed, a shadow portal forming under his feet, the monkey demon dropping down into it-

Only to be spat out back into the cockpit.

“...Huh?” Macaque didn't even waste a single second before trying again. “I- what? What is this, how are you doing this?”

“A robot never reveals his secrets!” Nevermind that Monkey Mech was horrible at keeping secrets, or that-

“You have no idea how you did it either, do you.”

“Not a clue!”

A small pop-up appeared in Monkey Mech's vision.

Macaque was suddenly and abruptly tossed out of the cockpit.

Macaque swore, loudly, and Monkey Mech saved rolling his eyes until after he'd reformed his monkey body, and leapt forwards to snag Macaque out of the air, landing on the rooftop on a nearby almost-finished building. He set Macaque down on the solid ground, dusting off the shadow monkey's shoulders, ignoring the angry and indignant muttering that seemed to be comparing him to a dangerously faulty Easy Bake Oven.

...Not that Monkey Mech even knew what that was.

“Diagnostic's done!” He said instead, clapping his hands while smiling innocently. “And- hm.”

“Hm?”

“Well, you're functioning.”

“Yeah, obviously, I wouldn't be here if I wasn't.” Macaque rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and turning away from him.

“I do think you should probably go to a doctor, though.” Monkey Mech added, watching with thinly veiled concern as Macaque let out an irritated sigh.

“Oh yeah?” He asked, “And why's that?”

“...Well, it's not exactly normal for people to not have heartbeats, is it?”

Macaque made a sound that was almost akin to a kicked puppy, and suddenly Monkey Mech almost wished he hadn't said anything, as the other vanished into a shadow portal within the blink of an eye. Monkey Mech stood there, for a while, waiting to see if the other would come back, to learn what else the diagnostic had picked up.

...He didn't come back.

Monkey Mech sighed, and shelved the concern over the shadow monkey's only slightly healed broken ribs and damaged six ears for a later date.

“Monkey Mech!” MK's voice called, and Monkey Mech risked glancing up from his precariously stacked stack of delivery boxes in his arms to see MK standing on the top of a nearby building. “Is it cool if I use some of your parts for a bit?”

Monkey Mech shifted slightly to account for the stack changing weight.

“Uh, who is it today?” He asked.

“Jin and Yin!”

“Oh, sure! It's fine!”

MK gave him a thumbs up, and then summoned the staff, leaping to another building. They had discovered, a while ago, that while Monkey Mech was in his monkey demon form, any damage taken to his robot self would not hurt him in any way- so long as it was put back together properly before he returned to it.

That knowledge would have certainly been helpful in escaping a few situations if they had known it much earlier.

Monkey Mech returned to his goal of delivering the take-out boxes in his arms, and sure enough, a few minutes later, he could faintly feel the tug of magic suggesting that some of his robotic parts were being pulled to MK. Another couple of minutes later, there was a large crash in the distance, and Monkey Mech struggled not to fumble the last delivery box in his arms- only barely managing to keep it from slipping out of his grasp and tumbling to the pavement as the ground shook.

Geez. He couldn't believe anyone had been able to handle living with him around for a year if this is what it had been like whenever he had taken a step slightly too hard.

Final box delivered- Monkey Mech turned around to walk back to the Noodle Shop.

Upon return, it seemed like he had just missed MK, the faint hint of his energy vanishing around a corner, leaving Mei and Pigsy behind.

“Hey guys!” Monkey Mech gave them both a wave, catching their attention. “I'm done with deliveries, Pigsy.”

Pigsy let out a worn sigh.

“Thanks, Monkey Mech.” He said, “At least one kid is actually doing their job around here…”

Monkey Mech sat cross-legged on the stone floor, Delivery, Painter, and Porty beside him.

All four of them were focused solely on the Azure Lion sitting across from them.

MK had summoned them to Flower Fruit Mountain- or, well, he'd summoned Monkey Mech, literally teleporting him there (he'd been in the middle of cat-napping on a roof, now that he could, in fact, nap). The other three had simply been poofed into existence already at the scene.

They'd been instructed to “keep an eye” on Azure Lion. He was, essentially, a complete stranger that they were choosing to tentatively trust, after all.

Besides, it wasn't like Monkey Mech could go into the scroll in giant robot form, not to mention that going in while in his monkey demon form, which he was only just getting used to, would be a bad idea, and MK obviously knew that he would worry if he didn't have some kind of task.

...The clones were probably just there so that he had some familiar people with him.

That being said, none of them had said a single word for the past four hours, which was rather impressive restraint on the part of the hair-clones.

A restlessness started to form in Monkey Mech's chest, but he ignored it, figuring it was just coming from being stuck sitting around doing nothing but stare at a complete stranger for so long.

Seriously, couldn't the guy come up with some kind of polite conversation to talk about? Heck, Monkey Mech would even take talking about the weather at this point! The weather!!

The restlessness kicked up a notch.

And then suddenly it was a pang, an all too familiar one.

Monkey Mech gasped, doubling over, clutching at his chest. The hair-clones had a similar reaction-

They poofed out of existence at the next pang.

“Something- something's happening to MK.” Monkey Mech struggled to get out, unable to get rid of the sensation of pain and panic. “I- you gotta let me in there, I have to help him-”

“Sorry, but.” Azure slowly stood up, a new, menacing aura surrounding him. “I'm afraid I can't allow that.”

And then he snapped, and Monkey Mech could feel the magic encircling him- the parts of his body fading away-

He jolted back into awareness in his robot form, exactly where he had left it, sitting on the outskirts of town. He remained completely frozen for a second, processing, before;

“Oh, I knew we couldn't trust that motherf-”

Monkey Mech watched silently as Wukong began the slow process of collecting all his robotic parts from the places Azure had carelessly thrown them to. Now more than ever, he was glad that he could transfer himself into another form so easily.

It still didn't make seeing his real form torn up into multiple pieces any less... disturbing.

He tried his best to ignore it, instead looking over to where MK was trying to lift some knocked over trees back into place. Wukong had said that Flower Fruit Mountain was fairly sturdy, and had a habit to bounce back from, well, a lot. (He hadn't elaborated upon what that meant, but Monkey Mech had the feeling that Flower Fruit Mountain had seen catastrophe before). So, MK had taken it upon himself to make as much of the process easier for the mountain's magic as he could.

...The both of them had also been quite promptly kicked out of the efforts to rebuild Wukong's house after Wukong had accidentally broken a board in half, and MK had started to get a little too into painting the walls.

Monkey Mech, really, had been sent out to keep an eye on the both of them, to make sure that they didn't end up getting into some kind of mystic-monkey trouble.

(Technically, didn't he also count as a mystic monkey now? Did that mean he could also get into mystic monkey trouble? ...Monkey Mech wasn't quite sure about the logistics of it, or how one defined 'mystic monkey trouble' in the first place. It was probably better to not think about it).

As it was, everything seemed fine…

Monkey Mech let out a sigh, slouching a little as he watched Wukong move to grab the next piece, and MK reach for the next tree.

He wished he could be on the beach right now…

Monkey Mech stared at the water far below him in trepidation.

“C'mon Monkey Mech!” MK called out, waving his arm from said water. “Join us!!”

Monkey Mech continued to stare down at the water.

He was standing on his own shoulder again. MK had practically tackled him full force earlier that morning, telling him about a much needed beach day, to take a break from the efforts to repair Flower Fruit Mountain, to just enjoy some sun, and had practically outright demanded that Monkey Mech bring his robot form with him, not just his monkey-self.

Monkey Mech had been, understandably, confused at the time.

He hadn't expected that MK would have used his robot body as a makeshift giant diving board plus water slide.

(Or, well, more so just slide, with the water only being at the end. They didn't have a hose long enough to be able to reach Monkey Mech's shoulder- so they couldn't run water down the arm that was currently extended slightly at an angle).

There was a green flash, and suddenly Mei was standing beside him, her head tilted to the side.

“What's wrong?” She asked, and Monkey Mech tried his best for an easy-going smile.

Considering how he had quickly discovered that faking expressions was a lot harder than he thought it would be, he was pretty sure he did not succeed.

“It's nothing!” He said, “I'm fine.”

“...Uh-huh, sure.” Mei was clearly unimpressed. “You've been standing up here for the past 15 minutes. Are you going to jump in or not?”

“Well, uh-” Monkey Mech stuttered for a second, before shrinking down into himself, avoiding eye contact as he said, quietly. “I don't know how to swim.”

“What do you mean you don't-”

“I was a giant robot, remember!! Of course I don't know how to swim.” Monkey Mech's tail swished back and forth with anxiety. “What if I just sink?”

“Hm... I guess that's a valid point.” Mei mumbled, before reaching out and grabbing hold of Monkey Mech's arm. “Let's get you down from here, then.”

Before Monkey Mech even had the chance to blink, Mei had scooped him up on one shoulder, and rushed him back down to the beach, her dragon speed ensuring that they barely even touched the water.

Monkey Mech stumbled slightly when she put him down on the sand, but very quickly regained his balance.

“Mei? Monkey Mech?” MK asked, walking out of the water to join them. “What's up?”

“Mecha-dude over here doesn't know how to swim.” Mei said, pointing her thumb at Monkey Mech as she did so. Monkey Mech let out an irritated huff, mumbling “it's Monkey Mech, you've known this for a while now-” under his breath, and being rather obviously ignored.

“Oh! Well, not to worry!!” MK wrapped his arm around Monkey Mech's shoulders. “I can teach you!”

“...Uh-huh.” Monkey Mech said, slowly. “I have so much confidence in being taught how to swim by the person wearing floaties.”

“We should've never let Red Son teach you what sarcasm was.” MK deadpanned, before swapping back to his easy-going smile effortlessly. “And I can swim!! I just sink easily, is all.”

That statement was not as reassuring as MK clearly thought it was, but Monkey Mech didn't even have the chance to voice that thought, as he was grabbed by both arms and dragged into the ocean.

“Hey, Monkey Mech?”

...Monkey Mech did not like the look on MK's face.

“...What is it?” He asked, hoping his nervousness didn't show- but it must've, as the teasing smirk on MK's face grew slightly wider.

“So... I realized I never actually got the chance to ask you this before, in between getting you adjusted to your new body and, like, everything that happened afterwards…”

Oh, Monkey Mech did not like where this was going, slowly starting to stand up, but was prevented from doing so as MK put his hands on his shoulders and shoved him back down into his seat.

“And, well, you can actually show expressions now, so y'know, I was wondering…” MK continued, “...Why?”

Well... Monkey Mech could pretend to play dumb for a few moments longer, couldn't he?

“Why what?” He asked, already knowing there was an absurdly flustered expression on his face, one that drew the attention of the others, as well as made the teasing smirk on MK's face somehow more menacing.

“Why did you stand around for three days?” MK asked, and Monkey Mech opened his mouth- “No lying this time, young man.”

Monkey Mech let his mouth close.

Slowly, he looked away, avoiding eye contact.

“C'monnnnn.” MK poked him in the arm repeatedly, “I'm not gonna leave you alone until you give me an answer.”

Yeah. Monkey Mech had picked up on it.

He let out a defeated sigh.

“Okay, fine, you got me.” He said, “It was because of p.”

“...P?”

“Peace out.” Monkey Mech quickly made a peace sign, and then let himself dissolve in a flash of light, returning to his robot body.

Even though he was now on the other side of town, he could still hear MK's scream of frustration.

#Monkie Kid #lego monkie kid #fanfic #my writing #Monkey Mech Mayhem AU

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forcebookish · 7 months

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so I just went back to watch the ray/mew scene at the end bc I wanted to double check that ray actually doesn't apologize for shit and guess what? he really doesn't. he gives a weak "I'm sorry for calling you dumb" but that doesn't count. no I'm sorry for using your vulnerabilities to my advantage, no I'm sorry for screaming at you and thinking I was entitled to sex, no I'm sorry for cheating on you. mew was the one who did all the apologizing. and he also went to cheum and apologized to her (and I'm glad he did...when will ray btw) and also admitted he was fucked up and lost. so far him and top are the only characters that own up to what they do and actually apologize and try to change. hopefully that's what will help their relationship last too.

it's at the point where it feels on purpose the way that ray will apologize for the tiniest part of an offense to diminish how horribly he acted.

'i'm sorry for driving drunk,' but not for shoving you to the ground and calling you a whore. <- HAHAHAHA I FORGOT THAT HE LITERALLY DIDN'T APOLOGIZE TO SAND AT ALL. I WENT TO LOOK FOR A SCREENCAP AND HE ONLY WHINES ABOUT BEING SCOLDED FOR DRIVING UNDER THE INFLUENCE AND THANKS SAND FOR SAVING HIS LIFE. HE THINKS THAT THANKING SOMEONE IS ENOUGH OMFG. what a repugnant person lol

'i'm sorry for not telling you i was in a car accident,' but not for exposing your secrets to your partners and yelling at all of you.

'i'm sorry for nearly getting you arrested,' but not for forcefully kissing you and acting like i owned you.

'i'm sorry for calling you dumb,' but not for shouting at you for not having sex with me.

and look! oftentimes, he'll only apologize after he's scolded for it!! and even then he'll do it in the most whiny, juvenile way!

even when he apologized to mew for kissing him when he was asleep, did he do it because he actually felt bad about doing something wrong or because he was afraid he'd lose mew? i think we know the answer to that.........

this seems to be a pattern with mewray's relationship: mew easily forgives ray no matter what shit he does, ray barely apologizes, and mew apologizes for shit that's not even his fault. (LIKE RAY DRINKING AT MEW'S BIRTHDAY??????????? I'M STILL SO PISSED ABOUT THAT!!!! MEW THAT WAS NOT EVEN A LITTLE BIT YOUR FAULT OH MY FUCKING GOD YOU DIDN'T EVEN DO ANYTHING BEFORE PUNCHING HIM... WHICH YOU DID WHEN HE WAS PHYSICALLY ATTACKING YOUR BOYFRIEND!!! HE FUCKING DESERVED IT!!) ray keeps taking advantage of mew and mew just... lets him. everyone in ray's life lets him get away with EVERYTHING. cheum at least chewed him out, but is she going to stay friends with him outside of the project? i fucking hope not.

and i agree, anon! the way that topmew own up to their shit is one of the reasons they were able to stay together in the first half of the series at all. despite both being pretty confident (obviously they do have insecurities, but they're not overwhelming), they don't really have egos? or at least not ones that can be easily bruised. there are multiple times in their relationship where they either hurt the other or overstep boundaries and apologize.

they don't act like they lose anything by admitting when they're wrong. they just know: i made the person i like feel bad, i want to make it up to him. no one has to cajole the other into an apology, they just know that they've done wrong and they own it. that's what makes a strong relationship.

and that's what's made the divorced era so heart-wrenching. of course top wants to get back together, but it's obvious that what hurts the most is how much he hurt mew. top sees the effect it's had on mew and it breaks his heart; all these good moments between them go up in smoke in mew's eyes; he spirals out of control and the world around him collapses. it's more than just losing mew, it's that mew is losing himself.

it's a really stark difference from what's going on with sandray, right? ray is doing everything within his power to keep sand in his life, and is it for sand's sake? nope. it's for ray. does he admit he has a problem? nope. does he apologize for every way he's hurt sand? nope nope nope 🙄

thanks for popping in, anon! i like to keep track of how little of the shit that ray actually apologizes for lmao he's so infuriating but you aren't🥰🥰🥰

#ofs liveblog #anonymous #asked and answered #my caps

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sourrcandy · 7 months

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WTW GHOST GALA ↳ week 01 ; knights

psd template by @destimnesia

day 01. pumpkin carving ; you have to kill off a character, who do you choose?

marcus bryce. for obvious reasons.

day 02. raven ; create a tagline for your wip.

Only in death can one take the mantle.

day 03. crystal ball ; outline a scene, act, or your entire wip.

a sneak peek into chapter 15 (stolen from my outline): following cordelia's announcement, sera goes to maverick to look for aunt regina, who holds the most shares in clemonte corp. we find out that she is an infamous Knight and the hitwoman of the Round Table with high af body counts. she gives sera a warning: with arthur gone, the underworld will only fester and grow more rotten, only when there is a power above to keep them in check will the district run smoothly

day 04. fallen leaves ; create a playlist for your wip.

tide by niki , daddy issues by the neighbourhood , battle royale by apashe and panther , super rich kids by frank ocean , that bitch by bea miller , dictator by rei ami , glory by the score , ain’t it funny by danny brown , kingdom by jaxson gamble , eye for an eye by rina sawayama , don quixote by seventeen , smoke by dynamicduo and lee youngji (watch swf2)

day 05. jack o’ lantern ; share an interesting fact you found while researching your wip.

i am now a botanist /j. but i found out that foxglove flowers (aka digitalis) are poisonous and fatal when ingested. they look pretty but damn, they're deadly.

day 06. vampire ; tell us where you find your motivation and inspiration.

by consuming a ton of media. also when i brain dump on my friends and talk to someone about my wip!! right now, inspiration for knights comes from kdramas ballerina and my name, as well as narcos and mission impossible.

day 07. skeleton ; have a favourite plot structure? if not, share how you plot!

i used to be an pantser, but i have gotten better at outlining. you can say it has become a motivation for me lmaoo.

day 08. trick or treat ; set some writing goals and milestones for your wip.

the knights wc goal is 150k and i've already only 39k on the doc :( you can tell i've been very slow in progress but hey, we're getting there!! my earliest chapters are like 4-5k average which is a little out of hand BUT i'm hoping to spread out the scenes more and slow down the main 4 protagonists' stupidity lol

gen tag!! (send an ask to be added/removed) @kazino @halcionic @cianawrites @janaisvu @ninazeniks @ambrosiadarling @perditism @serpentarii @seasteading @lasbrumas @sympathyhouse

#wtwevent #wtwcommunity #wip: knights #writeblr #writing community #writers on tumblr #my writing #kwriting #kedit #harls.jpg

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kareofbears · 3 months

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invisible smoke

”Yeah, you know what the hell else is obvious?" Gally raised an eyebrow. "That you can't stay objective about her for shit."

Anger rose in him, swift and quick. "If you think I care about her, after everything—"

"It's not that we think that you'll go easy on her, Greenie," Gally snorted. "It's because we think you might kill her before we even get a word in."

—

Or, Teresa's interrogation scene, recontextualized.

read on ao3 or below the tag :)

There’s a difference between a Newt that’s quiet and a Newt that’s silent.

Thomas watches as Newt rips the bag off of Teresa's head, watches how he doesn't spare her a glance, watches how Newt hasn't said a word since Gally dragged her into the chapel like a sinner refusing to repent.

Watches Teresa watching Thomas and how he refuses to watch her.

Watches Newt refuses to look at Thomas.

Unaware of the atmosphere, or simply not giving a fuck about it, Gally doesn't waste time diving into the interrogation, and even Thomas can begrudgingly see the art of it. Every move is calculated, every syllable thrown down like knives. When Gally sinks his teeth into Teresa, he makes sure to go down to the bone.

Thomas wonders, fleetingly, how Gally got to be so good at it. Was it from being the interrogator, or the one being interrogated? Is this his first or hundredth interrogation? Between the Maze and now, it was as if a lifetime had passed for everyone, weighed by stories and experiences that can’t be shared simply because they never seem to have enough time to tell them.

Before kidnapping Teresa, they all had a discussion-turned-into-argument about how to go about the interrogation. Thomas thought it would be simple—Teresa trusts him the most out of everyone here, so he should take point. Lure her in, trap her, get her to do what they need her to do. It's obvious.

———

”Yeah, you know what the hell else is obvious?" Gally raised an eyebrow. "That you can't stay objective about her for shit."

Anger rose in him, swift and quick. "If you think I care about her, after everything—"

"It's not that we think that you'll go easy on her, Greenie," Gally snorted. "It's because we think you might fucking kill her before we even get a word in."

———

Demoted to sitting on the sidelines, Thomas doesn't spare Gally much thought. Not when Newt hasn't moved an inch, staring blankly ahead, long fingers curled into tight fists. He's just a few feet from where Thomas is sitting, but it feels like miles between them.

An instinctual pull is telling him to reach out to Newt, to check in, the way they’ve always done it. Or, the way they’ve always done it ever since Newt beat it into his head. Communication, Tommy, give it a shot before diving into danger, yeah? But now isn't the time.

Reluctantly, he tunes back into the interrogation.

"—28 of them," Teresa is saying, voice quiet. Even now, her eyes dart towards Thomas, pleading silently. As if she can reason with him. As if she can get through to him, after all that she's done. He stares back unflinchingly, letting the anger and frustration in him harden into something he can wield.

She's the reason Minho's gone. She's the reason so many of them are held captive or dead, or being tortured in a way he hasn't even considered yet.

She's the reason why Newt is dying. And for that, mercy is off the table. From the moment he laid eyes on Newt's pale, soft skin slowly enveloped in an unstoppable sickness, Thomas hadn't known kindness. It's like his vision has been permanently tinged in a dark liquid that only gets thicker with every passing day, a single-minded focus that has sunk its claws into his brain and hasn't let up.

If Newt dies, Thomas will raze the world to the ground before jumping into the flame and be grateful for it.

Brenda barely throws Teresa a glance. "I can work with that."

Teresa is shaking her head before Brenda finishes. "The whole level's restricted. You can't get in without a thumbprint ID—"

"That's why you're coming with us," Gally cuts in, eyes boring into Teresa's. "You're going to make sure that you're useful for once, aren't you?"

Turning a shade paler, Teresa shakes her head again. "I—"

"What? You got something to say?" When Teresa doesn't speak again, Gally holds a hand up to his ear, mocking. "What was that? Could've sworn you were gonna try and worm your way out of this one."

Teresa tries craning her neck, desperately trying to make eye contact with Thomas. "Tom," she starts, but Gally leans in, invading her personal space.

"Why're you looking at him?" His tone is confused, earnestly asking. "Look at me. He's not gonna help you. Isn't that right, Thomas?"

It was a trap, a challenge—Gally's testing him. Seeing how strong his resolve is to keep out of this. When Thomas doesn't answer, Gally nods to himself, satisfied, before turning back to Teresa. "Trust me, you don't want that guy coming into our talk here."

"Yes, I do. He was on our side, the right side, until you all came along," she takes a shaky breath in, seeming to find her resolve. "Let me go."

"Big of you to make demands." Gally leans back against his chair, looking at her through narrowed slits. "Are you going to help us?"

