#so chapter 11 MIGHT be coming as soon as tomorrow | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

major-mads · 3 months

Text

Chapter 3: Listen to Your Heart

John "Bucky" Egan x Ruth Morgan (OFC)

Series Masterlist

A/N: I'm so glad y'all are enjoying the series!! Thank you so much for reading!! Us Callum girlies sure got some...cough cough...quality content in episode four, that's for sure! Let me know what you think, and go read the other half of the story using the link below!!! this wonderful gif is by @zsuo!

Collab: On a Wing and a Prayer by @footprintsinthesxnd

Word Count: 4.7k

August 3rd, 1943

Ruthie, Since Saturday night, you have rarely left my mind. I replay the dance in my head, trying to commit every detail to memory. I love being around you, Ruth. I couldn’t imagine the night going any better than it did, and I’m so glad that you stepped outside of your comfort zone to come with me. Curt’s been giving me a hard time about embarrassing you when I sang, but I told him you loved it, even if I sound like a “dying animal” in Buck’s words. Speaking of Buck, I’ve decided to never let him live down Saturday’s condom incident with Hope. Hugh sure isn’t letting it go, so I can’t help but join in on the fun. Despite that, I think he had a great time with her, even though he’s a total stick in the mud. I can’t believe they didn’t dance, Ruthie! Our dance was my favorite part of the night, besides how we said goodnight, of course.

I would really like to see you again soon, Ruth. It’s no secret that I’m taken with you, and I think you feel the same. We’re spending the next few weeks replacing crews and forts, so we won’t be too busy. If you’re able, please stop by and pay me a visit. At the sight of your sweet, kind smile, and the feeling of your hand in mine, my worries seem to disappear. The only worry left in my mind is that my efforts to convert you to a Yankees fan won’t be successful. I hold onto the hope that you’ll see that the Braves are terrible and that the Yankees are the better team. The Braves went 11 and 18 this past month, and my amazing team went 21 and 11. You can’t argue against stats, slugger. I hope this won’t affect your feelings toward me because then we might have a problem. I can’t wait to see you again soon. Please stay safe up there for me. Your Hotshot, Johnny Egan

August 6th, 1943

Dear John, I am happy to hear that you and the boys are finally getting a break. When we were at the dance, I knew y’all were exhausted, but you sure didn’t show it, Major. You danced and sang like there was no tomorrow, and I had more fun than I had in a long while in your arms. Don’t worry about what Curt or Buck said. I loved your singing, even if it was slightly off-key and very loud. You might have embarrassed me, but seeing you in your element was worth it. Every time I think back to that night, my heart begins to race and I can’t help but smile at the thought of you. I’m so very grateful that you decided to bring me along. Somehow you manage to turn me into a giddy, blushing teenager every time you cross my mind. Our kiss is a cherished memory of mine, and forgive me for being forward, but I hope that we can make more of such memories in the future. Hope had an amazing time with Gale at the dance, and apparently, he wasn’t as much of a “stick in the mud” as you think. I’m sworn to secrecy, but know that they are very fond of each other already. When we got back to Grove the day after the dance, we told Frank what happened with…the incident, and he thought it was hilarious! He even said that he “did his job well,” whatever that means. I would love nothing more than to come see you, but sadly, I don’t know when I’ll be able. Casualties from Italy are getting worse with the invasion of Sicily underway, and we’ve been on runs almost every day since we got back from the dance. Regardless of this, the first chance we get, Hope and I will make our way up to Thorpe Abbotts. I can’t wait to see you again, Johnny, but the blatant slander against the Braves might damage your chances of getting another kiss. We’ll just have to agree to disagree on this because I promise you I am not going to be converted. After all, a little friendly rivalry never hurt anyone, right? Don’t hurt yourself falling off your bike during your break. Yours, Ruth Morgan P.S. I would like to meet Meatball the next time I visit the base!

Sunday, August 8th, 1943: Thorpe Abbotts AAF Base, Norwich

The mess hall buzzed with energy as Buck and Johnny sat at breakfast with Curt, who slowly moved his powdered eggs around on his plate with his fork.

“I can’t eat this shit anymore,” he groaned, pushing the plate away from him.

John took a slow sip of his “coffee,” raising an eyebrow at the man. “Then don’t eat it.”

“Oh wow,” Biddick quipped. “What a great idea, Bucky. I’d never thought of that.”

The major smirked behind his mug and shot his friend a wink. Buck watched on in amusement, used to the two going back and forth as he and John did.

Leaning his elbows on the table, Curt leaned over the table toward John with a teasing glare. “Have you heard anything from Ruthie? Has she mentioned me? I thought I made a good first impression the other night.”

“Hmm,” Johnny hummed, pursing his lips for a moment before pointing at Biddick. “That’s Nurse Morgan to you, you dodo. I’m surprised you even remember anything from the dance with how drunk you were.”

“Oh I couldn’t forget a face like that,” he chuckled.

John’s eyes narrowed playfully as he clasped his hands together and leaned on the table. “Well it’s a good thing for me that she could forget yours, then,” he clapped back. “And you’re not the one she kissed goodnight.”

Buck rolled his eyes and continued to eat his breakfast as Egan’s loud, wide-mouthed cackle echoed through the mostly quiet mess hall. Curt then turned to Gale with a raised brow. “How about Hope-”

“Nope,” Buck interrupted calmly, raising his cup and taking a sip of his steaming coffee.

The other two men watched him as a tiny grin formed on the Major’s lips. Although he didn’t talk about it much, they could tell Buck had already developed deep feelings for the woman.

Raising his eyebrows at Curt, John grinned. “Oh boy.”

“You’ve got it bad, Buck,” Biddick laughed, his hand landing on Gale’s shoulder roughly. “You gotten a reply to your letter yet?”

Thinking of the perfectly folded letter from Ruth he’d picked up that morning sitting in his breast pocket, John smiled down at his food, warmth spreading through him at the thought of the blonde. Buck, however, pursed his lips and shook his head at the question.

“I actually haven’t written her yet,” he sighed, running a hand down his face. “I want-”

“What!?” Johnny all but yelled, his eyes widening as coffee almost spewed from his mouth. “Why the hell not, Buck? I already sent one to Ruth and got a response.”

Gale groaned and put down his fork with a clink. “Because of Hugh.”

“Why are you so worried about Charlie?” Curtis asked, wearing a confused expression.

“Because he’s in my squadron. And he’s her brother.”

John pointed and leaned over the table at him. “Hope’s a big girl, Buck. She can make her own decisions. Screw what Hugh says.”

“But-” Gale started but was once again cut off by Bucky.

“He’s gonna hate you even more if he thinks you're leading her on. You not sending Hope a letter isn’t making anything better,” he said, a smirk beginning to tug at his lips as he continued. “On top of the condom situation.”

John and Curt busted out into chuckles as Buck just groaned, closing his eyes tightly. “Oh, please don’t remind me.”

The ideal chatter was disturbed by the door to the mess hall swinging back on its hinges with a crash, followed by heavy footfall as Hugh all but stormed through the building like a tornado. He snatched a mug off a table and poured himself a steaming cup of black coffee before marching past the trio, staring daggers at Gale who looked up worriedly from his breakfast.

Curt’s eyes followed the man as he walked in, muttering under his breath, “Speak of the devil.”

"Good morning to you, too, Sparky," John called out with a small wave as he walked by, only to be met with deafening silence from the other pilot.

Hugh's harsh glare was burning a hole in the back of Gale’s skull and he thought any second now he’d come into his brain and it would be lights out.

“You’ve really pissed him off this time, Buck, and you didn’t even get his sister into bed,” John laughed heartily, taking a long swig from his whiskey and coffee, it was most likely more whiskey than coffee but Gale humored him.

“Will you give it a rest? I’m already getting it from Hugh without your added input,” Gale stabbed aggressively at his scrambled eggs, willing the eyes of the room to stop looking at him.

Curt snorted beside him, waving his fork around. “Well, I’m telling you boys, if I’d have had Hope in my arms and she’d bought condoms with her, let’s just say she wouldn’t have been going back home with them.”

That was the final straw.

Gale slammed his fist down on the table, ignoring the way Johnny jumped in his seat, spilling his coffee over the table, and the way several chunks of his scrambled egg disappeared onto the floor.