"I can't—"

"You can, and you will. You're going to help us remove the tags you shoved in us, and you're going with us into the building to make sure all those kids—"

"Do you even understand how many you're killing by taking those immunes? The Flare kills on a scale you can't even imagine, and none of you even care who dies."

One minute, Thomas was sitting down, and the next his chair was thrown back and he was stalking towards Teresa, vision doused in red, red, red. "You think we don't care?"

Somewhere in the back, Brenda sighs. "Here we go."

"Thomas, get your ass back—" Gally warns, but Thomas doesn't listen, can barely even hear him.

"How about everyone you've killed trying to get to this point? Every single child in the maze?" He can hardly recognize his own voice, the way it grates against his throat. "You of all people don't get to say a single word about anyone who's gotten the flare, because what the hell have you been doing up to this point? What do you know what they're going through?"

"More than you," she shoots back. "If I didn't intervene, maybe hundreds would still be alive. But now, I can save millions—"

"Hundreds?" he gasps out a laugh, or maybe it's the other way around. "Millions? Who the hell cares?" He grabs the back of her chair and shakes it roughly. "I just need one serum of the cure, and you're going to help us get it."

Teresa's eyes search his for a long moment before hunching in on herself with what she finds. "Tom—"

"Don't call me that."

"I still know you, after everything." She sits up straighter, trying to get close to him, and he recoils back ever so slightly. "What's happened to you? Your eyes, they're—you're—" she swallows as she takes in his expression. "You're not the same."

He shakes his head. This is taking too long. Letting go of the chair, he whirls around to grab a scalpel. "All we need is the thumb, right, Gally?"

Gally's expression blackens. "You're losing focus, Greenie."

"A thumb," he repeats. "Let's get this over with." He turns back to Teresa, "Your hand. You can pick which one."

Someone grips his shoulder. "If you don't pull yourself together," Gally says lowly. "We're going to lose our only shot at this fucking cure. Do you understand?"

Thomas' gaze flickers at Gally's, at Brenda's disapproving expression, before landing at Newt's.

———

"I don't know if you've noticed," Brenda had said. "But you've changed."

Thomas couldn't suppress an eye roll. "Did you expect me to stay the same?"

"I think we've all changed, but ever since Newt—" he shot her a glare, and she shot one back, annoyed. "See, that's exactly what I'm talking about. You're not seeing things clearly."

"Are you telling me to calm down?" he asked, not bothering to hide his clipped tone.

"I'm asking you to start thinking again." She gripped his forearm and forced him to look at her. It was startling, how willing she was to engage with him. Except for Newt, everyone else has been making an effort to give him as much space as possible. "You used to be the smart one around here and you're going to need to start being that again if we want to get through to her. Gally told you to stand down, right?"

He nodded. "Thinks I'll kill her, or whatever."

"And you would," she agreed easily. "But it's also because we can't let her know our weaknesses."

That made him frown. "I'm a weakness?"

"I'm talking about Newt."

Thomas grabbed her wrist, not too hard but enough to send a message. His tone was soft. "You're calling Newt a weakness?"

She snatched her hand back, irritated. "He's your weakness, dumbass. Any idiot can see it. With the way Teresa hangs off your every word, she won't have any problem figuring out how to get to you—and the thing she wants most in this world is to get to you."

Brenda turned away, grabbing a revolver and shoving it into her holster with practiced ease. "She's not going to be happy to be here, Thomas. She'll do whatever she can to get out. That girl's smart—the minute there's a tear in our group, she's going to rip us up, stitch by stitch, and we can't afford that. Newt can't afford that."

———

Newt's gaze hits him like a brick wall, only amplified by the fact that Newt's been ignoring him this entire time.

His expression is uncharacteristically neutral, so much so that the unease crawling across Thomas’ skin only itches more, but Newt can't hide the intensity in his eyes.

Making sure he has Thomas' attention, he blinks twice, slow like a cat. Calm down.

Like a puppet with his strings cut, Thomas feels his anger rush out of him. Taking Gally's hand and dropping the scalpel in his palm, he silently uprights his fallen chair and settles down.

A silence falls over all of them until Gally scoffs. "Well, now that that shit's over with."

He continues grilling into her, relentless in his pursuit, and Thomas does his best to reign in his emotions. It's like his lungs are constantly being squeezed, his temples pressed relentlessly by an unknown force, tighter and tighter until he can't breathe. Every minute this interrogation continues, more of the Flare eats away at Newt, and it's as if Thomas' body can't help but reflect that. Like an echo, his heart, his being, is a reflection of Newt's.

"You know you're screwed either way," he hears Gally say. "If we try sending you back, whole and annoyingly healthy—you snitch on us to Janson, they'll think you're a fucking liar." There's a pause, a chance for Teresa to retort, but she doesn't. "Considering your history of betrayal and lack of a loyal bone in your body, I'm sure they'd have no trouble throwing their golden girl out the back door, don't you think?"

Thomas glances at Teresa before looking away when he can't stomach the sight, but he's seen enough. It's written all over her face; she knows Gally's right. WICKED won't take her back after this, and by the way her lips are pursed in a tight line, she's considering her options. All of them bad.

Gally got her. Thomas is about to feel relief flow through him when Teresa looks at him once more.

"Who has it?"

"Hey," Gally snaps his fingers inches in front of her face. "We aren't done here."

She ignores him. "It's not you, Tom. I thought it was probably Brenda relapsing, but you wouldn't react like this for her. Gally even less so," she muses, and then her eyes, clever and bright and desperate, focus on something. "Ah, I see."

Thomas digs his nails into his palms until he feels hot liquid run down his skin. Ignore, ignore.

"I'm sorry," she continues in a whisper. "I know how much he means to you. He's your best friend, and now..."

"Gally," Brenda warns, but Teresa isn't done.

"The cure doesn't exist yet, not really." Her face is compassionate and Thomas can't look away, can't move a muscle, or else he'll launch himself at her. "The longest the cure lasted was a week, and even then—"

Gally stands. "Didn't take you for a sore loser—"

"—symptoms showed up before then—"

Thomas has a dagger tucked in the band of his jeans and it feels searing against his skin. Can he pull it out and get to Teresa before Gally can stop him?

"Shut up!" Gally hisses.

"—Grief, Tom, is that what's in your eyes? He's still alive, and yet—"

Brenda gets on her feet, grimacing. "Get her out of here, now."

“—angry towards me? The situation? At your friends? I—"

He doesn't need anything, not really. She's already tied to a chair, can't run, can barely flinch away, and Thomas is fairly certain that the sea of rage trapped within his rib cage is going to give him enough adrenaline to fight the others off. He'll feel sorry after, probably, but it would be worth it.

"Damn, this shrew has a death wish!"

"—Or are you mad at yourself for letting this happen, Tom?"

Thomas takes a deep breath, resolve so clear that the near-permanent haze of red fades away for clarity. He reaches behind him, grasps behind him, and relishes in the feel of his dagger in his hands.

"He said not to call him that."

The sound of a gun being cocked rings through the air and everyone falls silent. Newt has his handgun pointed at Teresa, hand shaking ever so slightly and pupils dilated.

Chaos breaks out.

Gally jumps in front of Teresa with a shout as Brenda sprints to do the same. Teresa, still tied to her chair, begins to frantically pull at her arms in a way that looks painful, never taking her eyes off the barrel of Newt's gun, and in her struggle the chair tips over with a bang.

Thomas, on the other hand, leans back into his chair, pleased. Always at the same wavelength.

"Newt!" Gally yells, one hand up in surrender, the other blocking Teresa, eyebrows furrowed. "You put that gun down—!"

"Or what? We might lose her?" Newt retorts, taking a step further. "You said it yourself, mate, she doesn't have an ounce of loyalty in her. What makes you think she won't betray us, just when we start thinking she'd betray WICKED?"

"A double cross," Thomas offers, making Newt nod.

Brenda looks about ready to strangle him. "Thomas."

He shrugs. "You all knew where I stood with Teresa before this. If it wasn't going to be me to get rid of her, it would've been Newt."

"Tom?" Teresa looks up from the ground, cheek pressed against the dirty floor, betrayed.

Newt takes another step forward, jaw set. "Call him that one more time. I dare you."

"We shouldn't have let these two in the damn room if we knew they'd be acting like fucking lunatics," Brenda mutters.

Glancing at Newt, he runs his eyes over his features. How much of this is the Flare, making him more prone to emotional choices? How much of Newt had fallen victim to manufactured rage? Some of it, at the very least. But one look into Newt's eyes, a glimpse at the pure hatred and fury in his normally warm irises, and Thomas knew that the Flare didn't conjure that expression.

That's just Newt.

———

Thomas brushed a hand over Newt's thick, blond hair, and paused when he saw the barest hint of a black vein at his temple. With a feather-light touch, he traced it with his thumb. "How are your symptoms?"

Newt rocked his hand in a so-so gesture, eyes still closed. "Comes and goes." Peeking an eye open, the corner of his mouth quirked up. "Did you get sidelined for the interrogation tomorrow?"

He scowled. "Gally's powertripping."

"Don't worry, I did too." Thomas looked at him in surprise, but Newt closed his eyes once more. "They think the Flare would make me unstable and that it's best if I kept quiet."

He sucked in a breath, a rebuttal speech on the tip of his tongue, but Newt pointed at him without looking. "Calm yourself, Tommy. They're probably right."

"They're not." He knows he’s being a child right now, but it's just Newt that's here. No big speeches, none of the grandeur that he always has to carry nowadays. Just him and Newt. It's the only time Thomas can put his knives down and let his shoulders sag into himself. "You're fine."

"But they don't know that. Or at least, they don't believe me when I say I am." Newt stretched out his shoulders, and it's a testament to his trust in Thomas when he's just wearing a t-shirt, black veins visible throughout his forearm. "I'll get Teresa in line."

"You think you can?" Not that he had any doubts, but a confident Newt isn't one that he sees too often. Even now, despite everything, he can’t help but be charmed.

"Gally thinks that the less personal interrogations are, the better they go, but I don't believe that." Newt settled back down into the cot, getting comfortable again. "The more personal it gets, the quicker it goes. You're very personal to her, Tommy. You're the only thing that can sway her in either direction. Motivate or destroy her. Even when she's being a monster and justifying some nasty decisions, at the core of it all, she's thinking of you."

Thomas lets his words sink in. "We haven't talked to her in ages. You really think she's still like that?"

"Positive." Newt blindly extended his hand and Thomas didn't hesitate to link their fingers. "It's the one thing we have in common, after all."

———

Gally glares at him, attention split between making sure Teresa isn't trying to escape and eyeing the handgun in distaste. "Thomas, get the hell up and do something."

"I thought you wanted me to stay out of this?"

"Funny, Greenie." He looks like he wants to grab Thomas and shake him but isn't willing to leave Newt to his own devices. "We're this close to getting her."

"We just need to make sure she doesn't run." Newt's expression turns considerate. "Will you run, Teresa?"

Any bravery that she possessed seems to have vanished, by how rapid and shallow her breathing is. "You don't scare me," she manages, but her voice is shaking too much to make it convincing.

"That's interesting," Newt tightens his grip. "It's cause you don't think I'll do it, will you?

Brenda straightens up in alarm. "The hell you won't," she hisses. "Newt, don't you dare shoot this wench."

His reply is to click off the safety.

"Thomas," Gally repeats, voice tight. "Stop him."

"You think I can?" The look Gally sends his way can wither flowers, so he tries again. "Even if I could, I'm with Newt on this one."

"Shocker," Brenda spits, and Thomas shrugs again. What did they expect? If it's Newt's plan, Thomas would follow it through until the end, no matter how nonsensical it is.

And besides—he won't shoot Teresa. Probably. As much as they'd like to.

Like Brenda can read his mind, she shakes her head. "How do you know if this is a plan or if it's the Flare talking?"

That makes Thomas' blood boil. "You always think it's the Flare when it comes to Newt—"

"Because he fucking has it!"

"Shut up, I can't bloody hear myself think with you yelling into my ear!" Newt snaps, voice edged like a blade, and for a moment, Thomas sees what Gally and Brenda is seeing. The veins in Newt’s neck is dark and there’s a light sheen of sweat sticking to his forehead. That, paired with his temper, makes Newt look every bit the role of a Flare victim.

Teresa, who has been blessedly quiet, decides to take an unsteady breath. “You need me too much,” she declares. “You won’t do it.”

Brenda throws her hands up in the air. “We’re fucked.”

“Teresa,” Gally’s smile doesn’t meet his eyes. “If Newt doesn’t kill you, and Greenie over here doesn’t kill you, I definitely will.”

“Go ahead,” Teresa says, defiant despite still being on the floor and her knees are wobbling into each other. “Shoot me. See where that’ll take you.”

Thomas doesn’t listen to a word anyone’s saying—every bit of focus he has is dedicated to monitoring each of Newt’s breaths, every tick in his face, the way his hands cradle the grip of the handgun and his fingers twitch, spasming.

“Shoot me.”

It happens in slow motion.

Newt turns his head sideways and his expression turns pleased when he sees Thomas is already watching him. Ever so slightly, Newt smiles, just a little bit, and Thomas realizes he’s smiling too; another pull, another echo.

And then Newt pulls the trigger.

———

“Are you scared I’ll mess up, Tommy?”

Thomas knew what he was going to say, but made a show of thinking about it. He counted to ten before answering. “No.”

Newt smacked him on the shoulder. “Don’t you fool me, you didn’t give it a damn thought.”

A laugh got pulled out of him and he threw an arm around Newt’s shoulders. “I don’t need to think about it. It’s instinct at this point.”

“But I’m Cranking out. I’m not thinking straight.”

“You’re thinking straight now.”

“That can change at any point. It can shift in the worst possible moment, you know.”

“I know.” Thomas did actually give it some thought for a few moments before answering. “You still know who I am?”

It was Newt’s turn to pretend to think. “No.”

“Hilarious,” he deadpanned. “If there’s ever a point where you think you’re losing yourself, or if there’s ever a point where I’m doubting you and your sensibilities,” he huffs. “Just look at me.”

Newt gave him an amused expression. “And that’ll be enough?”

“It would be everything.”

———

The bullet is lodged into the chapel wall, a few inches to the left of where Teresa’s head had been. The gun is still smoking when Gally drops to his knees and shakes her roughly.

Brenda’s jaw was on the floor. “Gally,” she mummers. “Is she—?”

“Alive,” Gally lets her go before sitting down on the ground, head in his hands. “I think she’s in shock. Any closer and Newt would’ve nicked her.”

“But I didn’t,” Newt spins the handgun before shoving it into his back pocket, looking far too pleased with himself.

Brenda lets out a breath and joins Gally on the floor, looking equally as exhausted. “I don’t blame her.” In unison, they both turn to Newt and Thomas. “Nuts. Both of you. Fucking nuts,” she says, but she’s smiling slightly.

“Worked, didn’t it?” Thomas chimes, still sitting comfortably in his chair. He can see the question in their eyes: How much of that was real? How much was planned? How did you know that Newt would be fine?

The truth is, even Thomas doesn’t know the answer to that, and he’s willing to bet Newt didn’t either. How do you explain the feeling of rain minutes before it pours? How do you know when you need to take a breath or feel the heat on your skin on a sunny day? It’s ingrained in you, knitted so tightly inside of Thomas that he’s sure if you strung out his DNA, you’d find the answer somewhere between the strands.

Thankfully, instead of asking, Brenda clears her throat. “She can take the chips out when she comes to, I guess. I’ll stay here with her, but I don’t think we have to worry about escape anytime soon.”

“Thanks.” Gally gets on his feet, rubbing his temples. “I’m starved, and I don’t want to even look at these two for a couple of hours, at least. Let this migraine die down before bothering me again. Good that?”

“Good that,” he says, feeling at odds with Gally. He’s still annoyed at the guy, still so, so angry for what he did to Chuck. But something about this situation made him feel like he connected with Gally, somehow, despite being at each other’s throats for most of it.

“Let’s get out of here, Tommy,” Newt says, and Thomas silently obliges, unable to suppress the urge to gently touch his forearm, where the Flare rages on.

Behind them, a voice rings out, soft and frail and hurt. “...Tommy?” She isn't calling his name, but it's as if she's sounding out the word in disbelief, like she's not quite sure what she's hearing.

Thomas spares Teresa a glance, finding her face crumpled. He remembers, vaguely, when it had been her that kept him going, a simple Tom! that encouraged him to keep fighting in this awful world. And now, years later, he can’t even muster much of anything at all towards her.

It must have shown on his face. She sucks in a soundless breath, her shoulders shaking—it looks like the last of her hope was seeping out of her, the one thing that’s keeping her upright. A tear rolls down her cheek, leaving a glistening line that reached her temple. Thomas knows for certain that she won’t try to run anymore. There isn’t a point, not when there’s nothing to run to. Nothing to hope for.

He doesn’t bother responding. Newt in tow, Thomas lets the door close with a definitive slam.

#TMR brain rot continues #the maze runner #fic tag #i dont know how to tag this really! they aint got no last names #newt #maze runner #TMR #thomas/newt

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jaeheewillalwaysbemyfav · 3 years

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Can u make mc is the actual owner of Cerberus when he was a pup but villagers killed him because they thought that he was a monster and what how would the brothers and the undateable react to that when mc started to cry when she saw Cerberus headcanons

Oh Beans! I totally spaced when reading this and only have the brothers.

I'll post what I have here right now, but this will also be on AO3, so if you keep checking/subscribe there, you'll get a notification when I've added the undateables! It might not be for a while though, since I'm about to start school again ^-^;;

Who's a Good Boy?

The Guard Dog of the House of Hades. A vicious, three-headed hellhound that only the fallen Morningstar himself could command. Unfathomably massive. Devourer of demons, angels, and humans alike. Notoriously difficult to groom.

That is Cerberus, Lucifer’s extremely volatile pet named after a figure from Greek mythology for reasons no one truly understands. The creature has struck fear into the hearts of its housemates, and the Devildom at large, for what feels like ages.

So when MC cries upon seeing the wolf-dog for the first time, none of the brothers are especially surprised. How could a human cross such a monster’s path and live, after all?

Except those who weep in fear usually don’t then barrel full-tilt into one of the monster’s furry legs, babbling incoherently about how they thought they’d never see him again.

One of Cerberus’ heads leans down to the human, and the brothers panic, fearing the worst. It opens its mouth, revealing razor sharp fangs—

And licks MC’s entire body in a saliva-filled canine kiss. Now covered in tears and drool, MC laughs as they shake themself off, teasing the hellhound by saying that they already showered today, thank you very much.

“So, did you miss me as much as I missed you?” they ask, giving Cerberus’ central head some under the chin scritches (the only part of its head they can currently reach).

Cerberus boofs loudly, enormous tail waving back and forth at an increasingly hazardous pace.

Lucifer

What.

Lucifer is dealing with a Lot right now. He almost lost the exchange student to his own dog, except apparently Cerberus used to belong to MC?! How?!

He orders Cerberus to back away from the human, part of him still convinced that this is somehow a combination of MC being mistaken and Cerberus playing with its food, but the hellhound actually growls at him and picks MC up by the back of their shirt, tossing them onto its back.

MC, in response, finds new places to scritch.

He stares at the scene for a few minutes, unable to process what his life has become.

Later, once Cerberus finally agrees to let MC leave, they explain to him that Cerberus used to be a puppy in the human world.

Obviously, he was immediately noted as strange due to his three heads, and the people of MC’s village believed him to be an omen of death. MC themself didn’t care, and just saw “lil’ Cerb” as a puppy like any other, albeit an exceptionally drooly one.

He used to be more or less normal dog-sized, but it quickly became obvious that Cerberus was growing fast, and would be much larger than even a wolf by the time he was done. He also became harder and harder to hide.

Unfortunately, one night they awoke to poor Cerberus being chased out into the night by a mob, never to return.

They assumed the worst, mourned, and got on with their life as best as they could. But seeing Cerberus— they knew it was the same dog as soon as they saw him — brought all those emotions right back to the surface.

It’s not hard to adapt to these strange circumstances. Lucifer is actually quite relieved to have someone who is both willing and able to safely help him in caring for Cerberus, and both MC and the hellhound delight in each other’s company.

Lucifer also won’t deny the pride he feels upon seeing MC, the one he loves, getting along so well with his son dog.

Mammon

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

The P A N I C of seeing MC within bite-chomp-murder-kill distance of Cerberus nearly killed Mammon.

What the hell is he supposed to do against that furball?! MC’s dead meat, a chew toy, he can’t save them again—

WHAT THE FUCK ARE THEY D O I N G ? !

Torn between passing out from fear and yelling about how brave and cool HIS human is!

So he kinda just… stands there, slack-jawed, as MC finds a spot on the creature that makes it thump its leg so hard the ground shakes.

Already he’s cooking up ways to use MC’s Cerberus-taming powers to get into all kinds of Shenanigans

Except he quickly learns that while Cerb is much more gentle with MC, it won’t let them distract it from its duties.

Has this resulted in MC semi-unwillingly riding Cerberus as it chases a terrified Mammon throughout the Devildom? Possibly~

Though when MC explains to Mammon how Cerberus used to be their dog, and what had happened to him… He can’t help but feel a touch more sympathetic to the hellhound.

Only a little bit though. It still does try and tear him apart whenever he gets too close, after all.

Leviathan

Levi’s fear metamorphoses into awe much faster than the others’. MC LOOKS SO COOL!! Riding the mighty Cerberus like a steed!

He desperately wishes he had the art skills to capture this iconic moment forever. But alas, a camera will have to do.

It’s a pretty good picture, the comparatively small human sitting on Cerberus’ back like something straight out of a fantasy novel. Levi even has a shot of them accidentally scritching a spot that makes Cerberus breathe fire (like a furry dragon!)

100% gets super emotional when MC tells him how they originally had— and lost— Cerberus as a puppy. It reminds him of his precious Henry 1.0 in some ways…

Begs MC to let him post the photos he took, along with their story as the caption. It’s just too good! It’s exactly like that arc in My Adventurer Boyfriend Keeps Adopting the Monsters He Beats in Combat and Now We’re Running Out of Space to Keep Them!

Like Mammon, Levi also quickly learns that just because he unlocked Cerberus’ tragic backstory, doesn’t mean that the hellhound will treat him any differently.

But sometimes, after a long “walk” with MC, the massive creature will be mostly asleep. And then, his hand shaking, MC will guide Levi to pet Cerberus’ flank. Its tail swishes softly, Levi’s own swaying in response.

Satan

He shakes his head and laughs, torn between relief, awe, shock, and lingering horror for MC’s safety. Of course they can tame even the ferocious Cerberus…

Guess all sorts of angry monsters like MC, huh?

He definitely wants to hear the story of MC owning Cerberus in the past, but first he’s going to drink in the absolutely dumbfounded expression on Lucifer’s face.

Toooootally doesn’t cry upon hearing MC’s story with Cerberus. No way, he’s still a cat person, he swears!

...No one is allowed to comment on Satan’s various burn injuries that occur over the next few weeks.

Not if they don’t want to be left with worse.

Asmodeus

OH SHIT!! Also, ewwwww

Once the fear for MC’s safety subsides, Asmo can appreciate the cuteness and hilarity that is MC with Cerberus. Truly no one is immune to their charms it seems, and their affections know no bounds.

...Is it that same quality that allows MC to continue to care for him and his brothers despite their past actions?

Asmo claims that the smoke from Cerberus’ fire breath is getting into his eyes, prompting him to leave. He has a good long stare-at-a-wall crisis for a bit.

Learning MC and Cerberus’ story only makes him mushier. Their tragedy got a happy ending after all!

As much as he loves MC’s charms, he still insists that they de-drool themself before touching him or any of his things. It stinks like brimstone!

Now if they need any help getting clean… That he can oblige~

Beelzebub

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH part 2

As one of the physically stronger brothers, when Lucifer’s not available it’s Beel’s job to groom Cerberus. He knows how dangerous that mutt is.

But apparently not for MC “Knows No Fear” over there!

As Cerberus continues to remain docile in MC’s presence, Beel starts to appreciate the cuteness of a human and their giant hellhound.

Unabashedly mushy upon hearing MC’s story about Cerberus. The themes of losing a loved one, only to find them much later in a new form… it kinda hits a little close to home for him.

(It’s not a perfect analogy: Beel knows MC isn’t Lilith, but having them as part of her legacy is undeniably cathartic. It’s why he doesn’t share these exact feelings with them, since he knows they’re uncomfortable with being compared to her excessively. Still, he can’t help but note the comparison.)

Naturally, he’s also very happy to have a very useful partner for grooming Cerberus. That living nightmare turns into an overgrown puppy whenever MC’s around. It’s much easier, and much safer, to work with this way.

Plus, it means he gets some quality time with MC! And there’s nothing quite like the fond smiles they share with him during these moments.

Belphegor

He has got to be dreaming. No way is this actually happening— nope, Mammon just stepped on his foot, and that hurt, he’s awake.

WHAT THE FUCK?!

Does MC not fear death? Is that it? Did that part of their brain just completely shut down when he killed them?!

Unlike the others, he can’t really shut down his panic. Sure, right now Cerberus is acting all cuddly, but that could change on a dime. That dog only listens to Lucifer, and right now all Lucifer is doing is staring gormlessly at it!!!

He nearly loses his hand trying to pull MC away from the creature (which it naturally did Not appreciate).

“Belphie, wait! It’s okay,” MC reassures him even as smoke blows out of Cerberus’ nostrils.

They explain their history with the hellhound, how they rescued it as a puppy and then lost it to the angry and frightened people of their village.

Belphegor can’t help but recall their expression when he told them about his imprisonment, the outrage there mingling with a much older emotion. Is that why they were so quick to help him?

He’s still wary of Cerberus. He refuses to be fooled by any facades the creature may be putting up.

But one day, MC invites him to one of their “playdates”. Cerberus watches him like a hawk, growling when he first approaches, but MC just shushes and soothes the monster until it allows him closer.

And maybe, after a few tense minutes, the pair begin to relax around each other.

And maybe, Lucifer has a picture of MC and Belphegor curled up in Cerberus’ fur as the three take a mid-afternoon nap.

And maybe, Belphegor lets him keep it.

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me cerberus #obey me scenarios #mine #my writing #lucifer #mammon #leviathan #satan #asmodeus #beelzebub #belphegor #mc

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oro-e-diamanti · 3 years

Text

Quiet Music: Obbligato (Chapter Seven)

In collaboration with @bethanysnow

Off to the races with no time for nights gone wrong. Being at a wit's end deserves a reward, one of teasing breaths and words, adding to the stories the hallway could tell. Vulnerable words pinned to the wall and kissing it all better.

Content | Fluff

Pairing | fem!Reader x Damiano

Word Count | 7187

***

The morning was awkward, to say the least. Y/n had woken up first and before she could even look at the man beside her, her phone started ringing, management was calling. So she was off to work. No time for the thoughts that were still running around in her mind. No time to process.

They didn’t get to talk, she and Damiano. Both of them were hurrying to get packed up and get the others woken up to then get to the airport. It seemed impossible to find a quiet minute with just the two of them, some privacy, some peace of mind. The call from that morning was their manager, who had already been up for two hours ranting about some of the changes that needed to be made. Today it was going from zero to one hundred with no end in sight.

She had hoped things would calm down as they reached the airport, but chaos seemed to follow wherever they went. It started with Victoria panicking because she couldn’t locate her jacket anymore - she made sure to let everyone in the greater vicinity know that it was her absolute favourite and she had worn it in Rotterdam and she could not go anywhere, much less fly to London, without it. Luckily this ended up being one of Y/n’s easiest tricks that day. After retracing their steps throughout the terminal the jacket was quickly reclaimed from a lovely barista at a café who had collected it for safekeeping.

Y/n was hoping to catch her breath for a moment, but then Chili was being an absolute nuisance. Contrary to her normally chill and relaxed state of being, she now insisted on being cuddled and petted and having all the attention on her. Unfortunately, no one’s but Y/n’s attention would do, so she was stuck with a wriggling fur ball in her arms for the foreseeable future. It didn’t help when Ethan ran up to her in a panic, having realised that his hairbrush was missing. She wanted to calm him down, explain that there were more than enough shops to get a new one in London, but apparently, there was no hairbrush quite like it as if it was the magical reason behind his shiny hair. So with a sigh and Chili pressed against her, she called the hotel in Amsterdam requesting for them to look for the missing item and please send it to London. Express. They would be there for three days and it better arrive during that time. The confused receptionist promised to do her best.

When Y/n heavily fell into her seat on the plane she was looking forward to either a quick nap or a chance to talk to Damiano, who she conveniently chose to sit next to, but all plans evaporated as soon as Thomas claimed the aisle seat, excitedly chattering away. She could tell he was looking forward to getting back to London and having some free time there on top of it, but she really didn’t need to hear the story of how they all lived there for a while yet again. Damiano sent her a pitiful look, but all she could do was shrug. Shrug, lean back, and let Thomas’ talk lure her into sleep, hopefully.

***

Luckily, the flight wasn’t as bad this time around. Y/n still held tightly to her coat on lift-off and landing, but that seemed to be the extent of her uncomfortableness. Damiano kept his eyes on her, on the bandage around her wrist, as if waiting for it to come undone and her right along with it. It didn’t happen. They touched down in London within less than an hour.

Heathrow airport was crowded with fans. For the first time on that tour, it had gotten really bad. Security managed to keep people at bay though as the band and crew made their exit, not stopping for photos and full of apologies for having to leave. The shouting, the reaching hands, and the flashing cameras seemingly did nothing to improve Y/n’s mood, Damiano thought. Her face remained neutral, but he could see the little signs underneath. A short cab ride later, and the usual busy atmosphere of arriving at a hotel for the first time engulfed them. People moving luggage, figuring out rooming arrangements, crowding the lobby. Damiano stayed out of it, smoking a quick cigarette with Thomas and Ethan outside, before heading inside as well.

Damiano didn’t notice that anything was wrong until Y/n started raising her voice. It wasn’t like her. In the past two weeks of working with her, he had encountered her in a number of stressful situations. Enough that would make him lose his mind, but she was calm and collected, the type to take a deep breath instead of shouting at someone. So the way she was currently staring down the receptionist at the hotel that they were checking into both intrigued and bothered him. Trying not to draw too much attention to himself, he got closer to the scene, fumbling with some of their luggage standing next to the desk, just to listen in more closely.

“Check again, please,” Y/n requested, politeness nothing but a necessary feature in this conversation. “I do not have the time or the patience to deal with this mistake at this current moment.”

Damiano could see she was at her wit’s end, yet the need to stay professional was obvious.

“Bloody hell... You’d think after all of today at least one thing would go well. But no, I am stuck dealing with a broken computer and missing rooms.”

The man behind the counter sent her a slightly panicky look, hands shuffling between papers and typing on the keyboard in front of him.

“I can only apologise, I will do my absolute best to rectify this mistake,” the receptionist stated, voice much less steady than Y/n’s. She shook her head slightly, pulling out her phone and starting to type something into it. Probably updating their manager on what is happening.

“I sincerely hope that this is the last of the mistakes your hotel will be committing. We’re paying good money for this hotel, but London is big and I don’t think anyone would hesitate to book us somewhere else next time if the service here doesn’t suffice.” The air around her felt like static electricity, everything was prickly and on fire. “Now, please check again and then either have the correct number of rooms waiting for us or figure out another way to solve this problem. I know this probably isn’t your fault, but this needs a solution.”

The man standing in front of them quickly understood what was being asked of him. Y/n's body had remained creepily still through this, her eyes never leaving the person in front of her.

It was over as soon as it hard started. The receptionist handed her the keys and quickly mumbled something about the rooms being on the fifth floor and to the left. Y/n nodded, not necessarily happy, but visibly glad it was over. Turning around she faced Dami with an indescribable look on her face. He couldn’t believe what just happened, and how it was handled by their assistant. Looking at her right now she was agitated, sure, but whatever power she had just possessed? Damiano wanted to see it again.

***

The band crowded into the lift, and with each ding passing a floor Damiano’s need to do something grew. Attention was an easy thing for the singer to come by. Most of the time it was freely given and even then tenfold due to - well, Damiano being Damiano. But wanting attention was different, and wanting her attention, in particular, was a relatively new concept.

“Fifth Floor,” the monotone voice announced. Y/n made quick work handing everyone their room keys until she was only hanging to her own and Damiano’s. He took his chance.

“Can I walk you to your room?”

“Sure,” she answered, but the look in her eyes told him she was a little suspicious of his actions.

As they got closer to the door Damiano saw his chance. Reassuring himself that the hallway was now deserted of his bandmates, he quickly grabbed her - healthy! - wrist, turning her around and pressing her against the wall next to the door. Her expression was one of shock and surprise as he moved in closer, keeping her wrist against the wall and trapping her between his arms as he leaned against his hand on the other side of her head. Her breathing quickened noticeably and he couldn’t suppress a grin as he watched her look into his eyes, before flickering down to his lips and back up again. There was very little doubt concerning what she was thinking about. He had her in the palm of his hand. Right where he wanted her.

“You know, seeing you getting all hot and bothered down there… Very sexy.” His voice was low and gravelly. He was doing his absolute best to get her to falter under him, not shying away from employing all the tricks in the book. He moved in even closer now, only breaking eye contact when the angle made it impossible. His mouth to her ear, not quite touching, but close enough that he was sure she could feel his breath on her skin. “I should thank you… for all the… hard work you do.”

He resisted the temptation of pushing into her, letting his body collide with hers, letting her know exactly what he was talking about. Not now, not yet, he told himself. Instead, his hand carefully let go of her wrist, travelling down her arm, her side, across her body, with the softest touch, until he reached her other hand, which was grasping tightly onto the remaining room key. In a flash, he had snatched it out of her palm, backed away from her, and with a wink and a smirk that hopefully told her all she needed to know, he turned around to make his way to his room.

“Damiano! We still need to talk!” Y/n whisper-shouted. One look at her face was enough. Her skin had turned that favorable shade of red that Damiano had grown to love so much. She was still leaning against the wall, apparently not trusting her feet to carry her just yet. As he made his way to his room he couldn’t help but notice the bubbling of pride in his chest. Whatever she wanted to talk about, he was convinced it was going to go his way.

***

There was one person in this entire world that would be able to help sort out the mess in Y/n’s head. Stepping out onto the balcony, she quickly clicked her best friend’s name. One, two rings, and the familiar face popped up on her screen with a wide smile.

“Hi, love! How- oh my god, what is wrong?” Y/n’s face had always been much too easy to read for her friends.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Y/n protested, but the way her friend raised her eyebrows let her know that she would not get away with it. “Fine, that was a lie. Couple of things have gone wrong actually. Starting with my wrist!”

Y/n held the offending body park up into view, speech getting quicker as she continued.

“Fell onto it trying to escape Damiano and a private conversation he had with Victoria that I probably shouldn’t have heard. But I did, and I’ve not been able to stop thinking about it, and it’s bothering me quite a bit actually, which is silly, because all I’m supposed to do here is my job, right? But now I think that he doesn’t want to be in the same space as me, which is a problem, to say the least, but at the same time he does? He literally just got all up in my space actually, so I don’t know what’s happening?”

“Wow okay, take a breath and start from the beginning, please.”

And so Y/n did, catching her friend up on every single detail of the past days, every little look, every single word uttered, every movement made. She didn’t spare a single detail or blush-inducing moment.

“I don’t know what to do, or think, or say. I think I know what is happening, but then he turns around and does the opposite of what I’m expecting. It's infuriating.”

“Ah yes, let me guess. He’s constantly around, whatever you do? Checkin up on your, catching your eyes, always happens to sit next to you?”

“He does… Why do I feel like everyone here knows what is going on but me?”

"Y/n, listen. You're my best friend, but you're the dumbest human being I've ever encountered. It is so obvious that he likes you, it's almost painful to hear you talk about and not realise. Look at the way he is taking care of you, the way he tries to make you laugh, how he constantly wants your attention on him - why on earth do you think he's doing that? You need to talk to him, seriously."

“But I overheard-”

"You didn't hear shit! You don't even know the context of what he said! Now listen to me: You like him. He likes you. If I'm wrong about this, I'll personally allow you to come back home and beat me up ok?" A sigh came through the line, her friend's voice getting softer. "I know the past years have been hard on you. And I know you don't like letting people in. But you've got to take a chance every now and then and Damiano sounds like he'll be worth it. From what you've told me, it sounds like he sees you exactly for what you are: brilliant, clever, caring, beautiful. Don't let this go to waste, love."

"You know I hate it when you're right. But you probably are." Y/n felt much calmer already, even though the mere thought of having that talk with Damiano made her feel slightly queasy again. "I should talk to him. My head will never stop spinning otherwise."

"Well, I love it when I'm right! So I'm hanging up right now so you can go talk to him, bye love!"

Her face disappeared from the screen in an instant.

***

“She’s right, you know? You should talk to him.” Victoria watched as Y/n almost jumped at the sound of her voice. She had concentrated so hard on whoever she was video-calling that she hadn’t noticed her enter the balcony next door. Now, Vic hadn’t meant to listen, but privacy on tour was a fickle thing and as soon as she realised what - or who - the topic of conversation was, she couldn’t help herself.

“Oh! Hi, Vic. Sorry, what?” Y/n asked, quite obviously startled. “I’m assuming you heard most of that conversation then.”

“I did. But that’s okay, please don’t worry about it. You know, I’m saying this as your friend as well as Damiano’s friend: Talk this thing out, whatever it is. We’ve all been watching you dance around each other, but one of you needs to have the guts to make a move. I know Damiano seems like a cocky know-it-all sometimes, but if you get down to it, he’s just as insecure and shy. So I think this is on you. Invite him over, order some room service, have a talk. If it goes poorly, you can always text me and I’ll come over. And help you finish the food.”

Victoria was glad to see Y/n let out a small giggle. Over the course of the whole tour, she had never seen her quite this stressed out. Sooner or later it would impact her job performance - just as it was starting to affect Damiano’s. She’d long noticed how distracted he was. It didn’t even matter whether Y/n was in the room or not, his thoughts constantly seemed to be spinning around the same thing. The same person, rather. At this point, it was in everyone’s best interest to get these two to talk it out. She trusted them to be sensible enough about it not to let it affect their work if it went wrong. At least not the way their mutual obsession with each other was doing now.

Y/n nodded.

“Thanks, Vic. What do I have to lose, right? I mean, a lot, technically, but you know. Thanks.”

Victoria watched as Y/n shot her one more worried look, before turning and getting back to her room. She made sure to shout after her just before the door closed.

“Tell me how it goes!”

***

“It’s going to be fine, it’s going to be fine, this is going to go my way, I’m going to say my part and it will all be fine,” Y/n mumbled to herself as she paced back and forth in her hotel room. Time and time again, she found herself checking her phone, needing to convince herself she had actually sent the message to Damiano, inviting him to her room for a conversation. He hadn’t replied, but the little blue check marks told her he had read it.

Okay, keep calm. You're going to have a conversation about this, like the adults that you are. You ask to clarify what you overheard and you'll stay calm, whatever his answer is. At the end of the day, this is work. And if you need to cry, you can do it once he's left. Easy.

A knock on the door interrupted her thought process. For a moment, she considered ignoring it. Pretending like she wasn’t there. But that wasn’t going to work, was it? Not forever, anyway.

“Y/n, you said you wanted to talk?” Damiano’s voice came from the other side of the door.

Time to face the music, I guess, Y/n thought to herself. With a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped to the side to let him in. Damiano hesitated for a second, as if contemplating how to greet her, but then simply smiled at her before stepping in. The nervous energy engulfed both of them immediately and she caught him looking around the room for a moment before deciding to take a seat at the foot of her bed. She couldn’t even think about sitting down. Instead, she was pacing the room like a caged animal.

“Um, so, I called you here for a meeting.” Y/n picked at her nails looking anywhere in the room that wasn’t at Damiano.

“A meeting? Y/n, really?” He chuckled. “If these meetings involve me visiting your hotel room, feel free to invite me over for them more often.”

“Damiano! I’m trying to be serious here!”

“Sorry, sorry, go ahead.” He waved at her to continue as he leaned back on the bed. He looked delectable, and Y/n had to actively tear her eyes away to focus on what she had meant to talk about with him.

“I overheard you and Vic talking at the second-hand shop. Something about you not wanting me around? Before I overthink this even more than I already have, I should probably ask you what that was about.” She stopped pacing and quickly looked at Damiano waiting for a reaction.

“Wait, you heard that?” He suddenly sat up again, urgency visible in his face. “Did you hear the whole thing or… only me saying that?”

“Only that apparently ‘I'm everywhere you look’ and you can’t seem to get rid of me.” She forced a scoff, although she would rather cry at the memory if she was being honest. “I know I shouldn’t have heard that conversation, but I did. And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. That's why I ran out of the shop.”

She watched as Damiano buried his head in his hands, making a sound that was something between a laugh and a groan. “Seems like you missed the important part.” A deep sigh rattled through his chest as he looked up at her. “What I said before that was that I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About kissing you. That’s why it’s so hard to see you everywhere, to have you around so much.” He slowly stood up, walking over to her in tentative movements. “It’s because I want to kiss you all the time.”

She took a step back, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Anything to protect herself, to keep up some sort of composure. Letting her guard down too early was the worst thing she felt she could do. An expression that was both alarmed and confused flashed across her face. “You - wait … no, that's not - hold on.” She squinted her eyes at him trying to figure out if there was any hint of deception in him. “You wouldn’t lie to me… would you?”

He stood in front of her now, eyes staring her down with nothing but honesty. “I like to joke around but not with things like these, okay? I would never put you in that position. But when we accidentally kissed in Amsterdam? I wish it hadn’t been accidental at all.” His hand was reaching out to her, softly touching her arm, as if to test the waters. To see if she would pull away.

She stayed quiet for what felt like an eternity. Yet, she didn’t move away from him this time. “I’m sorry... for how I acted at the hospital. I didn’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do with you most of the time it seems.” A small smile flickered on her lips, unable to keep it at bay. “I’m sorry, I’m… not all that good at being vulnerable. In case that hadn’t become obvious yet. But I agree, you know. Kissing you should be on purpose.”

“It’s fine, it was a rough day. Now that I know what you heard, even more so for you,” he smiled back at her. His hand was wandering up her arm now, softly resting on her shoulder, just inches away from the bare skin on her neck. She was sure she could feel his warmth there already. “We’ll figure it out together, yeah? Starting with an actual kiss? On purpose?”

She blinked at him, before looking down at his chest, slowly grabbing onto the collar of his shirt. Playing the fabric between her fingers, anything to keep her nervousness under control. “Yeah, that would be good. Gotta test it out, right?” She looked back up at him, a pink tint growing across her cheeks.

“Yeah, just a test,” he mumbled, coming closer still. His hand wandered further upwards, tingling along her bare skin, before softly grabbing her neck to pull her into him. He was moving slowly, almost tormentingly so, as his breath fanned her face, eyes wandering back and forth between her own and her mouth. Her heart was beating impossibly fast now. If he wasn’t going to do anything soon, she would collapse, she was sure of it.

“Just kiss me already.”

And then his lips were on hers, soft and gentle, but with a force behind it that let her know he meant it. It was nothing like the kiss in Amsterdam. This was a kiss with purpose, long-lived desire finally being realised, feeling poured into every move they made. If this was a test, they were passing it with flying colours. Everything felt simply right. His lips against hers, his hand tangling in her hair, her arms wrapping themselves around him. Any doubt whether this was the right thing to do, whether this was what she wanted, ceased to exist. She couldn’t tell how long they were standing there, kissing, exploring, enjoying each other, but when they finally parted, she found herself catching her breath. Silly smiles painted on both of their faces. She buried her face in his chest, almost a little embarrassed now.

“That went well,” she giggled, unlike she did in Amsterdam. This high was different.

Damiano’s hand pushed a strand of her hair back behind her ear, tender touch lasting on her face a little too long, but she wouldn’t complain. He quickly pressed another needy kiss against her lips, before pulling her to sit on the bed with him. “So, now what? Not that I wasn’t enjoying that, but we should probably talk about where we’re gonna go from here.”

She nodded. “Well, work comes first. Not that I wasn’t having fun either. But, both of us know that the most important thing is you performing the best you can. I guess we go with your plan. Figure it out together. I don’t want to force anything.” Always trying to ground herself back into reality - it was the way she was built. A moment of insanity, yes, but never more. “Though, on days off… if you...” Her mouth opened but no more words came.