“You say anymore slander about my girl, Biddick and I swear…”

“Your girl, Buck?” John raised his right eyebrow, an amused smirk on his lips as his mustache twitched. “She’s your girl and you haven’t even written her yet?”

Sometimes Gale wished he could rip that stupid mustache off John’s face, but he kept his cool.

It would seem that Hugh had heard the whole commotion. His chair screeching back from the table, he stomped up between the tables once more, his glare never leaving Gale until the door slammed shut behind him.

Buck groaned, unsure if it was in relief or at the impending doom that he was likely to suffer if this debacle continued. Without a second thought, he excused himself from the table, ignoring the calls of protest from John and Curt, and hurried after Hugh.

“Hugh! Hugh, wait up. Please, I want to talk to you,” Gale jogged after the tall brunette whose face turned sour the instant he noticed him.

The door quickly closed behind him, and Curt looked at the major across from him with a guilty expression. “I was just joking, Bucky. I would never-”

“Ahh don’t worry about it,” John said as he sipped on his coffee. “He knows that. Like you said, Buck’s got it bad and this thing with Hugh has been eating at him since Saturday.”

Biddick nodded to himself, his eyes lingering on the door. “Do you think Hugh’ll let it go?”

“For Buck’s sake, I do…I think he will. Doesn’t mean I won’t still rag Buck about it, though.”

“Yeah,” Curt mumbled, staring down at his plate.

Neither man spoke for a few moments, each lost in their thoughts until Bucky wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood up. “I’ve got a letter to write. See you later, Curt.”

“I never thought I’d live to see the day,” Biddick replied. “Bucky Egan writing a love letter. Looks like Buck isn’t the only one who’s got it bad.”

John tugged his white-fleece jacket back into place and chuckled at his friend. “Don’t go all soft on me.”

“I think it suits you, John. Really,” he urged, a soft smile on his lips. “You seem happier.”

Staring at him for a moment, Bucky didn’t quite know how to respond. He felt happier. He had something to look forward to other than getting drunk at the bar or the adrenaline rush he got when the sound of .50 cal brownings echoed through his fort. John placed his cap back on his head, and with a curt nod, turned toward the door.

His tie suddenly became too tight around his throat as he pushed through the doors into the cool English air, and he quickly loosened it, letting it hang limply as he took a deep breath. In that moment, John Egan had a profound realization.

Since he came over to England in May, he had been simply going through the motions, replaying the same days over and over: Wake up…Fly forts…Bomb targets…Get drunk…Show a woman a good time…then start the cycle again the next day. For someone with such a passionate personality, he lacked the feeling that he so deeply desired. Curt could vouch for this, being the one to knock some feeling back into him a few months back on the wing of Mugwump.

But since that day in July when the nurses landed on their small base in East Anglia, feeling had slowly been creeping back into his life. He first felt it when Ruth caught him staring, and was soon captivated by her dimpled smile and capable personality. The numbness that had become so familiar to him faded into the background when she was near, her laughter shaking free his heart a little more each time it left her lips.

He was alive with Ruth. More alive than he felt when ME-109s whizzed past him or when flack shook his fort. More alive than when he unbuttoned a woman’s dress and laid her down. More alive than the burning sensation that traveled down his throat when he downed another shot at the bar.

Over the past few weeks, the blonde nurse had somehow burrowed into his jaded exterior and broken down the walls he didn’t even know existed.

John’s mind reeled as he silently mounted his bike and rode to the base HQ. The ride passed in a blur, and before he knew it, he was sitting at his desk, staring down at the blank sheet of paper before him. He hadn’t had a problem writing her before, so why was this any different?

How was he supposed to convey such profound feelings in a letter?

He started simply, letting his mind imagine her there beside him.

“Dear Ruth.”

Thursday, August 12, 1943: Termini Imerese, Sicily, Italy

“You ready girls!” Frank called over his shoulder, glancing as Hope and Ruth took the stretcher from the medics below them and loaded the last wounded soldier onto the rack. Hope pulled out her flight manifest and checked off the final patient to board. The young boy reached out, grasping her hand.

“Nurse,” his voice cracking as he tried to grab her attention. He was so young, barely eighteen years old. His bright blue eyes, glossy and hazy, gazed up at her.

“Yes, My Love,” Hope crouched down, clasping the boy's hand in one of hers while her other brushed away his brunette locks from his face. She tried to stop her eyes from drifting down his body to where only stumps of his legs remained, the burnt flesh wrapped neatly in crisp bandages.

“You’re an angel,” he whispered and Hope smiled sweetly at him, squeezing his hand. “When I write home, I’m gonna tell my Momma ‘bout you.”

A single tear trickled down her cheek and she leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead and watching until he drifted off to sleep. His delicate, young features were no longer etched with worry, and the hard lines across his forehead softened as the morphine began to take effect.

Hope turned, watching as Ruth comforted one of the other young men further down the plane who had managed to remove some of his bandages.

“Hey, don’t do that, you need those,” Ruth tutted quietly, helping the Private sit up a little so she could secure fresh, white bandages around his bloody arm. The poor boy grumbled under his breath as Ruth tucked in the end. “Now leave ‘em be, okay?”

The young boy nodded, shifting uncomfortably in his cot. They weren’t the most comfortable racks, just cool metal bars lining the hammock-like beds that swayed as the C-47 rocked through the sky.

Hope took her seat beside Ruth, who had finished trying to redress the soldier's wounds, smiling briefly at her friend, who wore the same exhausted expression she did.

“I can’t wait to get back to the Grove. I need a warm bath and my bed,” Ruth mumbled, stretching out her aching muscles that screamed against the tension in her body.

“Oh don’t say that, Rue. We’ve still got to drop these poor boys off at the hospital in Mateur.” Ruth just groaned in response.

The dance with the boys had been their last outing in a while. It was the last time Hope hadn’t felt completely exhausted. She’d been relaxed, able to let go, and safe in Gale’s arms.

This trip had been hard. The plane was at full capacity and when they arrived on the airfield at Termini Imerese, Sicily, they were instantly thrown into action. The girls disappeared into the makeshift hospitals that lined the airfield, the white tents flapping in the harsh wind that did little to cool the heat from the scorching midday sun.

Hope and Ruth conferred with the surgeons, assessing and stabilizing patients that were safe to fly, meaning that many of the young men with head injuries or who had suffered significant blood loss would be unable to fly due to the unpressurized aircraft cabins. Many of the men didn’t have emergency medical tags, so the girls had to make their own assessments for many of the patients.

The thrumming roar of the C-47’s engine erupting to life always brought a great sense of comfort to Hope, along with an impending sense of fear in unison. This job, while rejuvenating her youth through the exhilarating flights and the lives they saved, aged her with each passing moment spent in the air, because after every successful landing she was left with the feeling that although they had saved lives, they couldn’t save them all. This weighed heavily on both of the women.

Frank and his fellow pilot chatted hastily in the cockpit, their muffled voices cracking through over the radio. As soon as the plane leveled out Hope and Ruth stood, each taking a side of the plane and beginning the checkups on their patients, recording their temperature, pulse, and respiration as well as checking there was no strike through of blood from their dressings. The girls worked quickly, only conferring on their patients' conditions.

It always amazed Hope how quickly their work changed them, on the flight over Ruth had been once again telling her about the letter she’d received from John. Hope feared she could probably quote Ruth’s letter herself by now, but she never complained, pleased that Ruth was finally coming out of herself.

Hope had her own letter from Gale tucked into her top overall pocket, over her heart. His words burned into her flesh and she felt as though he was right there beside her all along.

Having dropped off the soldiers at the large US hospital in Mateur, Tunisia, the C-47 headed home. The mood was somber as the large metal bird rattled its way across Europe towards England.

Ruth’s eyes had closed about half an hour before, and Hope didn’t have the heart to wake her up. She looked so peaceful, the wrinkles that normally appeared when she smiled were smoothed away, and her blonde locks fell softly from where she had so lovingly pinned them that very morning.

Hope took Gale’s letter out of her pocket, smoothing out the creases that had poked around the edge of the page. Words of affirmation sprung out at her and a smile was instantly cemented to her lips as she relieved the last moments with him.

The flight home always seemed quicker, and soon ‘The Angel of Death’ was touching down on the runway. Hope helped a rather sleepy Ruth off the plane and waved goodnight to Frank, who chuckled in amusement at the blonde’s incoherent murmurs, some of them sounding an awful lot like the name of her beloved major.