“I like the sound of that,” Damiano grinned, seemingly unable to stop himself from stealing another kiss from her lips. “And on days off...? Say it, Y/n, no need for shyness here.”

“Ah!” Grabbing a pillow off the bed, she smacked him playfully. “I was trying to have a semi-serious conversation here, Dami!” Her face screwed into a pout, before transforming into a teasing smile. “If you’re gonna be like that, you won’t hear my idea at all.”

He immediately let go of her, hands in the air in surrender. “Fine, woman, no more teasing from me… for now.”

She leaned in closer. “Is that a threat? Or a promise? I was gonna say we could go out on a date. But,” she shrugged, “up to you.” Standing up she walked over to the phone on the desk, picking up the room service menu with her other hand. “Do you want anything? If we are gonna figure this out, we might as well have food.” It was no secret that she was trying to create space between the two of them. A little distance, a little chance to breathe, too afraid of a fire being set ablaze if they stayed any closer.

“Whatever pizza they have, please. It won’t quite be like home but even bad pizza is still pizza.” He watched as she picked up the phone, quickly muttering some words he didn’t understand down the line. “And then come back here. We should probably talk some more.”

She nodded, quickly finishing the conversation on the line, before sitting back down on the bed next to him, backs resting against the headboard. “Alright, so, talk about what? I know there are things to discuss but, what are you thinking right now?”

“How do you want to go on about this?” He asked, taking her hand and playing with it absentmindedly. “Do you want to tell the others anything?”

“We have to tell Vic, probably. She’ll never get off our case otherwise. Apart from that... I assumed that we would sort of make up for lost time. Be a bit more open, affection-wise. Or at least not feel like we have to hide it when I wanna kiss you. I don’t want to say we are dating. I don’t want to put a label on something that's this new. Rushing into something like this is just a recipe for hurt.” She found herself staring into the distance for a moment, thoughts running away with her, before turning back to him. “Do you want to tell people? I mean if you did that would be fine. I’d manage, you know.”

“No, actually. I’m quite fine with as few people knowing as possible. I just… There’s no need to get everyone involved in something that we’re literally still figuring out ourselves, right? And I definitely don’t need the fans to know. At least not yet. If that’s okay with you?”

“Dami, you do know that, if this becomes a long-term thing... They will hate me. It won’t be just your fans either. Management, event organisers, they won’t want me there, people will tell you to break up with me all the time. There will be a lot of rude comments. People will edit me out of pictures. Because that's how it is. Are you sure you’re okay with all that? This won’t be easy and I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of your success. The band's success.” She wasn’t making eye contact now, nervously picking at her nails instead. This was his chance to step back, to change his mind, and she was more afraid of it than she let on.

“Well, first of all, they can all fuck off, okay? No one gets to talk about you like that, not in front of me. If they don’t see you the way that I see you - or at least respect it-, they’re no real fans anyway.” He reached out, softly holding onto her chin and turning her face towards him. “I don’t care about anyone but you in this, okay? If anything, you’re the one pushing me to go farther, work harder, be better. Yeah?”

“I didn’t know you felt that way.” Her hand went to the one holding her face, kissing his palm and then pressing it into her cheek. “I mean it though. It will be hard and confusing, and I am not that good at communicating my feelings. You could have anyone in the world and you picked me which I will never understand, but I’m thankful for it. Both of us are workaholics. It won’t just be you having a busy schedule. Are you absolutely positive? Because if not...”

Taking her face into both of his hands now, he made sure she was looking at him. “I am more than positive. I want this, I want you, I want it all. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes for you to believe that.” He pressed another kiss to her lips, warm and inviting, and she was sure she could feel every single one of his emotions in it. There was nothing but love. Coming up for air, they let their foreheads meet, a moment of unspoken agreement.

“We will do it together, yeah?” She whispered as she pressed a kiss onto his lips once again before her face broke out in a grin. “Fuckin hell… Sorry, I just realized that we can kiss and hug and everything all the time now and without it being weird.” Grabbing his hand and interlacing their fingers, she rested her head on his shoulder. Both of them simply content in the silence of the room and the company of each other. After a while, Y/n looked up at him again. “Do you have any concerns though?”

“No real worries. Just... I don’t know. I just want to stare at you for a bit. Do you even know how crazy you make me? Throughout this whole tour I have been losing my mind!” His eyes flickered over her face, down her body, and back up. He kissed the top of her head. “Y/n you have no clue what you do to me. You remember when you body checked that guy into the wall in Germany?” She nodded as he lowered his head to whisper in her ear. “Cold showers did nothing for me that night.”

Giggles rattled her chest as she hid her face in her hand, feeling a slight blush coming on.

“Hey, no hiding that face from me!” Grabbing at her hands, he tried to pull them back down, but she resisted through her laughter. Desperately trying to pry her hands away, Damiano pinned her down onto the bed, back flush against the mattress, but he still wasn’t succeeding. In a last-ditch effort, he straddled her ample hips. The surprise of it all had her removing her hands on her own immediately, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Now, was that so hard?”

In one quick move, she locked her knees under his and flipped him over, making her sit on top of him. His body thudded into the mattress, jaw dropping, and a little hint of a blush appearing out of nowhere.

“Sorry love, won’t happen again,” she grinned, sending him another wink, before getting off of the stunned singer.

Y/n jumped up off the bed and started to rummage through the mini-fridge. Behind her, she heard the unmistakable sound of Damiano’s phone vibrating. And again. And again.

“What’s going on with that thing?” She asked over her shoulder, unable to hide a grin. Damiano sighed heavily, reading through the messages that seemed to keep coming.

“It’s Vic.”

“What’s she saying?”

Another buzzing sound interrupted them.

“Asking if we’re making out yet. Letting us know that she can hear us laughing. Wanting to know if we’ve fucked yet. Complaining that I’m not answering her messages.”

Damiano’s speech was, in turn, interrupted by Y/n’s phone letting out a similar buzzing noise. With a frown on her face, she gathered it from the nightstand, only to erupt into giggles at the message displayed on her screen.

“What’s so funny?”

“Vic has written, and I quote: ‘As happy as I am that this seems to be going well, I was actually looking forward to indulging in room-service food with you’ with a lot of frowny emojis added.”

Forming a fist with his hand, Damiano roughly hit the wall behind him - the one he knew connected the room to Victoria’s.

“Go get your own room service!” He shouted, and the laughter on the other side, paired with a flurry of emojis reaching both of their phones shortly after let them know she had heard.

“Oh stop it, whatever will you do without a bassist if she starves!” Y/n laughed. “Wait, how’s this.” Y/n coughed, preparing to change her voice into the best impression of Victoria she could muster. “Dami, you bastardo! Give me food!”

A knock on the door - much too polite to be Victoria’s - caught their attention, and Y/n scrambled to open it. A little wagon full of silver plates adorned with various meals greeted her. Not even caring about the confused look on the waiter’s face, she made quick work of grabbing most of what was on the tray and carrying it over to the desk, until only a few things were left.

“Would you mind bringing the rest to the woman next door? Thank you very much.”

As soon as she had closed the door behind her, she caught Damiano’s gaze, wide smile on his face.

“Whatever it takes to make Vic happy, hm?”

Y/n grinned. “Whatever it takes to get Vic to leave us alone.”

***

Y/n had no idea where she was when she woke up the next morning. It only lasted for a moment though - until it all came crashing down on her, the talk with Damiano, the kisses they'd shared, how they had spent the rest of the evening watching trash tv and stuffing themselves with food, until he had left for his own room, placing one last lingering kiss on her lips. She couldn't contain a smile at the memories. For a minute, she allowed herself to lay in bed, reminiscing about the way his mouth felt on hers and how she was now allowed to do that all the time. But work called, and the usual routine caught up with her. Getting ready for the day, re-checking the busy plan for the day, waking up the band. It was only in front of Damiano's room that she faltered a bit, before shaking it off and entering.

Damiano looked peaceful, fast asleep, the blanket only coming up to his waist. With quiet footsteps, she walked over to the bed, taking the view in for as long as she allowed herself. Her usual wake-up tricks would include pulling back curtains, gently talking, stealing blankets, a little shake if necessary. But the turn of their relationship was now providing her with new possibilities. Leaning down, she blew a bit of air against his cheek, watching as his eyelids fluttered but not quite opened yet. A little kiss followed on his cheek, just barely touching his skin. Then a kiss on his inviting lips. She almost pulled back, when a strong hand held onto the back of her head, Damiano suddenly wide awake and kissing her back.

"I could get used to these wake-up calls."

“Well, be a good boy and get dressed and you might be getting them more often,” she grinned, already halfway out the door. She knew if she didn’t leave now she probably wouldn’t for a while, and they did not have time for any delays.

“That better be a promise!” Damiano shouted after her, and she giggled, all the way back to her room, never having looked forward to a day of work quite this much.

***

The day was one of their most hectic ones yet, jumping between the hotel, the venue for soundcheck, dinner, a radio station, and back to the venue. Yet, for once, Damiano didn’t mind in the slightest. Not with the way he was now allowed to stare at Y/n all the time. No more worries about having to hide it, no more being afraid of being caught in the way his eyes kept lingering on her whenever she was nearby. Never mind the fact that he enjoyed teasing her.

He was well aware of how important her professionalism was for her, and he’d be the last person to slack off work because he was smitten. But, in the little moments in between, the waiting to go on air, the walking along a hallway, the little breaks and breathers, he simply couldn’t help himself. Especially not with the way she kept blushing and scolding him.

It was the small things. Brushing past her when he walked by. Letting his hand rest on her waist a little too long, always threatening to move lower, but never making the jump. Winking at her with the meanest smirk when the radio host asked a particularly spicy question. Texting her with the suggestion to unbutton her blouse just slightly more to keep him motivated. The latter was met with a stern look and her hands buttoning up the blouse a little more instead. Yet, throughout the day Y/n seemed to be more relaxed, while keeping up the impression of ‘everything is normal’. Well, she did the best she could when Damiano wasn’t giving her a hard time.

Victoria seemed to think it was the funniest thing in the world, constantly watching the two of them and snickering to herself. When Damiano told her to mind her own business - just for once - she only became more curious. Ethan and Thomas hadn’t caught on yet. Well, Thomas definitely hadn’t. Ethan had looked at Damiano a little strangely, eyebrows raised in question, when the singer had stared at Y/n a little too long, trying to catch her attention, but he hadn’t mentioned it.

Now it was less than an hour until showtime, everyone gathered backstage, and Damiano couldn’t remember the last time he had been quite this excited to play. London being their biggest gig on this tour certainly played a part, but the butterflies in his stomach every time he laid eyes on Y/n surely did the rest.

The dressing room was a mess, clothes everywhere, stylists and make-up artists scrambling to get their work done in time, which was proven increasingly difficult as Victoria and Thomas kept starting tickle fights. Damiano was sure the crew was ready to murder them at this point. Still waiting for his own turn to get dressed up, he let his gaze wander over to Y/n, who was sitting with Ethan, the drummer patiently painting her nails black.

“There,” he concluded. “You’re becoming more like us every single day.”

Damiano watched as she held up her hands, admiring the way the colour contrasted with her skin. Walking over to her, he let his hands rest on her shoulders as he stood behind her.

“And you’re barely even flinching anymore when one of us gets naked,” he grinned, shooting a glance at Victoria, who was running away from Thomas in a shirt and panties only. He bent down to whisper in her ear. “Unless that one of us is me, I hope.”

The smack on his arm landed harder than expected, Y/n once again a blushing mess, but Damiano couldn’t help but laugh. As long as he still had that kind of hold over her, he’d gladly make use of it.

***

Y/n took her usual seat, sending smiles to the crew and band as they readied up for the show. The crowd outside was deafening already, volume only increasing when the lights were slowly starting to dim. One by one, the band members came up to her, ready to get a last wish of good luck, but Damiano made quick work of shoving them away, giggling as he reached her first. Without a word of warning, he grabbed her head, planting a deft kiss on her lips, before letting go of her with the biggest grin on his face. Her eyes closed as soon as she felt his lips on hers, an involuntary reaction to the feeling of having him close.

“Are all of us gonna get some good-luck kisses like that now?” Victoria giggled from behind them, and Y/n couldn’t help landing yet another smack on Damiano’s arm that day.

“Nope,” he replied. “Singer privileges.”

With the proudest smile on his face he finally bounced on stage. The others quickly followed and Y/n was left in her seat, shaking her head. That man was going to be the death of her, she was sure of it. They hadn’t even gone official, and he was already clouding her mind every single second of the day. She watched him as he ran around on stage, energy higher yet than all of the other shows on that tour, thinking about how he never failed to amaze her, both as a performer and as a human being all in itself. She wasn’t quite sure what the future held for them, what the rest of this tour would bring them, but as she stared at him, she decided she was going to be fine with whatever it was. Despite her anxiety about the future, he would be there. As long as she could have a piece of him, a smile, a touch, a kiss, every now and then, she was going to be fine. Right? Watching him on stage was a blessing and a curse. She was so proud of him, of the band. As much as she loved them there still left a small voice of fear. How much was she willing to let them see? Let him see? The rest of the tour was still there, but she reminded herself of what he had told her the day before in her hotel room. They would figure it out together.

***

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#maneskin fiction #damiano david imagine #damiano david x you #damiano david x reader #damiano david fiction #maneskin imagine #maneskin x you #maneskin x reader #quiet music #bethanysnow #mywriting

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doopy-n-loopy · 3 years

Text

Yan!TF2 × reader headcannons (SFW and NSFW)

// obsessive tendancies, mentions of violence, blood, sexual themes, noncon

[SFW]

Let's start with the defense classes

Defense:

Demoman

Deffo didn't admit that he loved you

Tbh he probably blamed it on his drunkenness

But dude you're always drunk

I mean seriously if he sobers up he'll genuinely die so like-

He would usually drink with you or just around you if you don't drink

He's generally a fun chill guy to be with

He would watch you from a distance at times, especially during battle you might distract the cyclops

He's okay with you asking questions

One time he broke his eyepatch and needed a new one

You gave him a nice black eyepatch with the demoman emblem on it

He gets all red whenever you say his full name, because he knows you remembered it

He is generally against kidnapping, I mean especially since he lives with his ma he'd rather not

And because he's a gentleman

If you ever reciprocate his feelings he'll make sure to treat you right

He is a messy person but for you? He'll clean

Probably would get carried away and make home made bombs with all the cleaning supplies 🤦‍♂️

Takes you to meet his mom

"ooo Tavish, yer gonna get me some grand kiddos are ya?"

That made you both blush like crazy

Soft cheek kisses

Probably made a special bomb and named it after you

"this one's for you, luv!" *Proceeds to set off all stickybombs which blows up the entire enemy team*

Blew up the last guy who looked at you funny

Hell, even worse when they make a sexual remark to you scout probably did it

Likes to give you your space but when he's paranoid he follows you to wherever or watched you from a distance

Heavy

Two words: big boy

Hugs are 10000000000/10

Sometimes it fewls suffocating but man it's like hugging a cloud

Soft forehead kisses

Russian pet names

He sometimes lets you touch Sasha, that's how he knows he loves you because he doesn't even let medic, his best friend, touch her

Probably named a gun after you or one of the pet names he calls you

You definitely met his family and they loved you

Zana especially

Doesn't get jealous easily but will not hesitate to unload 12 pounds of bullets into someone who even LOOKS at you the wrong way

Lord have mercy on the ones who dare flirt with you, rest in pieces scout

Doesn't really follow you anywhere (you're a bit too fast for him) but he does watch you and check up on you

He preforms okay on the battlefield but when you're around, he'll show off

Will cook for you, mainly russian dishes

He's very against kidnapping and would rather not do it

Doesn't shut up about you when he's around medic

Engineer

F l u f f y

Very softspoken in general but he gets all flustered when you talk to him

Will check up on you occasionally

"Darlin'" "Honey bunny" things like that y'know

Huge smile when you're around

Will cook for you most definitely, knows what you like

Makes little robots for you

Likes seeing you use his dispenser

Doesn't get jealous easily either but will try and take you away from someone who wants your attention

Likes just having you in his presence, doesn't need to talk to be happy with you around

Very very against kidnapping like all other defense classes, wouldn't do it unless if he truly felt the need to, last resort kind of thing

The last guy who flirted with you had a sentry gun shoved up his ass

Doesn't really follow you anywhere

Offense:

Scout

Nothing short of a horomonal teenager

I mean he's 21 but

He gets so giddy around you, very loud, tries to show off

He loves you very much

"oh yeah? Well I once absolutely smashed a guy into peices, he was still screaming when he was dead!"

He brags about brutal things but hey you love it since you're also brutal

Flexes his non-existent muscles around you

Would talk about his mom to you all day

Definitely got a tattoo of your face and name somewhere on his body, most likely his bicep

Your name is probably misspelled too but you never say anything about it because he can't read so it's fine

He hasn't really thought about kidnapping in all honesty, again, a last resort kinda thing if he can't get you to love him

He will make a damn SCENE if anyone flirts with you

"you think that's funny, chucklenuts? I eat guys like you for breakfast lunch AND dinner!" "I'll blow yer freakin head off if ya talk to y/n like that again!" Would definitely drag you away

God help anyone that makes you uncomfortable, he'll fuck them up, if that person is medic I mean he'll try to but we all know how fucking scary medic is

Follows you at times

Pyro

"Mphmphmpph"

Seems more lovey around you

Definitely gave you a hand full of the enemy's bloody bones thinking it was a bouquet of flowers

Absolute baby

Just so precious, scary but precious

Hugs for days

Good luck trying to get their ass off of you when you're on cease-fire

Very warm though, they smell like smoke with a bit of blood

Likes petting you

Isn't against the idea of kidnap because they don't realize what they're actually doing, they think they're just taking you to a magical place

Snuggles

When someone flirts with you their whole world changes

Gets angry and starts yelling at them

"MPHMPHMOHMPHHH! MPHMPHNHUMAHUMA!" - Pyro 2021

Will not let you get a checkup alone, he trusts medic but not with you

Very sweet tho, he'll turn around when you need to strip down

Will follow you almost EVERYWHERE and if they can, while holding your hand

Soldier

Yells at you a little less than the others

At first doesn't realize how he feels but then realizes that he loves you

Is pretty protective over you

Rants about America all day to you

Probably got you an american flag to wear

Doesn't really take off his helmet but he likes seeing you in it, makes him proud

If you ever live with him you'll find out that he owns like 20 racoons

"YOU ARE CUTER THAN A RACOON" "YOU WILL BE SAFE ON THE BATTLEFIELD, DO YOU HEAR ME MAGGOT?"

He loudly wakes everyone up in the morning but tries to avoid waking you up

Loves you as much as he loves America

Will show off on the battlefield for you

Isn't against kidnapping you, he probably did it early on if you showed immediately that you didn't reciprocate his feelings

Will blow any guy that hits on you to absolute bits

"MAGGOT DO YOU HEAR ME? YOU WILL LEAVE THE LADY/MAN ALONE THIS INSTANT!"

Probably put you on his back and rocket jumped just to show you what it felt like

Follows you around a lot, it's really obvious because he wears a bucket over his head and crashes into things, when you look back he'll stand behind a lamp post or somewhere really obvious

Support

Ah yes, everyones favorite class including mine

Sniper

Very quiet

Takes secret glances at you

Pays more attention to you than the others

S h y

Asks how you are, how you slept, etc

Doesn't really need to be holding you, tbh he's against PDA

But he likes being in your presence

Just sit down next to him and he'll be fine

When he's on the battlefield, he'll look for you and make sure you're safe

God forbid anyone try to hurt you, he'll make them suffer

Talks about Australia to you and accidentally admitted that he wanted to take you there

Doesn't like the idea of kidnapping but he isn't totally against it, I can see him doing it

He smuggled you all the damn way to Australia

He'll nonchalantly show off to you on the battlefield, he'll let you get cornered and come in to save the day

"love" is a word he uses a lot with you

Will grumble to himself if he sees someone flirting with you

If it's a random person, well, that'll be the last time you ever see them

Has talked about you to his parents

Kind of follows you? I mean he sits atop a high placeand watches you through his scope whenever you're going somewhere

Spy

SEDUCTIVE ASF

He knows what he's doing

Will kiss your hand a lot

Likes to flirt with you and see you blush

"honhonhon"

Sleazy french fucker

Watched you from afar at first then approached you a little later

Isn't against the idea of kidnapping, pro kidnapping, definitely did it not only to have you to himself but for some sort of sexual satisfaction

Just very uh... Lewd? Can't find the right word

He treats you very respectfully though

If he hears anyone else flirting with you he'll be fuming but won't show it

"Oh please, like you could EVER satisfy y/n's desires"

That person mysteriously disappeared that night

Very cocky bastard

Definetly follows you home, not only that but he watches you through your window

And stalks you

He knows everything about you

Would get you either by knocking you unconscious or by blackmailing you

Medic

B a s t a r d

Gets LOUD when you're around

And giddy

Very touchy, always has a reason to put his hands on you

Talks a lot with you around, I mean he already talks a lot but now he won't shut up

Keeps his office nice and clean for you

He restocks on everything so when you come around you can take a loot at all his medicines

Big smile :D

Like spy he is not at all against kidnapping you

Makes sure you're comfortable during checkups

Will make you wait to be seen last just so he can take his time touching your body

"it's all part of the procedure".mp3

Compliments you in weird ways, ex: "your skin is so smooth and lovely, it's the perfect texture to make leather out of" "you have an amazing colon"

Look he's just trying his best here he has a screw loose

You're the only member who he's careful with really

Sometimes allows you to get hurt or has you get hurt by something just so you can see him

Always follows you wherever

Knows everything about you

If someone is flirting with you, he'll get quiet at first and use a low tone to speak to them

"you have guts talking to y/n like that"

They were never seen again

With kidnapping, he won't hesitate to use blackmail against you, or will just use anesthesia

Bonus: Pauling

Pauling

This lady values her work over her life, but to her you're so much more important

Will call you a lot on the battlefield to check in on you

Won't give you extremely hard missons to do because she doesn't want you to get hurt

"Hey (class), Pauling here. I need you... No not like that I just- I mean- for a mission yeah a mission"

Gets all flustered when you're around

Will take her only day off to spend time with you, what a sweetheart

Keeps multiple tabs on you

Follows you around

Doesn't really have time for kidnapping

But if it comes to that, she'll make something up so she has a reason to kidnap you

If anyone else is flirting with you she won't show that she's annoyed

She'll make something up as an excuse to execute them

[NSFW]

Defense

Demo

Has definitely thought of what you'd look like while naked

B l u s h

Has used a mental image of you to get off before

Probably has an actual photo of you

When he drinks a little more than usual, he'll accidentally brush his hand against your ass or get touchy with you

Will not force himself on you, he's 100% against that

If you decide to have sex with him, praise is what you're gonna get

"you're as beautiful as a shot of whiskey in the sunrise"

Very gentle with his hands

Heavy

Not the type to masturbate

Unless if he gets THAT worked up

Again, against forcing himself on you

But if you want it no doubt you will top

He's also gentle with you

And loving

Praise is all you're gonna get

Sometimes russian sometimes broken english

Either way he will worship your body

Engi

Again, a more modest guy, doesn't really touch himself

Might just use a robot to pleasure himself when thinking about you

Probably has a photo of you and him around his workshop

Never forces himself on you

He's sweet and gentle when you do want it though

Sometimes gets help from his robot friends

Offense

Scout

Gets off on thinking about you

Won't force himself on you though

Sexual remarks × 100

Calls you handsome/beautiful in bed

I wouldn't say he's the best in bed but hey he's good I guess

Cuddles after sex most likely

Probablh threw out all his sexual magazines because they just didn't do the trick anymore

Sometimes when he runs past you, your shirt/skirt gets lifted up by a gust of wind and he can't help but look ( ͡◉ ͜ ʖ ͡◉)

Since I hit the text limit, I'll be making a part 2, stay tuned

#tf2 x reader #medic x reader #engineer x reader #spy x reader #yandere hcs #yandere #scout x reader #sniper x reader #heavy x reader #demoman x reader #pyro x reader #soldier x reader #pauling x reader #yandere tf2

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sturchling · 3 years

Note

First off I love your Miraculous Ladybug fics. Also I don't know if you are a Black Butler fan or not. But if you are could you please do a fic where Lila causes a that destroys Marinette's home/bakery, which kills Marinette's parents and severely injures Marinette. While in the hospital recovering Roland finds out what Lila did and talks with Gina, both recently have been diagnosed with cancer and want to make sure Marinette is taken care of when they die. Gina or Roland remember a story told to them by a descendant of the Phantomhive servants (In this fic it follows season 2 with Sebastian being able to get Ciel's memories back before Claude tried to brainwash him and was able to eat Ciel's soul) (either from when Gina was in traveling in England or someone who Roland's father knew during WWII) about a demon who acted like a caretaker for a child in the late 1800's. They both decide to sacrifice themselves so Marinette can be cared for. One summons Sebastian the other summons Claude. The terms of the contract are simple, in exchange for eating the soul of the person who summoned their specific demon the summoned demon would care for Marinette, act as her guardian, help her achieve her dreams, and care for her, her husband and their children until Marinette passes away from old age. The contract is accepted with both demons. While caring for Marinette it becomes sort of a contest between the two demons of them trying to out do each other in different ways (if Claude gets her multiple roles of different color spider silk fabric, Sebastian "accidentally" gets Marinette introduced to several high ranking nobles ["Hello, my ancestor worked for your ancestor's peer. What a small world. Might I introduce you to my ward?"] that become her clients. Due to the two demons' shenanigans Lila gets exposed, the Butterfly and Peacock are recovered, Adrien's mother is awakened, Marinette gets some real friends (Will, Ronald, Grell, and the Undertaker got reincarnated and regain their memories after a while) and falls in love with her future husband (either Will, Ronald, or the Undertaker. The only reason I don't do this fic myself is I can't write Black Butler characters even though it's one of my favorite animes.

Sorry this took so long, I wanted to try my best to make the characters accurate, so I had to rewatch some of the show. I hope I did good, but I am pretty rusty, writing these characters. But I tried my best! Hope you like it!

Lila was getting more and more dangerous. She didn't just want to ruin Marinette's social life anymore. Now she wanted to ruin her entire life, or even end it. One night, when everyone was asleep, Lila broke into the bakery and started a fire. She made sure that it would spread to the upper floors and then she raced from the building before she was spotted.

The fire spread quickly and soon the entire building, bakery and the apartment were completely engulfed. Marinette woke up to the smell of smoke and Tikki yelling in her ear. Despite the kwami screaming at her to leave the apartment, Marinette raced down to her parents room, to see if they had gotten out, but the door was blocked by debris falling from the ceiling. The thick black smoke was choking Marinette as she tried in vain to get to her parents. By the time Tikki managed to convince Marinette that they had to leave, Marinette was severely burned on her arms, legs, and back. As she blindly felt her way to the exit, a now exposed wooden beam in the ceiling, came crashing down, landing on Marinette's legs. With her legs pinned and unable to move, Marinette passed out. Thankfully firefighters had already been called and pulled Marinette from the flames before it was too late. On lookers from the neighborhood watched in horror as the bakery went up in flames. Once the fire was put out and Marinette was sent to the closest hospital, the firefighters went into the apartment and found Tom and Sabine. They had died in their room, unable to get out because of the debris blocking their door.

The next morning, the whole city seemed to be grieving. Tom and Sabine were well loved people in the city and everyone was distraught over the loss. But no one was more distraught than Marinette and her grandparents. Roland and Gina heard about the fire early that morning and were horrified to learn that Tom and Sabine were gone. But their one piece of solace was that Marinette had survived. They both raced to the hospital and comforted their granddaughter. But they had a bigger problem. Both Gina and Roland were getting older, now both in their late 80's. Both of them also had several severe health conditions and likely wouldn't be around for much longer as it is. And then who would take care of Marinette? That is when Gina remembered a story she had heard when she was in England. A story of two boys in the Victorian era who had made deals with demons, and those demons took care of the boys. Soon after, both boys' souls were eaten by their respective demons. As much as Gina and Roland didn't want to leave Marinette, they thought that this was the best thing for her. The only way to know that she would truly be cared for.

That night, after they left the hospital, they summoned the demons the same way as in the story Gina heard. The room became dark with shadow and two voices spoke from the darkness, asking the two elderly people why they had been summoned. "We summoned you to make a deal. Our granddaughter has recently lost her parents and we likely will not be around much longer as it is. We heard stories about how you two cared for two boys in the Victorian era in exchange for their respective souls. In exchange for our souls, we want you to take care of our Marinette. To help her achieve her goals, protect her, and care for her until she dies. Both demons agreed to the deal. After all, they had already cared for children before, so they had the skills to do it, and the souls of these two people who would willingly do this for their granddaughter would be nice to have. With the contract sealed, Gina and Roland wrote in their wills that Marinette was to be cared for by Sebastian and Claude, claiming they were old family friends. They also took the two demons to meet Marinette, so that Marinette would at least meet the two before they began caring for her. Once the legalities were taken care of and Marinette had met the two, Sebastian and Claude took their payment and Gina and Roland died.

Marinette was overcome with the grief of not just losing her parents, but now her grandparents as well. Sebastian and Claude, who her grandparents had recently introduced her to, were declared her guardians and began watching over her. Roland had left Marinette his house, so she had somewhere to live. While Marinette began to settle into the new normal of her life, Sebastian and Claude got to work on the first order of business. They were going to get justice for Marinette's parents. They knew that the fire was not an accident and that someone had set it on purpose. The evidence was obvious, but the police were stuck. They didn't know who did it. But Sebastian and Claude quickly learned that it was a girl named Lila who had been tormenting their charge for years now. All they had to do was phone in an anonymous tip to the police about the girl, and the police searched Lila's apartment. Mrs. Rossi kept sayin this was a mistake and her daughter couldn't have done this, but the police soon found evidence of her involvement, including the accelerant used at the bakery. Lila was confused, sure that she had gotten rid of it all. But Lila was arrested quickly, as a crowd had now grown outside of her apartment building. Several members of Mrs. Bustier's class were there and saw Lila being dragged out in cuffs. As Paris looked on in horror at the arsonist that had killed the Dupain-Chengs, no one noticed the shadow like figures standing to the side, smiling coldly at the scene.

They also quickly figured out that Marinette was Ladybug and even figured out that Adrien was Chat Noir when he came over to check on Marinette. They learned this by sensing the souls of the kwami. Since the kwami's souls are obviously not human, and Marinette kept disappearing during the akuma attacks, it didn't take long for the demons to be sure of their suspicion that Marinette was Ladybug. After confirming this, they felt that defeating Hawkmoth fell under their duty of caring for Marinette so they set out to find out who Hawkmoth was. They were able to sense the souls of other kwami in the city. They sensed two other kwami in Adrien's house. With only two kwami present in the house, they were certain that this was the location of Hawkmoth. To confirm this, Claude used a smaller version of his demon form to enter the manor and watch the residents of the house. Claude soon saw Gabriel and Natalie transform with the missing miraculous. Now that they had confirmation, it was time to end Hawkmoth.

The two demons began to plague Gabriel and Natalie with nightmares and torment them constantly. In each nightmare, they made it abundantly clear that this was because of their actions as Hawkmoth and Mayura. Soon, Gabriel and Natalie could hardly sleep and were almost driven completely mad. They surrendered to Ladybug and the miraculous were recovered. Gabriel and Natalie were sent to prison for their crimes. When Marinette learned why Gabriel had done everything and what happened to Emilie, she used everything she had learned about magic to help revive her. Sebastian and Claude lent some of their power to this endeavor as well, not wanting their charge to exhaust herself in the attempt. Adrien had his mom back, and the two moved to England to get away from all the trouble Gabriel had caused as Hawkmoth.

With all the major problems in Marinette's life taken care of, Marinette could relax a bit and focus on her fashion. While she thought it was odd that her grandparents had left her in Sebastian and Claude's care, she did think they were doing a wonderful job. They helped to support all her dreams, any way they could. Claude once brought her several different rolls of fabric made from spider silk. This of course, renewed the rivalry between the two demons. Sebastian brought Marinette to England, making the excuse that it was to see her friend. While there, Sebastian made sure to 'run into' the descendants of some old friends. Several nobles and aristocrats found a charming man and young girl in front of them at many parties. The man seemed familiar to them all, especially the older guests at these parties. They were sure they had encountered this man before. When asked if they knew him, the Sebastian always responded with "My ancestor worked as a butler for one of your ancestor's peers. He worked in the Phantomhive manor as the butler to Ciel Phantomhive. It truly is a small world for us to meet. May I introduce my charge, Ms. Marinette Dupain-Cheng." Sebastian spent the whole night talking up Marinette's fashion business and Marinette would leave these parties with several more clients than when she arrived.

Claude and Sebastian kept trying to out do each other in their attempts to care for Marinette. Helping her with her designs, getting her fancy fabrics and equipment, even convincing several major fashion magazines to feature her work. As odd as the arrangement was, it did work. Marinette met several new friends, thanks to Sebastian and Claude's interference. She even met the man that she would marry. A man who looked suspiciously like Will, from all those decades ago. As the years went by, even after Marinette was an adult and didn't need caretakers anymore, Sebastian and Claude continued to watch over and protect her, as per their contract. And they would watch over her, for the rest of her life.

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sanjiafsincedayone · 3 years

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Why SaNa over other ships?

Now, this is not to hate on other ships or downplay them, because what shipping really comes down to is often simply preference. What characters or dynamics you enjoy and what reasons you might have for liking different things.

No, this is simply my own reasons for why I like SaNa and also why I think they could make sense and thirdly why it’s possible Oda could be setting it up to actually happen in canon. It’s all just my views and I apologize if I forget a moment or add something that is more head canon, but again, this is my reasons and they will always be partially biased. (And there are too many to remember them all properly, so if you want to add feel welcome to do so.)

I think Sanji and Nami is a lovely ship even based just on fan content and the community. But we also get some great moments in the manga, and I personally think there is potential for Oda to make an actual romance work between them.

1. Why I like Sanji and Nami

I personally fell in love with Sanji before I even started to watch or read One Piece, simply based on his voice actor (Hiroaki Hirata), his design and his fighting style. So obviously I already have a bias towards Sanji (SanjiAFsincedayone having a bias towards Sanji? Who knew?). I didn’t ship Sanji with Nami from the start and even now I am a multi shipper who enjoys fan content with Sanji as a main part of several pairs, most prominently ZoSan.

So, when did I fall for SaNa then? Well, I have talked about it in various posts before which you can find in my Masterpost - SanjiAFsincedayone, but for me shipping Sanji and Nami more seriously didn’t start until Thriller Bark.

Sanji took a knife in the back for her as she is dressed in a wedding dress, even this one scene is enough to explain why someone might like to ship them together.

I for sure saw many SaNa moments before that, and felt Nami seemed special to Sanji, but I didn’t think it would have a big chance of happening and I preferred other ships above it when consuming fan material. Again, shipping is after all mostly fantasy and wanting more of something in a romantic/sexual way. Thriller Bark was when Sanji and Nami’s interactions caught my attention properly and I started to look a bit closer and actually note the way Oda wrote them and their moments. Going back after and rereading I think there is a lot of interesting things even before that. But the wedding theme and bridal carry and how Oda showed them in Thriller Bark was just too on the nose to ignore.

What got me into shipping Sanji with Nami were mainly three things.

1. Their dynamics getting more interesting over time and Sanji and Nami being two of the most well written and interesting characters in One Piece. 2. Sanji consistently seeming to have a preference for Nami in combination with my belief that he is after true love and isn’t just a pervert forever doomed to be alone. 3. The manga showing the potential of it actually happening and them finally catching my attention in Thriller Bark. Basically there are moments to follow and look at in the actual story as well, which in turn also leads to more fan content and material for shippers.

So point 1 and 2 really is mostly about my preference and how much I enjoy watching them together and how well I imagine they would fit together. I think their personalities and desires overlap well with them being able to understand and compromise for each other while aslo being on a similar level of intelligence and communication. They also have their kindness and empathy as a highlighted shared theme for their characters.

Them talking about the Children in Punk Hazard or Sanji helping Nami turn in the argument between both Luffy and Vivi and Luffy and Usopp are some examples. Or Nami letting Sanji smoke in her body because she knows how hard it is for him. Small gestures like this show both understanding and a willingness to compromise.

I think they are fun and have a relationship that right now might need working on, but it’s clear how much they care for each other and how they actually appriciate each other a lot.

Simply put I think they are interesting together and I think they could work as a romantic couple in the future, where their dreams and family oriented views migh allign. Again, from how I view them as characters and interpret their wants and possible futures I think Sanji and Nami is a good match. They can have a restaurant either traveling the world or docked close to both Cocoyashi and Zeff, Nami can tend to her mikans together with Sanji and they can manage a restaurant for a living. I also think they are the most parental members in the crew and has shown some possible signs of wanting to settle down with families. This would also work well as a final contrast to their less than happy childhoods (You might also want to check out my post (Part 3) Sanji x Nami hints - Thematic parallels).

There is a lot of potential in their dynamics and how different they seem while they also seem willing to adapt and try to understand each other that make them interesting as characters of romantic plots. At the same time they have enough in common to relate to each other and work well together. Again, as a fictional ship within the fandom there is a lot of great artists, writers etc. that truly explore them and make Sanji and Nami a great and fun ship with an active fandom to engage with.

Of course there are more shallow reasons like them matching in age and being good-looking but really I could ship Sanji with almost any woman if it was only about the looks. I mean, Purin is basically made to be a perfect match for Sanji, but I personally find his dynamic with Nami much more interesting and his dedication to Nami is of course unpraralleled thanks to the time Oda has spent on them over many years.

I love Sanji and Nami as individual characters and with the amount of moments between them there is also a lot to explore and enjoy in the manga. It makes them interesting in a third aspect for me, which is of course analysis and the potential of them actually ending up together and looking closer at the way Oda writes them from a story perspective. For me what we have gotten from Oda in terms of Sanji x Nami moments is very interesting and I see potential there even though it would need more development to truly work for the current story.

But, again shipping doesn’t have to mean anything for the actual story... There are crack ships or slash ships that surely will never happen but that could still be great and fun to explore for the fans. Honestly, everyone is free to ship whatever they want. We all have different taste after all.

So, what about the manga then?

2. Why do I think they could make sense as a romantic couple even in canon?

First, my own view is that Sanji is someone who seeks true love, and as briefly shown with both Violet and Purin it seems like he would take an actual relationship seriously if given the chance. I also think it would make him happy and thus as Oda might want to create happy resolutions for the strawhats I think Sanji ending up with someone has quite a big chance of happening. This is combination with his preference for Nami and in turn Nami truly caring for him (though not yet in a romantic way) is something that makes me think it could happen. Other ships have potential too depending on how Oda decides to develop them, but considering how he keeps adding moments for SaNa in the way he does as of now I still think SaNa is the most likely ship for Sanji.

As I mentioned earlier I also think Nami has shown some possible inclinations for wanting a family (or at least being a great mother if we look at her with children in many arc, not the least Punk Hazard) and maybe even getting married eventually.

If she ends up with someone we will need to see a more obvious attraction and want for romance from her no matter what ship we might consider. She has at this point not shown a lot, but I do think the thematic parallels she shares with Sanji in combination with how their moments are written has the potential to grow into something more.

As a romantic pair I think Sanji and Nami would be happy, he would adore her and take care of her and both of them would probably find that ideal. In fact it’s already a big part of their dynamics and seem to make them both happy. They also seem to try to understand and show interest in knowing each other as seen with several scenes and general attention towards each other’s backstories. They also challange each other in different ways and we have seen them compromise a few times. I think compared to many other relationship in the manga Oda has shown more personal moments between them. So a romantic additional aspect is not too far off. Not that Oda would make it happen now, but that he would lay down the groundwork for it to work by the end of the series.

In short I think they would make each other happy, but also challange and grow thanks to the other. I think their dreams of traveling the world with Nami drawing her map and Sanji cooking on all the seas and finding All Blue and then settiling down together close to both their “homes” in East Blue with a restaurant and family seems to fit them both. It wouldn’t always be easy, but I think they would actually enjoy their dynamics with Nami bossing Sanji around most of the time.

Now this all sounds nice and all, but it’s of course just my imagination based on biased interpretations of the manga. So where do I get it from?

3. The way SaNa is portrayed by Oda

Now this is really the biggest point... Because again, I can ship whatever characters I want and it is just for fun. It doesn’t have to happen for me to enjoy it or I wouldn’t ship Sanji with Zoro. But with Sanji and Nami there are legit reasons in addition to my preference that makes me think it could happen in the manga.

It might take years to actually go through it all in order with my additional interpretations, but I will try to go through the basics themes and moments that to me could indicate SaNa over any other Sanji or Namji ship.

I think the obvious thing to talk about first is simply how Sanji definitely has a romantic (and sexual) interest in Nami. No matter what other character you might see with either of them, this has been shown consistantly over the whole manga. You may argue that Sanji might be interested in others equally, and though I wouldn’t agree it’s a fair point. However from a story perspective it would still need to be resolved. It’s highly unlikely for Nami to end up with anyone unless Sanji ends up with someone else and gets a happy ending too.

As for Sanji’s interest in Nami I personally think Oda has paid a lot of attention to it in a way that makes it the most likely ship for Sanji. He might yet add moments between other ships and develop them (most notably San/Pu of course), but in my opinion the way Oda has added Nami in other potential romantic moments with Sanji it seems Nami is above every other woman so far.

Most importantly I think we have seen:

Sanji leave Violet who actually seemed to show interest in him to run off to save Nami (and the crew, but the point is that Oda chose to highlight and add this moment with focus on Nami to begin with).

Sanji being more focused on Nami even when Vivi and Robin has been on the ship or at the same place. Oda definitely puts Sanji with Nami above other women at least in amount of moments and involvment.

Sanji being very concerned with Nami in front of Purin and being shown happy with her (the bridal carry for example) and saying he loves her right in front of Purin.

Sanji having stronger reactions to Nami than other women. This could just be my way of seeing it, but I do think we have seen the strongest reactions from Sanji when it comes to Nami. Not the least with turning into a literal devil when he heard she was kidnapped by Absalom. For example compare Sanji rushing after Nami in both Skypiea and Thriller Bark even to him going after Robin. Or his reaction to Nami getting sick in Drum. We simply have a lot of strong reactions from Sanji towards Nami in different ways and more importantly Oda seeming to add focus on them.

We also have him reacting to things like “women’s tears” or calls but only indicating Nami might be calling him personally. For example Sanji hearing Tashigi cry or saying he trusts Violet or Robin even though they are lying but for Nami adding things like “I think I heard Nami call out for me” or moments like “I leave my Nami to you”. Basically the way Oda writes it there often seems to be added a more personal stake in Sanji’s reactions and moments with Nami compared to with other women.

So from Sanji’s point of view, and the way Oda has written them so far, I think he puts Nami above every other woman. But more importantly, Oda shows us moments between them that he doesn’t add for other ships as consistantly or in romantic looking ways. Keep in mind that both Nami and Sanji are main characters, but they are not Luffy. Oda choosing to not use Luffy (who will obviously have strong moments with all of his nakama, like how he had his own time with Sanji both in Baratie and WCI) for some of these moments but rather insert Sanji or Nami instead for each other’s stories makes it more relevant. Because it’s not an obvious choice in the same way. It’s a choice based on their characters and dynamics within the world, not because of their roles as main hero or heroine. Here are some examples.

1. Their first meeting. Sanji is for the first time seen in love cook mode and he basically seem ready to leave everything behind for Nami. Right away his reaction to Nami is stronger than what we have seen from him and it seems to hold true even with time.

2. SaNa having interest and plot relevance to each other’s back stories. Sanji getting involved with hearing Nami’s back story and saving his sister. Also, calling her “sister” which indicates a platonic familiarity where he puts Nami above Nojiko romantically (yes, despite flirting some with her). Nami in turn also getting involved and showing interest in Sanji’s backstory, pushing to go with Luffy to save Sanji and being the one to remind us of Sanji’s past and character traits.

3. Sanji getting personally tantalized by using Nami. This has happened several times, the first with Kuroobi in Arlong Park, but also with Mr. 2 in Alabasta, Absalom in Thriller Bark and then in Fishman Island (Zou too, but that wasn’t just Nami) and on Zou. You can check my post (thought not updated fully) Sanji and Nami – Fights and danger for a more detailed view. (Even in movies like Strong World Sanji has a direct talk with Shiki about Nami and it seems most people are aware of Sanji being extra sensitive to Nami.)