“Goodnight Ladies.”

“Come on, Rue. Let’s get you home,” Hope wrapped her arm around her sleepy friend, leading the way to the Nissan huts they were billeted in.

Some of the other nurses were still stationed in Africa and so they currently had the hut to themselves. Hope lay Ruth down on the bed, smiling as she snuggled closer into the pillow.

So much for a warm bath…

Hope would rag her about it later, but she couldn’t deny that the stress of the day was getting to her too, but something restless kept her from falling into her own bed. Instead, Hope sat at the small desk in the corner, pulling out a piece of paper and a pen. She pulled Gale’s crumpled letter from her pocket, smoothed it flat onto the desk, and began writing her reply.

The following day, the girls finally had a day off, and as much as they wanted to make the trip up to Thorpe Abbotts, the nurses were so exhausted that they barely got out of bed.

“What time is it?” Ruth groaned, turning onto her side to hide from the bright sun peeking through the curtains.

Getting no response, she cracked her eyes open, and a smile tugged at her lips at the sight before her. In the corner of the room, Hope’s cheek lay smushed against the desktop, her messy black hair splayed around her as she slept soundly. The corner of a paper could just barely be seen under her hair, and Ruth immediately knew what she’d fallen asleep doing.

Sighing softly, she pulled back her covers and padded over to Hope, wincing at the sting of her feet against the cold floors. “Hope,” Ruth whispered, rubbing the woman’s shoulder gently. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

She awoke slowly, allowing the blonde to sit her up off the desk. “Five more minutes,” Hope mumbled.

Ruth chuckled, the sound echoing through the silent hut. Luckily, Hope’s bed was directly beside the desk, so the smaller woman didn’t have to maneuver her around too much to get her onto the mattress.

Gently laying her extra blanket over her best friend, Ruth smiled down at her. “There you go. Snug as a bug.”

She then walked over to her bed and snuggled under the covers again, but not before closing their blackout curtains, causing darkness to envelop the room once again. The warmth drew her back into her peaceful slumber, her eyes fluttering closed as her mind repeated Johnny’s latest letter:

Sunday, August 8th, 1943

Dear Ruth, I can’t wait to see you again. I know I said that in my last letter, but I’ve recently discovered that absence actually does make the heart grow fonder. I find myself waiting in anticipation for your letters the moment I send off my own, and I long to see you…to have you here next to me. Hopefully, your missions will ease soon and you’ll finally get a break, too. I understand how tiring it can be to fly day after day, and that’s without even having to take care of patients. Please take care of yourself, alright? As much as I would love to see you, please rest if you get the chance. Don’t worry about me. We’ll see each other soon enough. Today Buck finally wrote Hope back. I tried to tell him how stupid it was to wait, but he was adamant about getting Hugh’s approval. He’s a bigger man than I am, Ruth. Regardless of this, we can never let him live the incident down…ever. In response to your threat to withhold your affection from me, I say bring it on. Like I said before, you can’t argue with facts. The Yankees are the better team, and I’m going to convince you of that, so I cannot agree to disagree. I’m too stubborn to let you win, and if I’m being honest, I don’t know if you’ll be able to resist my charming personality…or the mustache. I know you love the mustache, Ruth. If you decide to follow through on your threat, I’ll shave it off. Just for you. Don’t stand between a man and kisses from his girl. It doesn’t end well for anyone. But it’s like you said, a little friendly rivalry never hurt anyone, right? Please be safe, Ruthie, and know I am thinking of you. Yours, John Egan

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Hope! Ruth! You alive in there?” a voice hollered through the hut’s door, rousing Ruth for the second time that morning. She opened her mouth to reply, but Hope beat her to it.

“Go away, Frank!” she groaned, covering her ears with her pillow.

“It’s almost noon,” the man chuckled. “I know you’re tired but you both need to get up. We’ve got stuff to do.”

Sitting up abruptly, Ruth grabbed her watch off her small side table, her eyes widening when she read 11:43 am. She looked over to Hope who was also staring at her watch in utter disbelief.

“I haven’t slept in this much since I was a teenager,” Hope muttered under her breath before turning to Ruth, almost breaking into a fit of laughter at the blonde’s wonky curls from the day before. “We look terrible.”

Frank pounded his fist against the door, yelling, “Get up!”

“WE ARE!!” They both hollered back, unable to keep the frustration from lacing their voices.

Throwing off her covers, Hope stood to her feet and marched over to the door, swinging it open. Ruth clamored quickly out of bed to follow her, stopping right behind her shoulder as they glared at Frank. His eyes scanned the women before him, and a grimace appeared on his face at their ragged appearances.

“Okay,” he started, raising his hands in surrender. “Go back to sleep. You look like shit, and I’d rather do things on the plane by myself than deal with your grumpy attitudes.”

They narrowed their eyes at him. “Nope. We’re awake now,” Hope retorted, smiling sweetly at him.

Sighing, Frank stepped back from the door with a barely concealed smirk. “Meet me at the hardstand.”

As Hope shut the door, Ruth flopped back on her bed, her eyes following Hope’s figure walking across the room to the desk in the corner. “How’s Gale?” she asked, propping her head up with her hand.

Hope began to neatly fold up the letter, smiling softly as she talked over her shoulder. “He’s good. Said he didn’t write because of Hugh causing problems, but he’s got his blessing now.” She turned toward Ruth with dusty pink cheeks, giggling to herself. “He even signed his last letter with ‘your Gale.’”

“Hope!” Ruth squealed, sitting up and covering her mouth with her hands. “I’m so happy for you. You deserve someone like Gale, and I’m sure Hugh sees how much he adores you.”

Hope looked down at the letter in her hands, her heart swelling at the thought of the man. “He’s amazing,” she whispered as her eyes traced over his name on the paper. After a few moments, she shook her head, seemingly clearing her thoughts, and raised an eyebrow at Ruth. “How’s John?”

It was now Ruth’s turn to blush, the tips of her ears heating up at the mention of the major. “Great…amazing…wonderful. I feel like I’ve known him so much longer than a few weeks, Hope. You know how I can get sometimes, but when I’m with him, I don’t feel nearly as anxious. And when he kissed me…I wished it could’ve lasted forever. I can’t wait to see him again.”

Sighing softly, Hope plopped down onto her bed. “Look at us, Rue. We’re like a bunch of lovesick teenagers.”

“Yeah, we are,” Ruth giggled, her mind replaying her and John’s laughter, soft touches, and tender looks from the dance. The way he held her face so delicately, how his lips-

“Come on,” Hope called, her mattress squeaking as she got up, breaking Ruth from her thoughts. “Let’s get ready so we can go annoy Frank.”

Tag List: @xxluckystrike @precious-little-scoundrel @bcofl0ve @violetdaze25 @docroesmorphine @kmc1989 @gfofsadie @artlover8992 @karashaw99 @dustyjumpwjngs @camicanos-blog @storysimp @b00ks1ut @sunny747 @leopard-skin-pillbox-hat-ok @yoongiscxr @blueberry-ovaries @sidneysidney123

message or comment if you want to be added to the tag list! <3

100 notes · View notes

rosiethinksherthoughts · 7 days

Text

Faking it 〰️ PJS : Chapter 1

Your life is pretty good, but frankly, your job was unfulfilling. So you quit and now, you are searching through job search sites, sending your job application.

Just as you're about to move from your computer, you hear a "ping!". It's a response to your job application.

Dear Y/N,

I am writing to inform you that you have been offered a position at Hybe Entertainment. We are pleased to extend this offer to you and would like to invite you to meet us in person to discuss the details.

If you could kindly be at our headquarters by 11 a.m. tomorrow, it would be greatly appreciated. We look forward to meeting you and discussing the possibility of having you join our team.

Sincerely,

Jang Tae-sung

You never thought you would be accepted into Hybe Entertainment. You were searching for jobs, so you applied there in a whimsical state.

Is this a legitimate position? Or were you being scammed? This is weird but what if it is true? Then this would be one of the best things that could happen.

"Hi, so I'm here for a job-"

"Are you Y/N L/N"

So, this is not a prank?!

"Yes, yes I am" You show them your ID.

"Come in"

You enter and nervously look around. Okay, this is happening. You are led to a room.

"He is Tae-sung"

You look towards the man, he waves at you and you walk towards him. When you notice the man sitting beside him, you freeze.

Holy Shit!

Seated beside Tae-sung is Park Jongseong, a member of the talented boy group Enhypen, your ultimate group. You feel the world spinning around you.

His eyes are so pretty. You can't stop yourself from staring. But you had to. You sit across them.

"Y/N, right?" Tae-sung begins to speak.

"Yes"

"We are very impressed by your resume"

You smile

"You will technically work under Jay, so I will let him explain everything"

"You need to be my girlfriend, Y/N"

You stare at Jay, baffled.

Where did that come from?

You freeze.

Tae-sung jumps in.

"Not his real girlfriend! Here's the deal........he needs to date, it's a PR thing and dating may cause distraction."

He glances at Jay.

"So he needs a fake girlfriend and we noticed you have experience in acting. You've acted in theatre. We believe you will do well. Don't worry, you will be paid and this opportunity also might launch your career"

"Got it. When do I start?"

"From now", Jay says, softly smiling. You want to scream out of joy but contain it. You don't want them to think you're crazy.

This isn't going to be an easy job........

You spend the rest of the day thinking about your new job. Dating your favourite idol is crazy, even if it's fake and you've read enough fanfiction where fake relationships become real. So you begin browsing through more stories to get some tips to make Jay fall in love with you.

As you're about to get to the spicy part of this Jay fanfiction story, your phone starts to ring.

It's an unknown number but still you answer.

"Hey Y/N, it's me, Jay"

"Hi"

"Y/N, we umm...need to have a public appearance, a lunch date if you will. I will send you all the details."

You get ready, take time dolling yourself and reach your destination.

You and Jay walk into the restaurant, together. Heads turn as you two enter.

You flinch as his hand finds a way to your back.

" Oh, I'm sorry", he immediately retreats his hand.

"It's okay, you can keep your hand there."

Jay slowly places his hand on your back. His touch is as soft as a feather. Your cheeks are painted with a deep shade of pink.

Jay pulls out your chair for you like a gentleman.

"Thank you", you smile softly.

He returns the smile.

"Remember, we need to look like a couple. So you can drop all the formalities."

You both order food and talk about random stuff while maintaining the lovey-dovey look.

"I must say this Y/N, you're a natural actor", you smile. How will you say that you're not acting but you're actually in love with him since you first saw him on TV?

After finishing your lunch, you both walk outside. As soon as you both step outside, you're flooded with questions. You remember Jay's words, "Remember, we need to look like a couple."

You've spent your time simply over Enhypen, so you didn't have time for any romantic relationship. So, you have no idea what to do. You've always heard that when you get into a relationship, everything will happen naturally. But then again, it's not a real relationship. You just need to make it seem real. What do couples do?

They have a beautiful bond. They have fun, enjoy each other presence, and get intimate. They........kiss.

You look at Jay, he's looking ahead. His side profile is just...ethereal. His lips are soft and plump. Without thinking anything, you pull him in and plant a kiss on his mouth.

He seems surprised, stiff. But then relaxes a little, as soon as the cameras around us start flashing. His arms wrap around you and draw you into his chest.

Everything was blurry around you. You couldn't even imagine your idol noticing you and now you're kissing him. You remember attending Enhypen's fansign, one year ago. But Jay doesn't remember you. You don't blame him for that, he has met so many people Moreover you're not a very memorable person. You're not a second lead not even a supporting character. You're the character in a book, who's...just there. You snap back to reality.

No, no, no. Kissing him wasn't the best action, you didn't ask him. He's in a position where he can't even push you away. No, this is not acceptable. You took advantage of him. You need to stay in Your lane. You pull away.

You notice that his cheeks are pink.

Is he blushing?....No, that's hopeful thinking. He's probably embarrassed. Yeah, that's it.

#romance #enhypen smut #enha smut #enhypen x reader #jay smut #jongseong smut #jay x reader #rosie #park jongseong smut #faking it #enhypen fic

35 notes · View notes

sl-vega · 2 months

Text

✧Sticking to the Script✧-12

⋆｡°✩ 12-juliet's found a new romeo

a/n: this takes place a week after chapter 11, after school hours

"1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3."

Eula was counting out the beats as you tried to keep up. She was put in charge of choreography for the production. Albeit, she only had one scene to work with. That might have been for the best though, because a simple waltz scene felt like military training with her in charge.

She didn't hesitate to yell or shout. Several freshmen in the ensemble ran out of the room crying because of Eula. No wonder everyone hates her, you thought, but you kept to yourself. There was no way you were risking her wrath.

Lyney was your dance partner. His right hand rested on your waist, while his left was intertwined with your own. He was keeping up with Eula's instructions. You on the other hand, were doing the exact opposite.

You had stepped on his feet more times than you could count. Which resulted in numerous bruises, not to mention how you were completely off beat.

Eula opened her mouth, preparing to scold you for the hundredth time. You winced in anticipation.

"Everyone take five!"

Furina called out. Then she beckoned for Eula to talk to her. Eula set some papers down and muttered something about how incompetent everyone was before making her way to Furina. She gave you a glare, clearly indicating that you should still practice, thankfully Chiori had grabbed her attention before Eula could say anything else.

You and the ensemble took a collective sigh of relief together. Everyone went on a water break together. You and Lyney let go of each other and made your way to sit on the edge of the stage.

"Sorry about that Lyney." you muttered. "You're gonna be the death of me, (Y/N)." he said, chuckling. You playfully punched his shoulder, as he feigned pain.

"Oh, how you wound me!" he exclaimed pressing the back of his hand to his forehead for dramatic effect. You rolled your eyes as you took a sip out of your water bottle. "Yet you love me regardless."

"That was my first mistake." he replied, which earned him another punch from you. You caught him glancing at your hand, before you could ask him why, he grabbed your wrist. "You're still wearing that ring? Aren't you afraid of losing something so expensive?" he asked.

You pulled your hand away, fidgeting with the piece of jewelry that Xingqiu gave you. "Honestly, I'd feel kinda bad if I didn't wear it." you muttered as you watched Xingqiu laugh with his friend about something.

You smiled watching them fool around together. Part of you was kinda jealous.

I wish I could make you laugh like that

"Archons, you're down so bad." Lyney teased, smirking as you turned red. "Shut up." you whispered swatting his shoulder. You went back to observing the crew + some of the volunteers.

Xingqiu and his friend were transporting some boxes over to the stage. You subconsciously fixed your hair and smoothed out your clothes as he neared you and Lyney.

Xingqiu waved and you returned the gesture. "You do know you can just talk to him right?" you heard Lyney ask. You were about to do just that, but Eula had returned from her meeting with Furina and Chiori.

"Places!" she snapped her fingers as everyone scrambled into their positions, but your mind was preoccupied with other thoughts.

I wish I could just talk to him

Hours later, you still couldn't grasp the routine. Sure, you had gotten better, but not to the point where Lyney's feet didn't suffer anymore. But there was always tomorrow, rehearsal would be over soon anyway.

Eula rubbed her temples as she glanced at her phone, checking the time. "That's a wrap everyone! Thank you for coming." you heard Furina announce as she started packing up.

Fischl and Lyney started gathering their things. "You guys can leave without me, I just need to sort out some things." you told them. Fischl looked at you, then at Xingqiu, she mouthed an "Oh" before dragging Lyney away and whispering something to him.

You waved goodbye before approaching Xingqiu who had just done the same for his friend.

"Hey."

"Hi."

The two of you had exchanged a proper greeting for the first time today, it had been a while since the two of you got some one-on-one time alone. "Did you need something?" he asked.

No, I just want to spend time with you, I don't care what we do, I just want you

Is what you would've said, but that would've been to forward. The two of you stood in silence for a few seconds, though it felt like an eternity. You had to think of an excuse so he would stay.

"You wouldn't happen to know how to dance would you?"

Xingqiu looked surprised, then he took your hand and led you to the stage.

"As a matter of fact, I do."

He led you up the steps, his stand still intertwined with yours. The two of you made your way to the center of the stage. His right hand rested on your waist, and his left still held your hand.

He pulled you closer, your chests pressing against one another, you hoped he didn't feel your wild heartbeat. "Um, this is okay with you, right?" he asked, due to your close proximity you could see his cheeks dusted with pink..

You nodded, attempting to maintain eye contact with him.

"Just follow my lead then." he told you.

You counted the beats in your head, but you soon found out that you didn't need to. With Xingqiu, it just came naturally.