4. Sanji asking Nami if she is jealous or if she loves him, indicating again that he is interested to know is she is interested in him. Once even responding “I love you too”. In general Nami responding in these situations in a more “positive way” or Oda showing Sanji interpreting her actions as more romantic. For example the “proposal” or the hug in WCI.

5. Romantic looking moments or themes. Now this is of couse not something that has been done mutually between them and thus aren’t actually romantic scenes. But the tropes and common use for many of the things that Oda has chosen to use for Sanji and Nami are romantic in nature. Of course the two forced marriages are the strongest examples with them rescuing each other from getting married to someone else. But we also have the switch body trope, the slap and of course smaller gestures like the bridal carries or the way Oda drew the hug between them in WCI. I am not saying that SaNa is the only ship with romantic looking moments, because San/Pu And San/Violet obviously has some as well. However, considering the amount SaNa moments and the fact that he has left Violet and Purin in particular for Nami seems to make the SaNa moments trump any other ship. At least for me personally SaNa as it is now and as Oda has portrayed it in comparison to other Sanji ships gets in the way of Sanji ending up with someone else unless Oda starts to make some changes.

I want to make some emphasis on how Nami and Sanji seem to get some “bigger” moments between them in almost every arc. Again, compare this to Sanji with other women, or even Nami with other crew members.

Baratie - Their first meeting and Sanji’s reaction to Nami and interest gets focus. Arlong Park - Sanji shows interest in Nami’s past and Kuroobi mocks Sanji by specfically mentioning Nami. ( Loguetown Arc, Reverse Mountain Arc, Whiskey Peak Arc and Little Garden mostly have small moments, like Sanji asking if Nami is jealous or Sanji giving Nami his jacket.) Drum Island - Nami is sick and we see Sanji worry and care for her and in the end even sacrificing himself for her. Nami worries about him too. Alabasta - Sanji fighting Mr. 2 looking like Nami and lots of small moments like Sanji asking Nami if she loves him.

Jaya - Nami showing interest in Sanji’s back story. Small things like Nami hiding for the bugs behind Sanji or Sanji. Skypiea - Sanji being hell-bent of saving Nami and making the others look for her. Then him saving Nami and Usopp from Enel and Nami being worried in return. (Both times Sanji gets hit by Enel Nami is there and worries.) Then a lot of small moments like him giving her a flower and Nami pulling Sanji’s ear for flirting with Conis. Long Ring Long Land - Nami encourage Sanji be the ball and win, but mostly small moments like Sanji getting annoyed with Aokiji for flirting with Nami or him sitting next to her and trying to kiss her. Water 7 - Sanji leaving his love letter to Nami and Nami being worried for (and impressed with) Sanji. Enies Lobby - Sanji losing against a woman, Nami being understanding and then stepping in to basically revenge him. Also Sanji hearing it as Nami loving him and then him showing up to save Nami and Usopp from Jyabura.

Post-Enies Lobby - Not much, but Sanji stepping in to make Nami and Zoro stop fighting and make Nami understand Zoro’s pov. Thriller Bark - Sanji just being extremely focused on Nami and worried about her throughout the whole arc. Also him getting specifically selected by Luffy to save Nami. Of course the wedding theme with the bridal carry and Sanji’s reaction to Nami. Also Sanji’s Zombie protecting Nami (and later kicking Robin) and his “obsession with Nami” being mentioned. Sabaody Archipelago - Another smaller arc, but we do get Nami worried about Sanji possibly drowning. And smaller moments like Sanji being angry for Nami being put in danger by the Fishman Riders or him telling Franky to take care of Nami as he runs to protect Zoro. When they return we of course also get the nosebleeds, and Sanji daydreaming about Nami’s development.

Fishman Island - Sanji’s reaction to Jinbei and Arlong. Also the fishmen pointing out that Nami might be their weakness due to Sanji’s “over reaction“ to her falling. Punk Hazard - The body swtich, Sanji’s body saving Nami and Sanji being careful with not hurting her etc. Also them working together to save the children, Sanji listening to Nami’s request and saying he loves her more because of her kindness. Also small things like Sanji giving his jacket to Nami again. Dressrosa - Sanji leaving Violet behind to save Nami, insisting that he should be the one to save her and then him getting attacked by Doflamingo and Nami getting worried and not wanting to leave him. Sanji basically tries to sacrifice himself for Nami for the 4th time (Drum, Skypiea x2, also maybe in Thriller Bark). Zou - We get a lot of focus on Nami and Sanji together, and then of course when Sanji is gone Nami is the driving force for his plot. Once again Nami is also used to taunt Sanji (inside Capone). Then Nami is both the one to mention Sanji being from North Blue and to listen to Pekom’s talk about his family. Not to mention her insisting on going with Luffy to WCI and having a fight with Zoro as she defends Sanji. Whole Cake Island - The way she pushes for them to find Sanji, her hapiness when they find him and her hurt and the slap. We even get something like Nami being tantalized with Sanji by both Purin and Brulee. The only strawhat besides Luffy who gets a personal story thread with Sanji and a personal resolution for their conflict is Nami. The tension seems personal and combined with Sanji having another love interest but choosing Nami above her it does seem like Nami is the more natural choice both for Sanji and for Oda.

There is also a distinct increase in romantic-looking moments between them, with them touching more than ever before.

Wano - Even after WCI it doesn’t seem like Oda is stopping the SaNa moments. Sanji manages to save and carry Nami three times in the beginning of Wano. On top of that we have the bath scene and of course a lot of small moments and mentions between them like Sanji asking Usopp to take care of “My Nami-san” or Sanji jumping in abobe Nami to save her from arrows.

How many times have we had Sanji be the one to go after Nami or save her? By his own choice, by being the one present or even by Luffy asking Sanji to go. Oda puts Sanji next to Nami a lot, and I think it’s possible he might be doing it for a reason.

Who knows what we might get, but the fact that we have as much as we do really seems to show Oda having a preference to put them together in various ways.

The point is they have a lot of time and moments dedicated to them from Oda despite them both being secondary characters. At this point it’s possible Sanji is the person Nami has moments with the most in the story besides Luffy (and perhaps Usopp) as they often end up together. Of course this is including them thinking about and talking about each other as well, and not just direct interacting. For example counting the body switch and Nami being worried and focused on Sanji while on Zou. Oda doesn’t have to, but he has chosen to write it like this. On top of that he adds romantic interest from Sanji and romantic looking moments between them.

I could go on, and there are plenty of moments and examples to find between Nami and Sanji that are interesting to look a bit deeper at. You can check out my Masterpost - SanjiAFsincedayone for some of them. But as it is now here are the main points for why I think SaNa at least has a bigger chance to happen than other ships with the two of them as it is now.

One-sided attraction and romantic interest from Sanji’s side that needs to be resolved in one way or another.

Nami seems special to Sanji. Even small things like only using -san for her and -chan for others is a detail that makes her stand out to him.

Great involvement in each other’s stories. Oda likes adding Sanji and Nami in moments together both for interaction and explenation about each other. For example Sanji is also often used to save Nami.

Interactions of understanding and changing dynamics between the two, like them compromising for each other or wanting to know about the other’s past. Matching personalities and a possible future.

Romantic themes and moments, mainly the weddings, but also the amount of times Sanji has saved Nami and things like the hug being drawn in a very romantic looking way with Nami being more focused on.

Tension and urgency. This is basically Sanji and Nami having a lot of focus on each other in dire situations and Oda showing it with specific mentions.

So, to summarize, I like Sanji and Nami both as indvidual characters and together. I enjoy them as a ship and to explore their dynamics in a romantic way no matter what they might end up as in the story. Anyone should be able to respect that people have different preferences. Additionally I think and speculate that they would work well and could happen in the manga as well. This is obviously a biased interpretation and opinion.

I might be wrong, but you should be able to respect that too as we have yet to get anything objectivly confirming any ship. We don’t know if any ship with end up canon at all. Maybe Sanji and Nami will remain a ship that never becomes canon, but even so they are a ship that is definitely worth enjoying.

I hope you found this post interesting and can enjoy your own ship and fandom while also seeing that it’s ok for others to like something different than you. Thanks for reading.

#sanji #nami #sana #sanami #sanji x nami #sanjixnami #sanami theory #One Piece analysis #sanji x nami analysis #sanjiafsincedayone #one piece manga

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remsmoonlight · 3 years

Text

— title : theatre square

— word count : 2.2k words

— pairing : daigo dojima x reader

— summary : nothing but a nice day spent with Daigo in theatre square .. also Daigo still hates the fact he still sucks at the ufo catcher

— warnings : nothing but a few curses here and there

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* requests are open ! / requested by anon *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

An unending chatter of noise that bleeds into each other from the various conversations of people going about their daily lives as they are captivated by their conversations through their mobile phones or the shopping trip they are using as a way to catch up with their friends to those just on their lunch breaks from their jobs — all do not take in that which surrounds them as you do, your eyes jumping from person to person. While you wait, you find yourself making a story up for each of them, using the game from your childhood to entertain yourself until your date arrives.

As the minutes pass your excitement by, the bright blue of Kamurocho dulls as does your enthusiasm. Time aches by every time you bring your wrist up to check the time on your watch, not a message to say they’d be late. Nothing. A heavy rush of air takes the plunge out of your lungs and into the air, with dejection and gloom the bricks that build its body. You wonder why a person would ask you out only to leave you without even a whisper to communicate their lack of interest despite being the one whose idea it was. People are confusing.

“ What are you doing here by yourself? “

Your view is interrupted as you turn to the recognisable voice behind your shoulder, a forced grin is plastered onto your features — hope courses through your veins that it’s not blindingly obvious that you’re drenched from the stormy clouds of misery above you.

“ Daigo? “ You ask as surprise lights up your eyes as you survey the man. “ It’s been a while. “

Your friendship with him had occurred by accident. There’s not a day that passes in the town where there’s not a poor soul being harassed on the street for some odd reason or another, it’s just you’d never thought that you would be in that very position. Often, you would walk the streets of the neon metropolis making yourself as small and as insignificant as possible.. However on that day your lone bubble had been burst completely. One moment you’d been blissfully content in your own comfort zone as you dipped and weaved in the crowded streets and the next you’d found yourself surrounded by a swarm of drunks.

Had the universe sensed your predicament, the unpleasant experience lasted no longer than a wore on fleetingly as your lips whispered its silent gratitude. They’d scattered once an order to cease had been uttered by Daigo, as if they’d never been there in the first place, not even a shadow in their place. Apologies had been issued and usually you’d not even stayed long enough to accept them but his words were as remorseful as his eyes were true.

“ Yeah, I had something to deal with. “ He responds, digging his hands into his pockets.

“ It didn’t happen to involve this town being under siege, did it? “ You question him, a brow lifts up knowingly as your expression shifts.

His past had been no secret, you made no move to judge — his actions spoke louder than any riotous melody should weave the ability to. As you stared down at the scene from your apartment high above the glowing lights of the town, all you could see was a maze of smoke littering various areas you know well, especially as you’d walked their path that very morning. Terror prevented you from leaving, the unknown of what could occur should you walk that path played into your fear with an unyielding grip on your body.

“ These past few weeks have been something. “ He swallows lightly, his circumstances have certainly altered in the passing days. “ You haven’t answered my question. “

“ I was waiting for someone.. “ You shrug with a mousy chuckle, preferring to not let on how disappointed you feel. “ I don’t think that’s happening now. “

“ Who would stand you up like that? “

It would be a falsehood to say that he’d never imagined a closer relationship between the two of you the more he laid eyes upon your form. Noting mentally how you would persistently shine brighter than venus yet everyone who interacts with you would gravitate towards you as if you took on the form of Jupiter and they became an additional moon to orbit your infectious laughter. No sooner than he’d met you, he fell under the spell that many who interacted with you had — becoming one.

“ Well, we’re not all too close. I’m not bothered about it really. “ You lie, your words to anyone else would have gone amiss, but he’d picked up the soft falter in your voice.

“ Let’s go. “

Your gaze follows his retreating form, your body still glued to the spot it has occupied on the bench. Had you anything to say your mouth would be opening and closing like a fish, it’s not long until you manage to snap yourself out of the stupor he’d led you into and you’re both now standing outside the Club Sega arcade. A mist of uncertainty begins to fog slowly as the wheels turn in your mind, you’d only ever seen him settled into establishments where alcohol was served. Just what has he been through recently?

Chords of a catalog of sources flow through your hearing as your sight scans the area, electronic notes from the games move in rhythm with the joy those emit from the entertainment they gain from the amusements to the despair others make vocal as they lose a battle or have run their turns out on the UFO catcher. Fingers slip into your as you feel yourself tugged into the direction of a game with large seats, already knowing the game you know you’re terrible.

“ Why not another game? I’m horrible at this. “ You complain as you stare at the intimidating structure of the game.

“ It makes it easier to beat you then. “ He chuckles, a spark softly swaying in his eyes as he turns his attention to you.

“ You’re not being fair, Daigo. “

“ The aim is to win, you’re just going to have to try harder to beat me. “

You do as he says. It takes a colossal effort to direct your mind to organise itself in order to give yourself a fighting chance at winning, and it does work — to an extent. A thread of tame curses tumble unceremoniously from your lips as your character is knocked out once more, and the distractions from the male finding humour in your disaster beside you does not help your cause. Your eyes roll as the game ends once more, with you failing to get a win over Daigo, there’s no need to turn to face him for the smugness radiates off of him in waves.

“ See? I’m awful! “ You whine as your shoulders slump in defeat.

“ Let me make it up to you.. “ Daigo speaks with a comforting tone, no longer relishing in his victory. “ I’ll get you one of those toys from the UFO catchers. What one do you want? “

Your lips twist and turn as your teeth sink into the flesh to bite on them in contemplation as you eye up the prizes from your position, the lengthy distance doing nothing to hinder you as the sight of a pillow pups toy stands out confined to its glass prison. The golden retriever is too irresistible to the childishness within you as your eyes narrow as you reluctantly share your desire for the toy with him.

“ Make sure it’s the golden retriever one. “

“ Yeah, I got it. “

“ I hope you do. “ You comment in a steady tone, a palm leaning on the pane.

The music begins and you scrutinise the scene before you with an eager eye as the metallic claw first moves left. Determination chisels itself into his features as his brows lower in a physical representation of his focus. To win the plush toy would be the most simplest effort in the world yet it would be the first step in treating you how he should have been treated at the start. Truthfully, he’d wanted nothing to do with forging bonds that could be so easily disintegrated, however he could never build up the strength to tear himself away from you. Instead of feeling drained from the human interaction, he’d leave your encounters revitalised.

A groan leaves the both of you as the first attempt leaves all of the toys still confined to their places, the one you specifically want at the back firmly in the middle. A tough spot, you remark.

“ Fuck. “

Giggling to yourself, your teeth shine brighter than any star as they are on full display from the action as the frustration of the man is surprisingly amusing to you. Again, the claw had found itself short of where it should be, and the last chance of retrieving the toy desired so much is shown clearly on the metallic panel.

“ Let me, Daigo. “ You comment, pushing him to the side with a weak force. Rolling your shoulders dramatically, you grab the controls of the game. A breath is held as the claw makes its way left, the toy stands out temptingly from its position. I have to get this, it’s so cute! You do not listen to the prompt to let it descend from Daigo just yet, allowing it to inch its way further back ever so lightly. Your eyes are transfixed as you watch the toy is clutched in a clumsy hold, your heart speeds up at the sight of the lessening grip with each jagged movement that leaves the toy released earlier than it should.

A relieved sigh is released as it falls through the empty space at the last minute, just managing to pass through with seconds to spare.

“ I’m still shit at this. “

“ So you know how it feels now? “ You ask him with a smirk, interlocking your arm with his as you reflect on the surprisingly good time you have had with him. “ Ooh, let’s go to Café Alps, I fancy something sweet. “

The proximity between you both is small, with both hands secured firmly in his pockets Daigo enjoys the basic experience. A buzz of energy bubbles between the two of you as you converse interactively, you can’t help but notice a level of tension has been removed from his shoulders, the man next to you appearing a little more relaxed. The walk is short to the café, you can’t help but continue to stare at the bright displays of the stores as you pass by as if you’re witnessing them for the first time. Life is certainly vivid and lively in Kamurocho.

You turn your attention away from Daigo ordering to the life outside from your spot on the cushioned wall couch. It doesn’t go unnoticed that darkness has overtaken the skyline completely, even with the glistening neon lights the stars fight to make themselves seen.

“ Thank you, Daigo. “ You begin, a leading inflection heavy on your words as you sip slowly on the hot liquid. “ I have to ask though, what’s this all for? “

“ Does there have to be a reason? “ He deflects as you cock your head to the side in response.

“ You’re you. There’s always a reason to everything you do, I know you that well at least. “ You respond, before placing a piece of the chocolate parfait. A short wiggle of your shoulders at the enjoyment of the sweet treat lends some amusement to Daigo before an air of sobriety returns to his outward expression.

“ I haven’t been the best to you. “

“ Dai — “

“ Please, let me finish. “ He interrupts suddenly, eye contact unwavering as he continues to study your form. “ I had you as a friend but even then I would hold you at arms length more often than not. I’m surprised you’ve put up with me. “

“ I’m not going to say you’ve not been difficult.. But you don’t see what I do. “ You comfort, there had been days where he’d been more insufferable than a child, but you know humans are more than one dimensional creatures.

A culture of existing in a positive bubble perpetually is no way to live, for it denies you the chance to feel the emotions that slash your soul deeply. Is it easier to think it would be easier to live if you only experience happiness? Perhaps. But never does the find feel clearer after releasing the negativity that darkens your walls.

“ Huh? “

“ You’ve been through a lot, it’s not excusable to be an ass but it’s understandable. “ You shrug with little effort, shaking your head nonchalantly. “ Besides, you haven’t been as bad as you think. You’re human, you have your off days. We all do. “

“ Still, I don’t want to be an ass to you. “ He confides, moving his hand to envelope yours. There’s a surging warmth that the pair of you notice simultaneously threads between fingertips more seamlessly than when ink glides onto paper with the grace of a bird that soars through the bright blue sky.

He’d lived long enough in a world built of paper, using it as a means to escape the reality the world so harshly has built into it.

“ Then don’t. “

#Daigo Dojima x reader #Dojima Daigo x reader #Yakuza fic #Yakuza imagine #Daigo Dojima imagine

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jetaime-jespere · 3 years

Text

I Was Enchanted To Meet You

This is a long time in the works, and a gift to my dear friend @cmhotchniss-blog, who sent me her idea of how Aaron and Emily met. Most of the ideas are hers, and I am forever grateful she let me connect some of the dots. 💓

"I’d like to think this is how we were supposed to meet. For a brief moment in time, that’s all. To steer one another in the right direction, if you will.”

One night for Aaron and Emily has a lasting impact on them both, twenty-four years later.

A mess of metal is what’s left behind on a dusky stretch of Route 66. Shattered glass sparkles like diamonds along the wet asphalt in the darkening sky as night meets the last moments of the day. Smoke curls and hisses around the mangled frame of the SUV, the stillness of the air a juxtaposition to the chaos that wraps around them - a slew of first responders, a few ominous rumbles of thunder, the mounting traffic on the other side of the highway. It’s a cacophony of sounds and sirens, shrill and relentless, that bring them all back to the reality that it can’t get much worse than this.

Read the rest below or on ao3!

There’s shouting - so much shouting - the frantic and panicked voices from the normally imperturbable team as one of their own is pulled from the passenger seat, limp and unresponsive. It only took seconds for things to go horribly wrong. Accidents were never supposed to happen, and yet here they were, helplessly surrounding a team of paramedics who were just a little too quiet in their intense focus, their faces stretched a little too thin, a little too grey, as they bent over Emily.

Her speech is slurred; her eyes flutter and blink weakly as they fight to keep her conscious and alert, rattling off blood pressure numbers with thinly veiled concern. They abruptly push JJ to the side, curtly demanding the need for more space to work, bark directions to the hospital, and start preparing to move her into the ambulance.

On the other side, a hand with a set of bitten down nails grapples for purchase at Dave’s shirt, fingers wrapping around the folds of expensive fabric to pull him closer in one last moment of semi lucidity. With a fading grasp Emily drags him down close enough to whisper something inaudible in his ear, words meant for only him to hear. The older man frowns, eyebrows furrowing with confusion as she falls unconscious, the last lick of light disappearing behind the trees.

____

“Dad, are you sleeping?”

Aaron’s eyes snap open a little too quickly, the bowl of popcorn nearly spilling into his lap when he jumps to attention. The voice, a familiar one, is insistent, as if it’s not the first time he’s said his name in the last few minutes. “No,” he says quickly and he’s not entirely sure who he’s reassuring. “No. I was just -”

“Let me guess,” Jack scoffs, taking a large handful from his own, much larger bowl of popcorn in his lap. “Just nodded off.”

“I’m paying attention,” Aaron attempts weakly as Jack laughs under his breath and shakes his head.

“I’ve heard that before.” His son reaches for the remote to rewind the last ten minutes of the scene he’d missed, still laughing. “This is what … the third week in a row?” While he’s right, Jack doesn’t seem bothered. The years away have made him wise beyond his years, with a patience not often possessed by hormonal teenage boys who spend most of their time with a screen in their face. Aaron often thinks his son inherited the best of Haley - her patience, for starters. He resembles her too, and every now and then, looking at Jack is like looking into a window of the past. A past that could have been a fantasy, for now it seems like so far gone.

“Something like that,” Aaron mumbles. It’s true. In the four months they’ve lived in the quaint Philadelphia suburbs of Chester County, an idyllic place without the Main Line housing prices, adjustment has taken on a new meaning once again. Gone are the fake identities, the constant checking and double checking of doors and windows, the frequent looks over their shoulders, the unsettling notion that it might not end - that this might, unfairly, be their reality. He knows they’d go to the end of the earth to find Scratch - they’d done it before to find Foyet, then Doyle. They fought monsters before, but somehow, this was different.

There had been a finality in his decision to take Jack and go into Witsec. His final act to name Emily as Unit Chief was an easy one, and while it didn’t lessen the blow of the circumstances in which he and Jack left, in a flurry of panic, reminiscent of one his son experienced once before, it gave him a semblance of peace he wasn’t expecting. A little bit of reprieve, the ability to sever ties that may never be rebuilt, to no fault of their own. The cruel and unusual situation was one that they always risked with the nature of their work, one that was always a distant possibility.

In the quiet moments, he thinks of her. The what ifs and the whys. Everything between them that was said, and what never was. What he’s never told anyone is just how long he’s thought of her in one way or another, the one night they shared together, years ago, tucked neatly away in his mind to save for nights when he wondered just how things got to be this way.

“Come on, Dad,” Jack laughs. “At least try to make it through this movie. You said you wanted to see this one.”

With a hint of guilt as his obvious disinterest, Aaron sits up a bit straighter on the couch, grips the popcorn bowl in his hands, locking his eyes on the television. The plot of the movie is already lost on him, despite it being a topic of conversation for the last several days. “Just play the movie, Jack.” He stifles a yawn into his fist and valiantly attempts to focus his attention on the screen.

Aaron is dozing when he’s interrupted again; this time by his phone vibrating on the table. He doesn’t miss Jack’s eyes flickering over to the phone. “It’s just like old times,” he sighs. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

The name on the screen is the very last he expects to see at such an hour in the middle of the week. Aaron frowns, the phone cradled in his hands as the phone vibrates insistently. It’s the familiar push and pull of guilt he feels when his eyes shift between his son and the phone again, an unexpected window into a life he long left behind. The phone keeps ringing, immediately following the first unanswered call. Not a good sign, he thinks.

“Dad?”

“I need to take this, Jack,” Aaron says quickly. It’s late enough that this is anything but a casual phone call. The blanket is tossed aside and the popcorn already forgotten. He barely hears Jack’s half-hearted protest as the phone crackles static and then connects. The voice on the other end speaks first, his tone clouded with thinly veiled fear.

“Aaron.”

“Dave.” His tone is equally clipped, even and steady even as the phone is held tightly in his hand, waiting for whatever news is about to come.

“Aaron, you need to get to Prince William Medical Center as soon as you can.” It’s the urgency in Dave’s voice that unnerves him; it sets off every warning bell in his head. His normally unflappable, at times annoyingly rational friend sounds harried and exhausted, as if it’s already been the longest of nights, as if making this very phone call was a last resort. “It’s Emily.”

Emily .

The words reverberate through his head, the implications tear through his chest like a series of spears. He knew it wasn’t good, but he didn’t expect this. “What happened?” But years of experience and unbridled heartache have steeled his nerves, tested his resolve time and time again. He should be used to this by now - bad news that haunts those he loves. But the fear is like a vice, a cold stab that wraps itself around his mind and back again.

“There was an accident.” Dave begins. It’s been a few years since he’s seen him, but through the phone Aaron can see the lines on his forehead that have certainly deepened by now, perhaps a few have been added over time as the years add up.

“Accident? What kind of accident?”

He barely listens as Dave recounts the last few hours in excruciating detail. They were on a case - local - Reston - on their way back to Quantico. A poorly timed summer storm made visibility terrible, rendering driving nearly impossible. They were sideswept by another SUV, the impact sending them careening into the median on 66 just outside of Woodbridge. It sounds like anyone’s worst nightmare - airbags deployed, the windshield shattered upon impact, the entire hood a mangled mess of metal as the car careened to a stop, the threatening hiss of the engine.

But the totaled car was the very least of their problems.

“She’s in critical condition, Aaron,” Dave says carefully, as if it’s only part of the truth, as if somehow it’s even graver than this. “She’s unconscious.” It doesn’t sound good - her head hit the window on impact, the rest of Dave’s news confirms his worst fears - a likely head injury, the extent of which they don’t know.

It doesn’t make sense. It seems like some kind of sick, ill joke - a nightmare he’ll wake up from, only to find Jack having devoured both bowls of popcorn and the credits of the movie he never actually watched rolling. “What aren’t you telling me Dave?”

“I think you’d want to be here, Aaron. It … it could go either way at this point.” Dave’s voice is so heavy, something Aaron isn’t used to. His friend was typically the voice of reason, the one he went to for assurance when things seemed to be spiraling out of control - something he did many times over. And now the tables were turned to their side, a cruel twist of fate. It takes no convincing; he’s already reaching for his jacket on the hook by the door, grappling for an umbrella shoved unceremoniously in a closet somewhere closeby.

“I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

…

“Mendoza is on his way.,” JJ says quietly as she rounds the corner with two cups of coffee in her hands. “ He just called me.”

“That might complicate things.” Dave wrings his hands and paces the tiny hallway. “Who told him?” He asks curiously. It hadn’t been long since Emily had shown up in his office one night, shoulders heavy as she relayed the news of their breakup. Dave is no stranger to the failures of love - having been thrice divorced himself. Sometimes timing was to blame, other times it was priorities. In their case it was commitment, or lack thereof, things fizzling out and hasty goodbyes, half-hearted assurances of keeping in touch, that one will call the other. Yet Dave isn’t exactly surprised to hear the news. Despite their challenges, Mendoza had been all but enamored with Emily, in awe of her at times. He wasn’t a stupid man; he wasn’t surprised when she didn’t follow him to Colorado. There was always something else that stood in her way. He just never knew exactly what.

“Word travels fast.”

“Aaron is on his way.” After a long pause, Dave scrapes a hand across his face, exhaustion bleeding through the cracks of age. “I just called him.”

JJ only nods and stares into Emily’s room with a pensive expression. “What do we tell them?”

“We tell them what we know. Hope for the best. That's all we can do.”

...

The storm takes the humidity with it, a soft chilly breeze spreading through the darkness. Aaron hurries through the hospital doors, charging past the triage nurse towards the elevators. He’s only vaguely aware of the other man that wedges himself past the doors just in the nick of time. He looks just as distracted as Aaron feels, eyes distant -worlds away - and lost in his own thoughts as he offers a quick smile, fists shoved in jacket pockets.

“What floor?” Aaron offers with a tight smile.

“The ICU.”

He nods and pushes just one button, indicating that they’re in fact going to the same place.

“I’m sorry.” The other man nods his head in solidarity, noticing the single illuminated circle on the panel, shuffles his feet, checks his watch and hangs his head. The phone in his pocket buzzes; he checks it with a resigned sigh. Aaron feels a touch of sympathy for him, wonders just what brings him there.

Except he doesn’t have to wonder much longer, because not only is Dave waiting when the doors open, but he clearly knows whoever Aaron just shared the elevator with. And judging by the way Dave’s eyebrows lift just enough at the sight of them both, practically side by side, something tells him there’s more to the story than just a simple coincidence.

“I see you’ve met?” Dave cocks his head to the side, scrubs his chin with his hand thoughtfully. “I wish it wasn’t under these circumstances.”

“What the hell happened?” The man beside Aaron demands, a little more forcefully this time.

“So you haven’t met.”

“What the hell is going on, Dave?” Aaron snaps first, his patience starting to wane. The last three hours of travel have already started to catch up with him. It’s been years since he’s had to channel his feelings into something more stoic and taciturn. It doesn’t return as easily this time. He tells himself it’s because of age and time, yet the nagging voice in his head says it’s something else entirely.

“Andrew Mendoza, meet Aaron Hotchner. The former chief of the BAU. Hotch, this is Andrew Mendoza. Mendoza was the Special Agent in Charge of DC’s Field Office. He consulted with the BAU on a few local cases about a year ago.”

“Was?” Aaron questions, quickly putting together what Dave doesn’t tell him about Andrew Mendoza. There’s only one reason why he’d be there - a reason he didn’t anticipate. He has to swallow the bitter pang of regret that rises in his throat. It shouldn’t exist at all, but a familiar feeling that has lingered just within his reach whenever he thought of Emily. The chances they never took, the timing that seemed to elude them for one reason or another. Time. It had never been on their side.

“The Denver Field Office offered me a promotion last month. My daughter and I are moving out to Colorado in a few weeks.”

“Congratulations,” Aaron says stiffly as he offers his hand. It’s obvious why he’s here - the same reason Aaron is. “I’ve heard good things about Denver.” There’s something about the news that satisfies him.

“I’m sorry to meet you under these circumstances.” Mendoza glances at Aaron, then Dave, then back at Aaron again. “But what the hell happened tonight?”

“JJ didn’t tell you?”

“Just that there was an accident.”

Dave presses his mouth into a thin line, relaying the story with such tact that Aaron knows it’s an abridged version, a slightly less terrible rendition of what happened back on the highway. “We were right outside of Woodbridge. On our way back from a case in Reston. Visibility was awful. It happened so fast. Emily must have hit her head on impact. She lost consciousness shortly after the ambulance arrived. They’re considering surgery to relieve the pressure in her brain.”

Dave pauses, letting the news sink in, taking a deep breath of his own to compose his frayed nerves. “There’s a chance of brain damage but they won’t know more until after she regains consciousness.” His gaze shifts between them both, gauging their reactions.

“When will that be?”

“There’s no easy way to tell. Could be hours after the surgery. Or days. She’s not breathing on her own. It’s going to be a while before we know anything.” He repeats the doctors’ words as calmly as he can. Dave’s typically unflappable demeanor is strained; the weariness laces through his voice.

“How did this happen?” It’s Mendoza who speaks up this time, clearly distraught and searching for words of his own. He almost looks embarrassed by his uncharacteristic show of emotion.

“It was an accident,” Dave repeats as calmly as he can, as if he’s practiced this speech in his head before giving it. “No one is to blame.”

The air seems to thicken around them, the reality setting in that while it’s already been a long night, it’s only just beginning.

“We’re here because of Emily. It’s a waiting game now, as long as it might be. May as well make yourselves comfortable. There’s a waiting room just down the hallway and a cafeteria on the sixth floor, if you want some coffee. It might eat a hole in your stomach, but it’s something.”

The room around him starts to spin. Aaron can’t remember the last conversation they had - something hasty by phone, he suspects, in the days of time differences and small talk. Never awkward, but something always lingering beneath the surface. Their conversations were all about what wasn’t said - subtext, layers of awareness only they possessed.

“One other thing,” Dave adds, as if on afterthought, a fleeting thought he nearly forgot, nothing more than a passing thought. “Before she lost consciousness, she was rambling incessantly about apple pie.” Dave adds, as if on afterthought, eyes narrowing in confusion. “The best apple pie in DC. Any idea what that could be about?”

Aaron stiffens, his jaw flexing at Dave’s seemingly innocuous mention in the midst of everything else. It’s been years since he’s last seen her and another fifteen since that night, one he’s never actually spoken of out loud. It could have been a lifetime ago, a distant memory. It feels so foreign at this point he could have dreamed it. Surely he misheard - there’s no way she’d be thinking of that. He pinches the bridge of his nose, stifles a yawn into his fist. It’s about to be a very long night. “Where is she? Is she in surgery yet?”

“Not yet. She’s just down the hall.” In the distance a monitor beeps then an alarm starts to go off, punctuated by the efficient scramble of nurses. It reminds him just how much he hates hospitals, and Aaron breathes a heavy sigh of relief when they don’t go into Emily’s room.

“You can see her, you know.” Dave offers gently, sensing the growing tension. “One visitor at a time.”

It’s somehow decided, without officially being decided out loud, that Aaron will go in first. Mendoza quietly mentions something about needing to call his daughter. Not for the first time this evening, Aaron is actually grateful Jack can hold his own at home for a little while, that they’re long past those years of constant check-ins. A simple text will do in a few hours’ time. And he steels his nerves with a few deep breaths before slipping into the room, the silence punctuated by the staccato beeping of monitors and a ventilator.

She’s like a ghost, translucent almost - amidst the machines and wires. He remembers a time, years ago, when the roles were reversed. Aaron wonders if she felt the same clench of fear in her gut, the awful feeling of helplessness that came along with being at someone’s bedside in a hospital. He wonders if she felt the same desperation clinging to every nerve in her body that things would be okay.

“Hey,” he says, sinking into the hard plastic chair at the side of the bed. “It’s been awhile.” Deep down he knows she won’t - can’t - respond. But there was a moment of hope - a tiny one - flimsy and built on nothing - that maybe she would move or something to indicate she heard him. There isn’t one.

Aaron swallows the rising lump in this throat, thick and pressing right down into his lungs. “I really need you to wake up, Emily.”

...

“When’s the big move?” Dave presses Mendoza gently, asking all the questions Emily never gave answers to. He folds his arms across his chest, unable to tear his gaze from the scene before him. From his place behind the window, he watches Aaron lower himself onto a chair on shaky legs, taking a few steadying breaths as he settles beside her. He rests a weary head on his fist.

“Two weeks. Keely wanted to finish her soccer season.” Mendoza crosses his arms over his chest as his eyes follow Dave’s.

Dave nods without really comprehending the words. “You’ll have to let us know when you’re both settled out there.”

“Yeah.”

Dave breaks an awkward silence. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out between you two.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t.” By now, Mendoza’s full attention is on the scene before them both, face solemn and stiff. “What’s the story between them?” His eyes narrow ever so slightly, shades of suspicion cloud his features and his shoulders tense. Years of profiling make Dave keenly aware of these subtle changes in his behavior. He’s questioning it .

Dave shrugs. “Friends? Colleagues?” By now, Aaron is brushing Emily’s arm with his thumb, and if he isn’t mistaken, swears he sees his lips moving too. “Anything else and your guess is as good as mine.”

It seems to smooth things over for a few moments, even as something else is planted in his mind. Something he never considered at all.

…

“Have you been to Boathouse Row yet?”

It’s an attempt to make small talk as they sit down; it doesn’t get past Aaron, who stays silent, completely ignoring the question.

“So what is it you’re not telling me?” Dave passes a flimsy styrofoam cup over the small table.

“Now might not be the best time, Dave,” Aaron retorts, rolling a tiny cup of creamer in his fingers.

“We’ve got nothing but time, Aaron. Surgeon says things could take hours. She might even be conscious immediately after. And you’re not driving back to Philly anytime soon.”

He has a point . “She was talking about when we first met.” He sighs heavily as he spins the cup around in his hands. “It was a long time ago.”

“At the BAU?” Dave knits his eyebrows in confusion.

Aaron rubs his eyes tiredly. By now any movement feels like effort, the space behind his eyes starting to throb with an oncoming headache and exhaustion. “Before that.”

“You mean you knew - “ Dave stops, his coffee ignored and interest piqued. “You two knew each other before?”

“We met years ago. Would be at least twenty now.” He’s too tired to do the math of exactly how long it’s been. “We met when I was working for her mother one summer in DC.”

“I certainly had no idea.”

“No one did. It never really came up.”

“By choice or on purpose?” Dave quips, his eyes just a touch brighter than they were moments before. He chuckles when Aaron just stares right back, the hint of a smile hidden in his eyes. “So what’s the story?”

His expression is wistful, as if he were dusting off a long held memory. “It was kind of an accident.”

Twenty-Four Years Ago

Not for the first time that evening, Aaron checks his watch discreetly and sighs into his fist. It’s only eight-thirty; who knows how long this thing will last. It wasn’t that he agreed to this. It’s practically a rite of passage when working for an Ambassador, or so he’s been told -working one of the many extravagant parties and benefit dinners that were practically part of her job description. The ballroom is full of DC’s political elite - congressmen and senators, the Secretary of State and the Attorney General. Rumor had it the Vice President would be making an appearance. For that reason alone, security was heightened, every egress monitored, yet he’s never felt more invisible in a room full of people.

Aaron spots her accidentally, but something tells him she’s not trying to blend in. The tall figure on the opposite side of the room is entirely too young to be one of them , yet she mingles easily with a champagne flute between her fingers. She’s wearing an elegant black dress with a high neck and open back. It shows off delicate shoulder blades that jut out like wings when she moves. He isn’t the only one staring.

She’s the Ambassador’s daughter - Emily . Aaron has only heard of her from the others, her name being uttered in exasperation when one of the agents finds her breaking protocol yet again - sneaking out and in at all hours of the night, slipping an endless parade of friends past the entrance logs without proper verification. He’s never spoken a word to her; he knows almost nothing about her except that she’s a student at Yale, supposedly speaks multiple languages, and has a knack for causing trouble.

They haven’t spoken a word to each other, but her eyes meet his across the square in the middle of the room that is supposedly a dance floor. His mouth goes dry and he immediately looks away when Emily excuses herself from whatever conversation she’s immersed in, only to look back seconds later to find her sauntering directly towards him , effortlessly maneuvering through the crowd.

Aaron nods a polite hello, attempting to keep his expression neutral when she’s finally closed the gap between them both.

“You know,” Emily says with amusement, eyes flicking over him. “You could at least try not to look so miserable.”

“Who said anything about being miserable?”

“It’s practically part of the job requirements if you work for my mother. Besides, you’ve been wearing the same expression since this thing started.” When she catches his look of sheer bewilderment and mild annoyance, she laughs softly. “Trust me. I’ve been to enough of these things to know what I’m looking for.”

“Are you spying on me?” He glances around, wondering just where the Ambassador even is amidst a sea of black suits. He should be keeping a close eye, after all. He strains his neck a little, scanning the crowd purposefully until he sees the woman that strongly resembles the miniature version of her in front of him.

“No. I’m just observant.” Without missing a beat, Emily waves to someone - a Congressman Aaron immediately recognizes from the news - something about a scandal involving a rather young intern under a desk - but he hadn’t been paying too much attention to remember all the details. “He’s such a scumbag,” she adds quietly without any elaboration.

He senses her reticence immediately; he wonders just how she knows all of this, if he should push, if at all “Isn’t that part of their job description to a degree?”

“Some of them,” Emily mutters. “But he’s one of the worst.”

“So I’ve heard,” Aaron murmurs, tearing his eyes away from the crowd to get a better look at her. Up close she’s even more stunning, with sharp cheekbones and a perfectly symmetrical face, her smile wide and eyes like dark orbs. “I’m sorry, have we met before?”

“I’ve seen you around. You’re the new guy.”

“New-ish. I started in March.” It comes out a bit more dejectedly than it should, but it’s hard to hide the disdain he feels for it all. Things have been far from easy over the last few months. It’s a mindless shuffle of one foot in front of the other, days that blend together similar to the ones before, with the slightest hope that a few more weeks of patience might wield a change.

“New to me.” She’s only been home for the summer a few weeks at most, so he can count on one hand the number of times he’s actually seen her. “So what’s your story?”

“My story?”

“You stick out like a sore thumb.” She cracks a grin at her own remark. “You’re too tense.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Agent …”

“Hotchner,” he fills in quickly.

“Agent Hotchner, you certainly wouldn’t be the first security detail to use this as a stepping stone to a different career. You’re all just biding time until something better comes along.” She’s so matter of fact, so assured, it’s as if she’s had this very conversation with every other agent in the room at one point or another. “It’s usually the quiet ones. They have less to prove.”

“Are we that transparent?”

“Some of you. And I can’t say I blame you. This place surely isn’t a means to an end.”

“What does your mother think of your beliefs?”

“My mother knows exactly what I think of her career and everything that goes along with it. It’s what’s gotten us to this point, actually.”

“And what point might that be?” He’s only heard of some of the epic arguments between the two of them, the harshness of their voices reverberating around the Ambassador’s office or some ornately decorated living room. The bitter clashes of two strong wills, hidden behind the fact that just maybe they were more similar than different.

“A story for a different time,” Emily says smoothly. “Can’t exactly talk about it here.”

“You’re full of stories, aren’t you?” Aaron deduces but she isn’t even paying attention anymore as she scans the crowd. He can see the wheels start to turn in her head, the flicker of an idea materializing somewhere. She turns back, this time a grin stuck to her lips. “What?” He asks reluctantly.

“Let’s get out of here.” Emily bats her thickly lashed, heavily lined eyes. “This thing is going nowhere fast. Besides, you look like you could use a break. “How long have you been on?”

“And go where?”

“Anywhere,” she says casually with a wink as she plucks a champagne flute from a nearby tray, downing it quickly. “I probably shouldn’t drive, but you can.” It’s accompanied with a flippant toss of hair over her shoulder, an expectant purse of her lips.

It’s certainly not the smartest idea or the most prudent, but something tells him Emily could care less about prudence and image. “I could be suspended for unauthorized use of a government-issued vehicle.” Not to mention, having his boss’s daughter in said government vehicle with him, or completely leaving his assignment altogether. He remembers skimming over the terms of employment months ago, specifically the section about fraternization with members of the Ambassador’s Family.

“Who said anything about one of theirs?” She looks almost bored now, tapping her fingers against the empty flute. “That’s no fun anyway. They have trackers on them. For security purposes.” She forms air quotes with her fingers. “We wouldn’t get far.”

He’s about to ask her how she even possesses that knowledge when he feels her hand on his waist, dipping into the creases of his jacket like a lover would. It doesn’t phase her, and while normally his reflexes would spring into quick action, he’s glued into place.

“You have a car don’t you?” Emily unabashedly pats his pocket, feeling for keys.

He opens his mouth to object, but she’s too fast. She grins with satisfied smirk, a triumphant click of her tongue as he stiffens awkwardly when they jingle against her hand. “You aren’t a great liar, Agent Hotchner.”

“Aaron,” he says somewhat stiffly, resignedly. He’s doing his damn best to keep his eyes centered on the ballroom but it’s getting harder and harder to concentrate on the task at hand. The scent of perfume - something undoubtedly expensive - lingers and it makes him dizzy even if he hasn’t had a sip to drink. “And I didn’t lie.”

“Aaron.” His name rolls off her tongue thoughtfully. “Aaron,” she repeats, as if it’s the first time she’s ever heard it. “I never understood why there were two A’s. What do you do with the second one?”

His head spins to keep up with her, how her mind somehow bounces from one thought to the next with seemingly little direction. “Never gave it much thought myself, actually.” From the corner of his eye he catches one of the other agents giving him a quizzical, perhaps slightly jealous, eye roll. It’s a bad idea to entertain, but one he can’t ignore. Emily is staring at him, eyes sparkling, with the slightest touch of longing. Longing for what he isn’t sure, but whatever it is, it wouldn’t be found in the middle of the opulent ballroom.“What do you have in mind?”

“I’ve been told of a place not too far from here,” she begins slowly, a smile on her face at his gradual acquiesce. “A diner that supposedly has the best apple pie in DC.”

“Apple pie?” Just how much has she had to drink?