You found yourself focusing more on him rather than the actual routine. You noticed how pretty his resting face was, and the golden sheen in his eyes.

Your faces were getting close, dangerously close. You could feel his breath against your lips. The two of you continued dancing, you swayed along with him.

Your foreheads were resting against each other, and the two of you continued to hold eye contact.

"Xingqiu..."

He was leaning in, whether this was something he wanted, or this was just him being in the moment, was something you couldn't determine. You weren't even sure whether you wanted it either.

"Excuse me!"

You heard a voice yell, it was Furina. "Sorry to interrupt but some people are renting the auditorium so you guys need to get out now." she explained before leaving again.

You pulled away from Xingqiu, and he heard him mutter an apology as his face flushed. You went to pick up your bag that rested by the stage.

"I'll see you tommorow, yeah?"

He nodded going to get his things from the seats in the front row.

As you walked towards the exit you felt your stomach doing somersaults. You recalled your thoughts from earlier.

I just want you

You put your hand on your cheek as you felt your face heat up. You turned around to watch Xingqiu pack up his things.

Archons, I'm down bad

additional notes:

-i'm so sorry for not uploading yesterday guys T-T

-i swear i'm trying my hardest

-cockblock furina cuz why not

-not even half way through and these two children have fallen so hard for each other

-young love yk

-very proud of this chapter

-i'll try to get a double update in today

-very excited for chapter 13

-check the title and you'll find out why

-ty again for all the love <3

masterlist

✧Sticking to the Script✧

Pairing: Xingqiu x FEM! Reader

Genre: fake dating, strangers to lovers, slow burn, fluff, angst (?), high school smau, modern smau

⋆｡°✩-Synopsis: Xingqiu just got entered into a special writing contest, the type that's invite only, the theme this year is love, the only problem is that he has zero romantic experience. but he really wants to prove himself as a writer. meanwhile, you just found out that your boyfriend cheated on you, and you need to show him that you're 100% over him, the only problem is that there's no way you can get an actual boyfriend that quickly. clearly, the solution to both of your issues is to fake date each other. it shouldn't be hard for an actor such as yourself, all you need to do is stick to the script.

(OPEN) Taglist: @freyao7, @thatoneswordgirl, @sn1perz, @latay7, @willowcandletree, @nmriki0, @help-whatdoimakemyusername, @httpsrenren, @cupid-spams, @aixaingela, @kaitfae, @luvkvni, @danhenglovebot

39 notes · View notes

to-the-stars8 · 2 years

Text

Learning to Love Slowly

Parings; Jason Todd x Reader 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 A/N; Lowkey feeling like being a dumb b and posting something filthy next chapter. Idk, I might lol. I should also think about posting a consistent uploading schedule rip

15- Death and Scars

Jason was getting used to touching you, and it took him a couple of weeks to just do it without asking. Slowly, his hand would find itself on your waist for a few moments or play with the hem of your shirt as you two stood next to each other. When you started to touch Jason more he felt excited.

His heart beat faster in his chest knowing that you wanted to feel the scar on his forearm, running a finger along it before putting your palm flat against it. Or, when you unknowingly traced the scar on the nape of his neck lightly. It sent shivers down his spine and caused goosebumps to crawl along his skin.

One night, when he decided that patrol could come tomorrow, he sat in his apartment with you. You were lying next to him on his bed watching TV of some re-run of an old show that he wasn’t paying attention to. What had his full attention was the way you gently drew circles on his forearm right over a scar from the day he died.

Jason should have liked it. But every circle around that particular scar made bile crawl up his throat. He hadn’t talked to you about the day he died, not to an extent at least, so it was obvious that you didn’t know better.

Stop being a baby, he told himself, it’s your girlfriend, not him. Closing his eyes, Jason took a deep breath, trying to focus on where he was. On his bed, with you, watching an old favorite show of his. Despite the pleasant distraction, he jerked his arm away as soon as it started to feel too much.

The unexpected movement surprised you, causing you to jump a bit. Jason was already apologizing before you stopped him.

“Don’t apologize if you’re feeling uncomfortable, Jay,” You said as you sat up to look at him better. “Plus, if you don’t want to be touched, you know can always tell me, right?”

“I--” I know, is what he wanted to say but the words seemed lost on his tongue. He didn’t know why he felt so sick and guilty all of a sudden. Jason wanted you to keep touching him, but just not on that scar. Still, the words wouldn’t come.

When they didn’t, you filled the silence in between. “Is this too much for tonight?”

“No, no,” Jason managed out, reminding himself to take his time, then took a deep breath. That seemed to clear his mind. “Anywhere else but there. Not that scar, please.”

As you laid back to relax again, you nodded quickly, finally understanding. “Where?”

His eyes snapped up from his lap to meet yours. “What?”

Your face started to feel hot. “Where do you want to be touched? I think I’d like to know your favorite places.”

Slowly, Jason took your hand and put it on the back of his neck. Since the two of you were laying down again, his head was now on your shoulder and he was on his side, almost curling into you.

He was scared that maybe he was too heavy or it was too close. The condescending voice in the back of his mind told him as much. Yet, when you leaned your cheek on the top of his head and spread your fingers into his hair, he was comforted.

Jason let out something between a pleased moan and a sigh. It was the first time he felt so at peace, especially since this was the most intimate you two had been touch-wise. What surprised him most was just how comfortable he was.

“It drives me wild when you touch my hips,” You whispered into the black curls. “And when you massage the back of my neck or head, I like that, too.”

Jason thought back on all the times he grabbed your hips or ran his hand through your hair. He enjoyed doing that, too. He then echoed your admission with his own, “I like it when you touch my hair.”

He could feel your smile against his hair, then your lips pressing a kiss onto it. Jason’s heart fluttered. Everything you did for him was so fucking soft, and he couldn’t get enough of it. Sometimes he told himself that he didn’t deserve it.

To put it plainly, Jason felt like he was gross and someone as good as you didn’t deserve someone like that. Then, you plucked away those thoughts with your tender caresses and reassuring whispers, and he wasn’t a vigilante anymore. He was simply your Jaybeans or Honeybee or whatever cute-ass nickname you came up with.

Jason often worried that he didn’t return the affection enough, that maybe you were unsatisfied, but then there were times like this. Where he was reminded that he was enough for you by being himself. He also rested well on the fact that you would say something.

You never held your tongue on many opinions, one of the things he loved most about you, and you always made sure to say something you didn’t like. Especially when it came to your relationship.

The scar from the day he died would always be there, along with the feeling of dread that was embedded with it. He could tolerate it as he had for the past six years, but it would be a lot easier knowing that there could be times when the memory stayed in the past.

“Baby, do you think that you could keep scratching…” Jason started to say when your hand stilled, but when he looked up you were fast asleep. In such a short amount of time, too.

Smiling, he admired your sleep form. He had seen it before, but not this close. Your lips were parted in soft, quiet breaths and your lashes fluttered as you dreamt. Even in sleep, you remained beautiful.

Jason put his head back on your shoulder, not daring to move so he wouldn’t disturb you. He wouldn't be able to sleep, but he didn't mind. It would give him the chance to bask in the warmth of your touch.

Slowly, he was learning what it was to be alive and in love.

#jason fluff #jason todd x reader #romance #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x you #robin jason todd #jason todd #red hood fanfiction #red hood x reader #red hood

575 notes · View notes

lovestay-channie · 5 months

Text

Written in the Stars ☆ Chapter 5

Pairing: Bang Chan x Fem reader

Genre: SMAU, Stray Kids x Modern Hogwarts, Hufflepuff x Slytherin, (minor/one sided) Enemies to Lovers, Reverse Grumpy Sunshine

Warnings: mentions death, several battles, a few swear words here and there

Synopsis: It is modern time at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. One Hufflepuff who suppresses her emotions while one Slytherin who breaks the stereotype of the Slytherin Prince. Will they connect? Or will they continue to clash?

Word Count: 860

Screenshots: 11

Taglist: OPEN

“Welcome,” you say to Chris who is running into the library.

“I’m so sorry that I’m late!” he says panting.

You shrug while opening your notebook to a blank page. Chris pulls out a chair across from you to sit down. It’s been weird being civil with one another. You aren’t used to being this kind to him. You knew that you have been unfair towards him, but you can’t help but feel like there is something up his sleeve. Maybe it’s your brain trying to protect you. Maybe it’s you being mean. Sometimes you couldn’t tell. You wonder if things could turn around for the better between the two of you.