“I’m starving ,” she offers with a hand pressed to her flat stomach. Aaron’s eyes follow, lingering up and down on her narrow frame.

“They’re about to serve dinner,” He says lamely, shaking his head to ensure he heard her correctly. Waiters have started to circle the room with large serving trays balanced precariously above their heads, passing around the plates that he guesses must cost a few hundred dollars a head, maybe more. The crowds have thinned as more guests take their seats.

Emily shrugs with disinterest. “Once you’ve been to one of these things you’ve been to them all. Besides, this is when things start to get really insufferable.”

“Is that so?”

“Someone will start talking,” Emily drawls sardonically, surveying the crowd starting to take their seats at previously assigned tables - tables he could probably rattle off by name if asked. “Make some big speech promoting their campaign trying to get reelected or whatever. Then they all will. They love hearing themselves talk.”

“Part of the job, I guess.” He stares, unsure of what to say next. Her attitude towards politics is the complete opposite of that of her mother. His interactions with his boss have been somewhat limited; he doubts if she even remembers his first name. Yet he’s seen the way Elizabeth Prentiss revels in a world seemingly dominated by men, a woman in a league of her own. He wonders just how much the Ambassador has sacrificed; wonders if her daughter might be amongst that list. It would certainly explain their tenuous relationship.

“So what do you say? Surely you don’t want to sit around listening to a bunch of old guys spout a bunch of half truths to line their pockets?” She seems unbothered yet again, almost amused by the sight in front of her - as if her premonition of how the night would go is coming true.

There’s nothing he wants less. “How do you suppose I get out of this? I’m still on the clock, you know.”

“I’ll leave that up to you.” Emily sets the champagne flute on a nearby serving tray and spins on her heel, sauntering back towards the center of the ballroom. “I’ll be outside of the South Gate when you figure it out.”

…

In the end, he makes up an excuse to leave. It’s not exactly convincing and the agent in charge doesn’t exactly believe him when he feigns an emergency - food poisoning. But Aaron has always had an exceptionally good poker face, grimacing just enough to make it look questionable, and the other agent curtly nods, grunting something about having enough security for the evening, and making up the hours later in the week. It falls on deaf ears - he’s already out the doors of the security office, a small grin playing at the corners of his lips as he strides across the asphalt driveways with his back toward the house.

Sure enough, Emily is waiting for him, finishing the rest of a cigarette when he pulls around to the South Gate. He keeps his taillights off; the less attention he draws to himself the better.

His car has seen better days, the leather seats worn smooth and the stereo outdated, the steering wheel permanently indented from the grip of his own two hands, scuff marks and faded carpets. But it’s well maintained, and Emily smiles appreciatively when he holds the passenger side door open, then explains how to adjust the seat, just in case . She doesn’t seem to notice at all, just unceremoniously tugs her long skirt out of the way of the door and kicks off her heels.

“Fucking things,” she grumbles. The heels are sharp as knives, ridiculously impractical yet Aaron can’t help but picture her wearing them in a dress much shorter than the one she currently has on. He shakes his head, reminding himself not to go there, because the reality is, she’s still his boss’s daughter, and if anyone were to see them, he’d most definitely be written up, maybe worse, for taking her off property without following protocol. But she’s close enough to touch, her arm a gentle weight against his own on the center console.

“So,” Aaron asks, his voice barely audible. He shifts the car into reverse, breath hitching when his knuckles brush against her hand. “Just where is this diner you speak so highly of?”

“Silver Spring.”

“I thought you said DC.”

“It’s close enough.” Emily tucks a long piece of hair behind her ear with a roll of her eyes. “Just trust me.”

It’s the way she says it that makes him wonder if she would do the same for him. Aaron grips the wheel in silence as the cool night air seeps through the open windows. He catches her shiver and is about to offer his jacket when she breaks the silence.

“Make a right up at the light, and then it’s a quick left.” Emily shifts in the passenger seat. Her fingers twitch as if she were still holding a cigarette between them; she tucks her hand against her cheek daintily. She’s very much aware the passenger side is nearly spotless - nothing to indicate someone sits there frequently. No wayward sunglasses or a forgotten piece of jewelry belonging to a significant other. She straightens the wrinkled fabric of her dress and lowers her eyes.She’d had him pegged wrong - certainly he’d had it all figured out, the well intended nature that comes along with a mostly idyllic existence. She imagined a naive wife or girlfriend completely enamored with him, both parties working to make ends meet for bigger and better things - not happiness, for one. That they had in spades. But maybe a white picket fence, a dog and a baby or two one day.

Instead, he seems lonely and guarded, a choice he was forced to make. Circumstances, maybe, she thinks as the traffic light ahead blinks from a glowing green to yellow, to red. It shines a little brighter than usual, a universal warning everyone should understand . It makes her shiver again.

“Here. Take my jacket” The red light gives him the chance to shrug out of the confines of his suit jacket, which he hands over. He palms the wheel a little tighter when she wraps herself into it, the fabric draping over her like a shield.

“This is the place?” Aaron studies the gaudy exterior of the diner, hard to miss and yet, the type of place you wouldn’t give a second thought. The fluorescent lighting nearly blinds him, and he’s somewhat surprised to see through the windows that multiple tables are full despite the late hour. He can hardly conceal his disbelief. “How’d you learn about this place?”

“Word gets around,” Emily says lightly as she slips her shoes back on, wincing slightly when she stands upright, nearly enveloped by his jacket. “I’ve learned not to judge a book by its cover. Maybe you should do the same.”

They find a booth in the back, tucked away from the clamor of the bustling kitchen and constant jingle of the doors. Again they’re left with nothing but silence, a few wayward glances, and two plastic coated menus between them. The haggard waitress only nods abruptly at their order - two black coffees, one with splenda and one without, one slice of apple pie, and two forks.

“You think she thinks we’re a couple?”

“I’m sure she has a lot more on her mind than us.” Aaron twists the paper straw wrapper between his fingers and studies her across the table. What he’s not expecting is to realize she’s doing the same thing - analyzing his body language with a degree of precision that matches his own, an expression that hides what she’s thinking. He wonders if she’s practiced it over time. She wears his jacket like a coat of armor yet she’s curious, the mundane quietness of the diner a stark contrast to their initial surroundings a short time ago.

“How does someone like you end up working for my mother?” Emily asks out of nowhere, direct and forward without an ounce of hesitation. It could be mistaken for an interrogation, he muses.

“Someone like me?”

“Decent. With manners. Not some macho guy with a little man complex or some baggage like that who gets off swinging his gun around.” She blows the straw wrapper across the table; it hits him square in the shoulder and stays here until he flicks it off. She doesn’t seem to notice as the waitress sets down their much anticipated order amidst a promise to come back with some cream for the coffee.

It’s his turn to laugh; he knows exactly what type she’s referring to. He could name more of them than he has fingers. “Trust me, it wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.”

Emily carves out a large bite of apple pie with her fork, eyes closing with delight as it disappears between her lips, along with a delicate moan. “This is so good.” She pushes the pie plate towards him. “So then what was it?”

“Bad timing, for starters.” Aaron stabs his fork into the jagged slice of pie, cuts off a bite for himself. His stomach growls; it’s been hours since the early dinner he’d scarfed down behind the wheel on his way back to work the shift he just abandoned. “You’re right,” he says around a mouthful of apple and pastry crust. “That’s really good.”

“Told you.” She proudly lifts her shoulders, momentarily triumphant before she digs in for another bite. But she also looks expectant, ready for an answer, even with another forkful of pie. He supposes he owes her one.

“I wanted to join the FBI,” Aaron begins slowly. It comes to him that she’s only the second person he’s ever told any of this to. He supposed talking about it would make it real, take it from a pipe dream to something that could irrevocably fail right in front of his own eyes.

“The big leagues, huh?” She waves her fork in a circle, and it takes a moment for him to realize she isn’t totally shocked. “I could see that, actually, now that you mention it. You have the poker face for it, at least.” Emily gives a little grin, one that meets her eyes. “But that didn’t happen?”

“Had the application filled out and everything. Was going to send it in.”

“So what happened?”

“My girlfriend … She didn’t like the idea. The recruitment process takes months and basic training even longer. Close to a year sometimes. Haley wanted me to do something a little more traditional. Wanted me home at 6 for dinner and around on the weekends.” He takes another bite of pie, partially to gather his thoughts, and to let Emily give her own.

“Girlfriend, huh?”

“Well.” The fork in his hand feels heavy all of a sudden; he sets it down with a clatter. “We’re taking a break right now.”

She takes in his words, chuckles a little bit. “I’m a little disappointed in myself. I definitely had you all wrong.”

“You keep saying that.” It’s more of a question than a statement, a curiosity he can’t contain.

“I took you as settled. Happy. With Haley. ” His girlfriend’s name rolls off her tongue; hearing it sounds strange, like she’s saying something she shouldn’t.

“I’m ... figuring things out. We’re figuring things out.”

“Do you love her? Does she love you?” Emily asks directly without hesitation. “If you do, there shouldn’t be much to figure out.”

He stiffens. “I don’t … not love her. But we want different things. At some point, you have to be honest with each other, right? When you can’t make it work, what do you do?”

“I’m definitely not the person to ask.” She laughs but there isn’t any humor in it, more of a resigned sadness if he looks close enough through the rough edges hidden by carefully curated appearance. “Relationships aren’t something I’ve had a ton of luck with.”

“Maybe you’re dating the wrong people.”

“Maybe.” She looks around the diner, rests her chin in her hands. “I’m pretty directionless myself at the moment, if it makes you feel better.”

“It doesn’t, but thank you.” He takes a sip of coffee, more for something to do with his hands than a need for it. He wants to know more, wants to ask just what could possibly make her directionless. Someone who seemingly had it all.

“Sounds like we’re both lost.” There’s a dreamlike tone to her voice, as if they’re sharing a secret.

“We don’t have to be.”

“If I keep going at this rate, I’ll be a bored socialite by 30 throwing cocktail parties every night and getting drunk by the pool by day.”

“Who says?”

“No one has to say it. It’s … expected of me, I think?”

“Is that so?”

“I’m certainly not following in my mother’s footsteps into politics.” She scoffs. There’s contempt in her voice, for what he deduces is years of being put second, something she never asked for but received over and over again. “What else is there for me to do? Someone has to carry on the family tradition somehow.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” Emily says, dragging her fork through some of the remaining bits of pie on the plate. She flicks a crumb into the air. “I’ve never really had a home , you know. Most of my life has been spent overseas. Just staying in one place for a while would be nice.”

“I always wanted to get away.” Aaron laments. “From Manassas at least.”

“Well, that’s understandable. You aren’t missing much there, or so I’ve heard.” She stirs a spoon into her coffee to work in the mess of splenda packets she’s dumped in.

He watches the liquid swirl, her mezmirzation at it. Something comes to him - something he’s always wanted to know. “Is it true you speak four languages?”

Emily looks up from her coffee, temporarily distracted by his question. “Six, actually. French, Italian, Spanish, Arabic, Greek, and some Russian.” She ticks them off on her fingers nonchalantly as if she were counting inanimate objects.

He does a double take. “Six? I can barely handle English.”

“It’s always been easy for me. I just wish I knew what to do with it, you know?”

“When I applied, I remember seeing that the FBI needs linguists. People with language experience to work overseas.” He takes his own fork to the last remaining bits of the pie, watching her face carefully for a reaction. She’s almost unreadable; he can’t discern just what she’s thinking.

She laughs - not the reaction he expected. “You know, applying for the FBI would absolutely piss my mother off entirely. She would hate it if I did that. Kind of makes me want to do it.”

“She and Haley should meet. I’m sure they’d have lots to talk about.”

“You want to hear what I think?” Emily says after a few long moments, the coffee and the pie that once sat between them are now gone. “I think you should go for it. The FBI. Do it and don’t look back. And call your girlfriend. Let her talk, but tell her how you feel.”

“And?”

“If she comes back, then you know it’s meant to be.”

...

“Never even knew this place existed,” Aaron says, lingering at Emily’s elbow as they pick their way across the pebbled driveway of the diner. She’s a little unsteady on the heels now, not unsurprising given the late hour and the time they spent sitting down.

“Who knew a diner in the middle of Silver Spring Maryland would have such great pie?” Dangling from her wrist is a to-go bag with an extra slice of pie for the morning - the waitress had kindly given her one on the house - the leftovers from the day before.

“I thought New Jersey was the diner capital of the world,” Aaron muses. “New Jersey is all about their diners and traffic circles.”

“And Bruce Springsteen,” Emily adds pointedly. “He’s from New Jersey.”

“Him too.” Aaron laughs quietly. The tension in his shoulders mounts; he doesn’t want this to end. He wants to talk to her, wants to keep her there. But the moment feels final. Emily catches the wrist of the hand that reaches out to cup her cheek, wraps her fingers around it. “If things were different -” he starts quietly, looking almost embarrassed.

“I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to go, is it?” Emily leans into the weight of his calloused palm, into the touch of a man that isn’t her own. It feels foreign, like she’s taking something that isn’t hers. “I don’t think that’s in our cards, Aaron. Maybe in a different life.”

The ride back to DC is again silent, save for the crinkling of the paper bag in her lap. Aaron skips the main entrance and the long paved driveway, taking a shortcut around the massive property to the South Gate entrance. Emily side eyes him, looking slightly impressed. “Trying to remain inconspicuous?”

“I think that’s for the best.”

“I’d like to think this is how we were supposed to meet,” she offers as he pulls up to the outside of the South Gate. “For a brief moment in time, that’s all. To steer one another in the right direction, if you will.”

“Maybe.” He tells himself to pull away, curling it back around the steering wheel protectively. “Remember what I told you, Emily.” He watches her reach for her shoes, their moments together dwindling down to seconds. “Don’t live your life on the terms of someone else. Especially your mother. If our paths cross again and you’re a bored socialite throwing cocktail parties, we’ll have to talk.”

She loops some hair behind her ear, gives him a small smile. “If our paths cross again in ten years and you aren’t leading some FBI unit somewhere, I’ll have some words for you as well.” She draws a breath, carefully slips on her shoes. “Thank you for the pie, Aaron.” The creak of the passenger side door is the only thing he hears as she slips away like a ship in the night, not to turn back around.

Aaron watches her disappear across the grass, blending into the deep blue of the early morning, the sky not quite awake but out of the depths of night. She’s a shadowy dark figure amidst the promise of a new day. The clock on the dashboard nears 6:00 AM. The little red numbers glow are a reminder of the inevitable crash that will most definitely come later on. He isn’t 20 anymore, after all. But when he drives away, there’s a sense of renewal, one he can’t explain, but deep down understands.

He hands in his resignation before he can work another shift, and he never does make up the time he promised. Three days after that, he mails a thick packet of papers in a standard manila envelope to the FBI Headquarters in Quantico.

A week after that, he takes out his phone and dials Haley’s number. About thirteen years later, his son comes into the world, wailing and screaming with healthy lungs and a head of dark hair. Haley is tired and beaming, his pride is obvious as the tiny bundle is placed in his arms.

They name the baby Jack.

In some ways, the stars aligned.

He’ll sometimes wonder if Emily’s did too.

…

Present Day

“Why didn’t things ever work out between the two of you?”

Dave’s voice brings him back to reality, out of the daydream he’s held so close to his heart for so many years. It’s jarring at first, a confusing limbo of then and now, past and present blending together for a few long moments. He glances around, the harsh overhead lights glaring bright, the low hum of hospital sounds reverberating through his ears. Along with it comes the reality of why he’s there, and the bitter rush of fear that floods his consciousness.

“Timing.” Aaron spins his now empty coffee cup in his hands. “Even after Haley and I got divorced, it was never the right time.”

“You’re going to blame timing ? That’s the oldest trick in the book.”

“I never wanted to take the risk.” It’s the closest thing he can think of as truth. They built a tentative friendship after a rocky start, something built on mutual respect. His divorce brought new challenges - co parenting amidst a ridiculously stressful career, supporting and leading his team. Emily had always been one to hold her own, a silent backbone of their team, a friend to all of them. He’d relied on her, never wanted to lose what they had in hopes of something else . Ian Doyle had taken her from them all; her return was tense and it didn’t take a profiler to understand that Quantico just wasn’t home to her anymore. He let her walk away, encompassed by a fragile shell of his own tentative happiness, and in the years after she went to London, there was a permanent hole in his heart that never quite mended itself again. “Maybe I should have.”

“Love is a choice, Aaron. It doesn’t just happen. You have to choose to make things work.” Dave leans back in his seat, checks his watch, an eyebrow arching just a bit. “I thought you would have known that by now.”

“You and Krystall made a choice?”

“We still do. Every day we have to choose to love each other. Some days it’s easy. Others, not so much. But you know the best part?”

“I think you’re going to tell me anyway, Dave.”

“It’s never not been worth it, Aaron.” There’s a subtle gleam in his eye that wasn’t there before. “Something tells me you might just feel the same, if you gave it a chance.” Dave fumbles for his phone, patting the pockets of his jeans and then that of his blazer before finally pulling the phone from his breast pocket. He flips it open, his eyes widening at whatever message lights up the tiny screen.

“What is it?” Aaron asks with baited breath.

Dave looks up from his phone. For the first time since all of this began, he looks full of hope. “Emily’s out of surgery.”

…

The surgeon is pleased with the outcome of Emily’s procedure, and the air around them seemingly lightens with each minute he explains the procedure, and its success. The three of them hang on every word he says, asking questions and seeking assurances.

“She should be awake within a few hours. We’ll know more then, but her brain activity is good, and her vitals are strong. Agent Prentiss got very lucky. I have patients who often have a very different outcome.”

The relief is palpable, as if the tension was cut with a knife as they all exchange optimistic smiles and tentative handshakes, while profusely thanking Emily’s surgeon. Aaron excuses himself to call Jack - something he should have done hours ago. “I’m not going far,” he reminds Dave, his words a warning of what to do if anything changes in the next few minutes.

“We’ll be right here.”

Mendoza is shrugging into his jacket and digging for his keys with a look of resignation on his face. He catches Dave’s sideways glance. “I think it’s time I head out, Dave. Please give Emily my best wishes on a quick recovery when she’s discharged.” There’s a change in his voice, one that wasn’t there earlier.

“You’re leaving?” Dave asks curiously. “You aren’t going to stay and see Emily? It shouldn’t be much longer before we can go in.”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

Mendoza shakes his head, runs a hand over his scalp. “I learned something tonight. You know when it’s just not meant to be, but you can’t find the reason why?”

Dave nods, a glimmer of understanding appearing in his eyes. “I do. I know it very well, actually.”

“I think I found the why.” His eyes roam around before they finally land on Aaron and Dave’s do too. The phone is still pressed to his ear but he’s still staring right into Emily’s room, never once looking away, even as his mouth moves in conversation to Jack on the other end. “I tried to deny it, so did Emily. But I don’t think her heart ever belonged to me. I think it belonged to him.”

—

Emily finally wakes up a few hours later. Aaron and Dave wait outside the room as she’s tended to by a horde of surgeons and nurses, testing brain function and vital signs, spattering off medical terms with ease. It’s a language only they understand, one Aaron never wants to learn. But their voices are hopeful, they have smiles on their faces as they talk to Emily, assessing her cognition and running tests. She’s a little confused and extremely tired, but awake and alert . Dave is just as relieved to see things appear normal; they’re both very aware of just how lucky they got.

Eventually, they’re finally allowed to see her.

“Do you mind if I … “ Aaron trails off, except he doesn’t need to finish the question.

“Go, Aaron. I take it you have some things you want to get off your chest,” Dave quips. “I’m going to call the others and give them an update. They’ve been waiting awhile.” He departs with a pat of encouragement on the back, a shared moment between them.

Moments later, he’s back in her room, at her side on the same uncomfortable chair from earlier. Her eyes flicker open once again, widening almost impossibly when she sees him. Years of unanswered questions are written on her face in seconds, a shared history fraught with more than what most people experience in a lifetime. But there’s something oddly content there too, as if she woke up from a dream that has somehow materialized in front of her.

“Hey,” Aaron says softly, reaching out with a nervous hand to touch her for the first time in years . He dodges wires and IV lines, finds her fingers with his own and gives a gentle squeeze. “You’re up.”

“You’re here?” Emily blinks with confusion, still making sense of just how she got there in the first place. “But I thought you were .. you and Jack are in Philadelphia. What are you doing here?”

“Of course I’m here,” he says soothingly, ignoring her question. They can talk about that later. “How are you feeling?”

Emily gives a wry grin, slightly distorted and weak, but there. “They asked me who the President of the United States was.”

It’s his turn to smirk. “What did you tell them?”

“To ask me after 45 leaves the Oval Office,” she says without hesitation. “I think I made at least two of them laugh.” But then something comes over her face, the reality of it all setting in. “You came all this way,” she croaks, throat raw from the intubation tube. “How did you know about all of this?”

“You were there for me, remember?” He’s not only talking about Foyet, but all the years she spent at his side. The years they spent doing a dance around one another, their steps never quite aligning. This time feels like a second chance he never thought he’d get, one he can’t mess up.

“That was a lifetime ago, Aaron. So much has happened since then.” Emily tries to sit upright, pushes herself up about halfway before exhaustion overtakes her. She grumbles in frustration; he shouldn’t smile but he does. It means the Emily he knows, the Emily he fell in love with years ago is somewhere in there.

“Take it easy,” he soothes, adjusting the pillows so she’s more vertical than horizontal. He uses the opportunity to press a kiss against her forehead. He touches his own to hers and murmurs, “That’s something I should have done a long time ago.”

A smile spreads across her face, just as brilliant as the night he met her. She remembers it all, just as well as he does. “Funny how it always seems to take one of us dying to figure things out.”

“What are you talking about?” It’s a morbid thought, one he can’t entertain for long because despite his question, there’s an element of truth to it. He brushes some hair from her eyes and tucks it behind her ear. It’s matted in his fingers and dirty yet he doesn’t even notice. His heart swells, the hand in her hair trails down to her cheek, a thumb against the blush that spreads there. “And by the way, that’s not funny.”

“I’m saying maybe after I get out of this place,” she gestures to the mess of monitors and wires and tubes, “You can ask me out on a date. Finally.”

“Anywhere,” Aaron agrees. He would go anywhere, if it meant he could be with her.

“I know a place in Silver Spring. Supposedly they have the best apple pie in DC.”

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