“Alright,” Chris sighs, interrupting your thoughts. “We left off on trying to see if adding flavoring could help with the bitter taste.”

“Right! I was talking to Professor Villium after potions the other day to see about how to do that, and she mentions that it can be tricky. She talked about putting natural flavoring like lemon, orange, rose, lavender, etc.,” you explain.

Chris jots down what you said to remember for later. While working on the potion, you notice Chris’ mannerisms. It’s been a long time since you guys have been together one on one. You forgot how he would hum a random tune when flipping through pages; or how he would straighten his posture when writing down notes; or how he adjusts his tie loser after a certain amount of time. The little things you used to notice were forgotten, and you are trying to remember everything you lost.

After a few hours, your head was starting to hurt from trying to search where to find certain ingredients you would need for the potion. “Are you okay?” Chris asks.

You looked up from your book. His eyes were filled with concern. How did he know you were starting to feel achy? “Oh, um, yeah. I’m okay.”

“You sure?

“Why?”

“Because you’ve been sighing every 2 minutes for the past 15 minutes.”

“Sorry.” You didn’t notice you were continuously sighing. “I might have to call it quits soon. I think I’m starting to develop a headache.”

Suddenly, Chris reaches his school bag. He takes out a brown, paper bag and pushes it towards your direction. You look at the bag suspiciously. “Just take the bag, Y/N.”

You slowly grab the mystery item in front of you and open it. It had a soft roll and two pills. “What’s this?” you question.

“I know that your head hurts after some time of studying. It’s why you don’t study for a long period of time. So, I thought I would get you a roll and some medicine because you shouldn’t take medicine on an empty stomach,” he explains.

“Did my brother tell you that?” you scoff, taking the roll and pills out of the bag.

Chris fidgets in his seat, “Uh, y-yeah. He’s just a worried brother, you know.”

You nod your head in agreement. You quickly finish the roll and swallow the pills so you can continue studying. However, your mind started to wander to the tournament tomorrow. Deep down, you know it’s wrong to bring it back. It stopped for a reason; it’s too risky. You have been trying to see the joy in a tournament, but you wish it could have been a different Quidditch teams coming to compete with students. Anything other than the Triwizard Tournament would be better.

“Hey, Chris?” you softly call out.

His eyes meet yours. “Yeah?”

You put your quill into its ink bottle and rest your hands on your lap. “I am truly sorry for what I said yesterday. It was out of hand. I know you are really excited to compete in the tournament. I don’t like the idea of anyone getting hurt for fun. It’s not fair. I just…” You look down at your hands, too embarrassed to keep looking into his deep brown eyes.

Chris put his quill in his ink bottle as well and rested his arms on the table. “Look, Y/N, it’s okay. You don’t have to apologize anymore. I’ve been quite rude to you as well, and I shouldn’t take my frustrations out on you.”

“You have every right to. I’ve been so mean to you these past few years, and I want to apologize for that as well. Lee Know, Marina, and Annaliese have been talking to me about how I need to take a chill pill, and they are right. I guess what I’m trying to say is…” you pause. The words on the tip of your tongue seem foreign yet familiar to you at the same time.

“Trying to say what?” Chris asks softly, egging you to finish your sentence.

You finally look up to meet his eyes once more. “I want us to be friends again.”

His eyes widen at your sudden statement. He couldn’t believe his ears. He could feel the tip of his ears turning red. He reaches up to one of them to hide them. A smile creeps onto his face. It’s like he was 14 again.

“I would love to be your friend again as well.”

taglist: @minhosimthings @jiisungllvr @charmer-c @blackhairandbangs @foxinnie8 @sunshinessky @lixie-phoria @asherthehimbo @haewonluvr (if you would like to be tagged, let me know!)

#lovestaychannie #stray kids #skz imagines #bang chan #bang chan imagine #skz fanfic #stray kids fluff #smau #kpop smau #stray kids smau #stray kids x hogwarts #bang chan x reader #bang chan x y/n

31 notes · View notes

theteasetwrites · 2 years

Text

The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning

Chapter 93: A Founder's Day to Remember

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 11 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: mentions of weight gain, scary situation, violence, blood & gore, character death, spoilers for S11E18, ❧ Word Count: 4.6k

❧ In This Chapter: It's the day before you are scheduled to leave the Commonwealth and return to Alexandria, though an unexpected event, and death, might put a damper on those plans.

❧ A/N: A relatively short chapter, but it's packed with some cute stuff, and some plot stuff, and some scary stuff, so I think it's not too bad. Things are going to get interesting in the next chapter, though. That's for sure. Also I really like the dynamic between RJ and Robin! I think they're so fun together, even though canon RJ has zero personality. I am trying to work with what they gave us! Also I know Westley is just a little baby and he can't talk or anything but he's so stinking cute already (just like his daddy, I mean look at him).

“Doctor’s orders,” he kept saying.

It was true, the doctor wanted you to rest as much as possible, and though you normally would take any excuse to lay around all day, you were rather anxious for the trip home.

Daryl had the ambitious idea to have everything packed by the end of the day and to head out to Alexandria tomorrow at first light, but you were torn. On one hand, you wanted to get back home as soon as possible, considering the shaky situation your group was in here at the Commonwealth. On the other, you were exhausted, and still hurting from labor.

And yet, you still felt bad, watching Daryl empty the drawers of your shared dresser as you laid on your back in bed, with Westley curled up in a fetal position on your chest. His tiny thumb was nestled in his mouth as he slept soundly, while Daryl tried to be as quiet as a mouse. Unlike Robin, who was always a heavy sleeper, you quickly learned that Wes would stir awake at the slightest sound, much like Daryl.

“You sure you don’t need help, hon?” you asked quietly, almost in a whisper. “I can put him back in the crib and help you.” You eyed him closely as he opened your prized “delicates” drawer, consisting of all your favorite underwear, lingerie, and nighties. Though you trusted him with your prized collection, you couldn’t help but make sure he didn’t accidentally rip one of the vintage pieces.

“Nah,” he replied, tucking the garments into your duffle bag with the rest of your clothing. “You just rest. Doctor’s orders.”

Biting your lip, you tilted your head to look past Daryl’s broad frame, hoping to get a glimpse of how he was packing your valuables. “Be careful with that, please,” you said quietly. “That’s my—”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s a French nightgown from the fifties, I know.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “It’s a négligée, and it’s from the thirties, Daryl. It’s very important to me.” It wouldn’t be the first time Daryl had accidentally ripped some of your older clothing, so you were naturally a bit concerned. “The silk is delicate… And there’s already a tear—”

He huffed and turned to face you, interrupting your sentence. “I ain’t gonna hurt it,” he said softly. There was no anger in his voice, just reassurance. Sometimes, you wondered how he could be so patient with you. Then again, that was part of the whole marriage thing.

“I know,” you said with a smile. When Wes stirred a little, you gently rubbed his back, clothed in his brown bear onesie. On his head was the matching hat, with little round bear ears protruding from the top.

Daryl’s heart melted a little, watching you lovingly gaze at the child. When he packed your last article of clothing, he crossed over to your bed and laid gently beside you, propped up on his side so he could admire the sleeping baby. “Hey, scout,” he whispered to him. Typical Daryl, already coming up with nicknames for him. “You ain’t even gonna remember this place… Maybe that’s a good thing.”

You felt his arm tuck underneath you, the other wrapping around your lower abdomen, carefully so as not to disturb the baby on your chest. With his chin on your shoulder, he closed his eyes and let out a sigh. This was his happy place, the last bastion of hope in this cruel world.

You moved your head to snuggle against his. The smell of his freshly washed hair was heavenly. “You still taking the kids to the Founder’s Day thing, baby?”

“Mhm… In a bit.”

“No rush,” you replied softly through a sigh. “I like when you lay around with me. I like when you’re lazy.”

“Got no time to be lazy,” he said. Ironic, since he was just closing his eyes and settling deeper into the plush softness of the mattress beneath him. “RJ wants to see that wrestlin’ match.”

Oh, yes, the wrestling match. Something everyone in the Commonwealth who’d informed you of the Founder’s Day festivities thoroughly looked forward to. Frankly, you didn’t get it. What’s the appeal of watching two half-naked men perform a staged fight when there’s so much violence in the world already? Hardly any need for that kind of entertainment, you thought, but then again, the citizens of the Commonwealth hadn’t seen as much violence as you, so maybe they were starved for it.

“I’ll never understand that,” you said. “Well, at least it’ll be something to take their mind off the move.”

The kids were not too thrilled to hear about the upcoming journey back home. RJ was mostly ambivalent, but Judith had serious qualms with it, and Robin was just sad to lose her routine, though she couldn’t entirely grasp the reasons for Judith’s anger.

From what the eleven-year-old had told you, you garnered that she believed your group should stay and fight the Commonwealth, freeing its citizens from the oppression of the ruling class. Of course, you and Daryl had both tried to explain to her the infeasibility of that, and how your group was in no position to take on such an endeavor, but she didn’t understand.

You didn’t expect her to. Judith was still young, even though she tried to carry herself like an adult. Perhaps your parenting style was different from Michonne’s, but you tended to treat Judith like an eleven-year-old child, which she was. Of course, children were raised differently now, but the truth of the matter remained: children were different from adults.

Daryl rested with you for a little while, but forced himself to rise from the bed when he felt himself drifting off on your shoulder. “Gonna check on the kids,” he said. “See if they need help packin’.” Your eyes fluttered closed as he kissed your forehead, then Westley’s. “You sure you’re gonna be all right on your own?”

You had insisted that Daryl take the kids to the Founder’s Day celebrations in Union Square. It was to be their last day in the Commonwealth, so it was the perfect opportunity to make it special.

“Mhm,” you hummed. “We’ll be fine.” You gently patted Westley’s back, causing him to stir a little and turn his head to the other side. “Robin will help, too, I’m sure.” You didn’t expect her to, but the six-year-old was insistent upon staying home and helping you with the baby. That, and she didn’t much care to see the wrestling match, either. “Just make their last day here special. It’s what they deserve.”

“I will,” he assured you. He threw his angel wing vest over his shoulders, adjusting it to his body. You had made a few modifications to it recently, as Daryl had been gaining a bit of weight, both from living with a secure food supply and the physical demands of his job. Not that you minded at all, though. You yourself had gained weight, both from pregnancy and Daryl being sure that you were well-fed at all times. It was one of the few good things about the Commonwealth that you would miss, but perhaps the food situation at Alexandria would improve now that the place was fixed up.

You admired him as he stood in front of the mirror, buttoning up his vest. He turned to face you again, with his broad figure stretching the buttons a bit, as there was little wiggle-room inside the garment for his wide chest and extra weight. “How do I look?”

You outstretched your arms to gesture for him to come closer. “Great. Let me fix your hair.”

He came closer, bending over to let your hands comb through those soft, clean locks. It was truly one of your favorite things to do. There was always at least one strand of hair that would fall in the center of his face, and though you found it very endearing, you much preferred his handsome face to be on full display. When you pinned those stray hairs behind his ears, he grunted, but he wouldn’t dare ruin your styling. Just knowing you touched his hair and manipulated it to your liking was a gift to him. Still, he had to pretend that he didn’t like it, if only to tease you.

“I love your face,” you said, letting your hands cup his warm, scruffy cheeks. He’d been keeping his beard especially clean lately, probably due to your recent off-handed mentions that you liked it that way. “Handsome… Strong…” Your hands melted down to his shoulders, where you massaged the worn leather surface. “Perfect.”

Your voice was honeyed and low, mesmerizing to him. It was dangerous to stay there for too long, lest you trick him into laying back down with you and holding you and his new baby for the rest of the day. Tempting as it was, he had a promise to keep, and the last people he’d break a promise to were his family, especially the little ones.

He leaned forward to kiss your lips, his hands covering yours as they gripped to his vest, almost pulling him back down. “Let me go, crazy woman,” he laughed under his breath. “Get some rest.”

Your lips jutted in a half-hearted pout. “Have fun.”

He finished doing the last button on his vest as he came into the living room, where RJ sat reading comics on the armchair, and Robin diligently folded her clothing on the couch, preparing for it to be crammed into her duffle bag. “All right,” said Daryl, patting Robin’s head as he looked around the living room to find the missing third child. “Where’s Judith?”

Robin shrugged, saying, “I dunno,” as she looked down at her clothes, with tightened lips and jaw. RJ kept his face in his comic book, not bothering to look Daryl in the eye, either.

“RJ,” he said, “where’s Judith?”

“We’re not supposed to say,” he replied.

Daryl huffed. Sometimes, he really didn’t think he was cut out for this parenting thing, especially when the children decided to misbehave. Mostly, though, he was surprised at Robin, who told her parents everything. Not only that, but she was worse at keeping a secret than you were, which was saying something.

“She’s s’posed to be packin’,” he said, lifting her discarded backpack to find that it was empty.

“Said we had to pack but she said she wasn’t coming,” he replied, eyes still glued to his comic book. That kid was never great with manners.

Still, Daryl was persistent, leaning over to get down to his eye level. This time, he spoke deeper, more insistent. “Where’d she go?” he asked RJ.

Finally, the boy lifted his large brown eyes, but his stare was vacant. “I don’t know.”

Daryl stood to his full height, chewing his lip as he turned to confront Robin, who he probably should’ve tried first. “Hey,” he said through a wispy breath, taking a softer approach. She eyed RJ, who must’ve signaled something to her, possibly in sign language, since the children were becoming quite proficient in it. “You know where Judith went?”

She swallowed hard and raised her silvery blue eyes to look pleadingly at her father. Guilt washed over her. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, voice beginning to quiver as her nerves took over and her resolve crumbled. How could she lie to her own father? That wasn’t very Dixon-like behavior, after all. “I told her not to go, but she didn’t listen to me, and she’s older, so I couldn’t do anything, and she was sayin’ how she couldn’t go with us ‘cause she doesn’t wanna leave and that—”

She was talking so fast that by the time Daryl interrupted her, she was gasping for breath. He’d never seen her so anxious before. “Hey, hey,” he said, grabbing her shoulders as he kneeled on one knee to meet her gaze. “Calm down.” A strand of her shoulder-length hair had fallen in her face in the midst of her panic. He gently swept it back behind her ear, trying to contain his own worry as he did. “It’s okay, you ain’t in trouble, birdie. Just tell me where she went.”

“She didn’t tell us,” she replied. “Honest.”

Daryl lowered his head and sighed. “You got any idea where she mighta gone? Either of ya?”

“No,” both children said, more or less at the same time.

“She just told us not to tell anyone that she left,” added Robin.

He knew she wasn’t lying. She was too calm now to be lying. “I’ll be back,” he huffed, heading towards the door with a quickness in his step. “You ain’t goin’ to the match.” he said sternly to RJ, with a point of his finger. “Start packin’.” Maybe it was the fact that he was a boy, or the fact that RJ could be, for lack of a better word, a little shit, but Daryl didn’t have a problem scolding him slightly more than the girls, though they didn’t give him a reason to, most of the time.

In your bedroom, you slept with Westley on your chest for an hour or so, until he stirred awake with a shrill cry, wriggling around. “Mm, oh…” you moaned as you awoke. “Shhh.”

His diaper was fine, so he must’ve been hungry. You carried him to the kitchen, passing RJ and Robin. As you prepared Westley’s bottle, you furrowed your brow. RJ wasn’t supposed to be here, he was supposed to be watching the wrestling match at the Founder’s Day celebration. Well, he was. He was watching it from the window, as Robin sat on the couch, still packing the last of her things. “What are you doing here?” you asked him. “I thought you wanted to watch it up close.”

He shrugged, still avoiding eye contact. Sometimes, you struggled to understand RJ and his… blank personality. “Uncle Daryl left to find Judith,” he said. “Hasn’t come back yet.”

Your eyes widened, then you looked to Robin, who was certainly going to be more informative than the boy. “Judith left?”

“When you and Dad were packing,” she said. “She told us not to say anything, but I couldn’t hide it.”

“Goody two-shoes,” you heard RJ mutter under his breath.

“RJ,” you said sternly, warning him not to break your no name-calling rule again.

“Sorry.” He turned back to watch the wrestlers, standing on his tippy toes to try to see as far as he could.

“Why don’t you go out on the balcony?” you said, feeding Westley his bottled breastmilk as he lay cradled in your arms. “Better view.”

“Can I?” he asked excitedly. It was the most emotion you’d seen him have in a while, and even now, he wasn’t too expressive.

“Sure, I’ll go with you. Wes could use some fresh air, I think.”

Robin followed you outside, where the wrestlers were just in the middle of their final round. One of them had thrown the other over the ropes, right at the feet of Governor Pamela Milton.

“Wow!” exclaimed RJ, him and Robin both leaning over the railing to watch from a distance. Though Robin looked a little disgusted, she simply couldn’t look away. Neither could you.

“Is this s’posed to be fun?” she asked. “It’s… bad. Fighting is bad.” In a way, you were proud of her judgment. It made you happy to know that unnecessary violence was so repulsive to her. Her cousin, however, was unimpressed.

“It is fun. You wouldn’t know fun if it hit you in the face.”

Robin’s eyes widened as she turned to look at you. “Mom!”

You stepped forward, Westley wrapped in his knitted blanket as you bounced him. “RJ,” you said, “you need to say sorry, and mean it. Think about how you’d feel if someone said that to you.” Empathy was the key word for yours and Daryl’s parenting style. After hours of workshopping together when you were first pregnant with Robin, it had been set in stone—always teach empathy.

“Sorry,” he mumbled through gritted teeth.

“I’m right anyway,” replied Robin with a shrug. “It’s stupid. Fighting people is stupid, we should only fight walkers.”

You sighed, hoisting up the baby as you bounced him. You had been trying to erase that word from RJ and Robin’s vocabularies, replacing it with the nicer word “silly,” but it was hard to break that habit. “What did we say about that word, huh?”

“It’s not nice,” she huffed. “But ain’t I right?”

“Well, sometimes we have to fight other people, if those people are bad.”

RJ nodded. “Like the Whisperers.”

“Yes, exactly.”

She looked up at you with a squint and her hand blocking the afternoon sunshine from her eyes. “But wrestling is stu—I mean, silly fighting.”

“You know, it’s all fake.” Both children furrowed their brows at you. “It’s rigged. They decide who’s going to win beforehand, and the fighters know not to hurt each other, but to make it look like they’re hurting each other. It’s all just entertainment.”

Well, you didn’t find it particularly entertaining, but the crowd certainly did. By the time you were done talking with the children, the last tapout had finished, and the crowd was cheering wildly, with the winner parading triumphantly around the ring, raising his arms and yelling back at the audience.

It was then you noticed two familiar dark-haired figures in the crowd—Daryl and Judith. “Hey!” you exclaimed, touching the children’s shoulders to get their attention. “There’s Daddy and Judith. He found her.”

You called out to him from the balcony, but he didn’t seem to hear you over the uproarious applause of the crowd. “Commonwealth! Commonwealth!” the winning wrestler chanted, with the crowd chanting along.

When the crowd died down, Pamela Milton stepped onto the ring, microphone in hand. “Let’s extend a hearty thank you to our combatants!” she said, to which the crowd burst into another applause. “And now to continue with this wonderful day, my son Sebastian has prepared a few words.”

Oh, lovely, you thought.

She handed the microphone to her son, as the crowd mustered a lackadaisical clap for the maligned young man. “Thank you, it is, uh, it is an honor and a privilege to be here with you today to celebrate the uh…”

Though you couldn’t suss out the details too clearly from the distance you were at, you could tell that he was struggling to come up with the words. A part of you even felt ever so slightly bad for him. Choking up in front of an audience was always difficult, and you’d done it a few times during library conferences back in the day. Still, you mostly held him in contempt. He was rude to you, and a vicious little snake to Daryl. He had sent dozens of Commonwealth citizens to their deaths just to get him money to fund his “lifestyle,” and he deserved much worse than what he had gotten, which was just resentment.

But just when you were about to take the kids and retreat back inside, weary of the second-hand embarrassment, he began to speak again, this time closing the folder that he had been reading from. “I, uh… I know that a lot of you don’t think very well of me. I know that I probably deserve that.”

That’s a good start.

“Now it is gonna take a long, long road for me to earn your trust, and live up to my legacy. I don’t have the words to describe what this place means to me, but my grandfather did. So, humbly, if you would join me in listening to the wise words of President Milton, founder of the Commonwealth.”

The audience clapped more fervently this time, seemingly impressed with Sebastian’s extemporaneous speech. In fact, you were even just a little surprised, but ultimately, you knew that politicians, which was what Sebastian was in training to be, were in the business of saying what people wanted to hear, so you tried not to let it sway you too much.

The clapping began to die down when a voice was heard through the speakers, but it was the voice of Sebastian himself, though his lips weren’t moving, and his face betrayed both confusion and fear.

“Please,” the recorded voice spoke over the loudspeakers, “the Commonwealth is built on buying into bullshit.”

Your eyes widened. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Robin and RJ turned to look at you, equally as confused. All they knew was that was a very bad word, and that something wasn’t right.

“The desperate need to believe that the ole American dream is still real. You know, ‘anything is possible, we can rise above our station.’ It’s a freakin’ joke. The reality is that the poor stay poor so that the rich can do whatever the hell we want.” The audience became rowdy, listening to Sebastian’s clandestinely recorded words with disgust, anger, and a sense of betrayal. You only stood frozen, watching a house of cards tumble right in front of you. “The game is rigged. There are no bootstraps to pull up. Christ, my mom hand-picks the lottery winners. And none of it matters, and nothing will ever change.”

“Mommy,” said Robin, “what’s happening?”

“I—I don’t…” You trailed off as Westley broke out into a crying fit, flailing his arms and legs as the crowd became more unruly, pushing against the guards to get closer to Pamela, and even throwing glass bottles at the governor’s feet. As you quickly pulled the children away from the edge of the balcony, you scanned the crowd for Daryl and Judith, but they were nowhere to be seen now, lost in the swarm.

“Auntie!” cried RJ, tugging on your hand. “I’m scared!”

The last you had seen of Sebastian was him running off into the crowd, looking like he was about to kill someone, while the tape recording spoke, “They’re just too stupid to see it,” presumably in reference to the Commonwealth citizens that were now lunging towards the governor. You saw a guard use the stock of his gun to hit a man in the face, and more glass was thrown into the ring.

“Please, everyone, remain calm!” Pamela said into the microphone, though it was much too late for that.

Another glass was thrown into the ring, this time hitting a Commonwealth soldier in the head. He raised his gun towards the crowd, but Mercer was quick to lower it. “Stand down!” he yelled a few times.

Westley cried louder now, and as you tried to bounce him until he’d stop, you searched through the crowd, trying to spot Daryl and Judith, but it was no good.

The only thing you did spot was a dozen or so walkers stumbling into Union Square. They looked freshly dead, so whatever had happened, they were killed inside the walls just within a few hours.

“Rotters!” you heard people yell, and now the pandemonium really began, with the citizens scattering and running in all different directions, bumping into each other and into walkers, who didn’t hesitate to rip out a man’s jugular with their teeth.

“Get inside!” you yelled to Robin and RJ, turning to push them in. “Now!”

Inside the apartment, you bounced Westley in one hand while latching the door shut with the other, pulling the curtains and hurrying to the front door to lock the deadbolt and the chain. The children stood wide-eyed and terrified, but you pulled them into your bedroom, setting Westley in the bassinet by your bed before you ran to lock the door and move your now empty dresser to block it.

Robin didn’t hesitate to tend to the baby, shushing him as she rocked him back and forth. “Shhh… Don’t cry.”

RJ peered through the blinds to look out the window, but you quickly ran to him to pull him away. “Stay away from the windows,” you said. “Just in case.”

“What about Judith?” asked RJ.

All this panic and running was a little too much on your rather weak body. You took a moment to catch your breath, panting all the while. “She’s going to be fine, sweetie,” you said. “She’s with Daryl… He’ll keep her safe.”

“Mommy,” said Robin in a panic, now holding Westley as she tried to bounce him. He cried even louder now, as gunshots began to ring out in the street. “Wes won’t stop cryin’.”

You palmed your forehead as you crossed over to them, taking Westley in your arms and soothing him as you rubbed his back and bounced him some more. If walkers were attacking now, a crying baby was the worst thing to have around. You sat yourself on the bed, holding him close to your chest. Robin and RJ soon joined you, each child clinging to your arms.

“Daddy will get rid of them,” whispered Robin, and you assumed she was talking to the baby, as she held his tiny hand in hers. “He’s braver than any soldier.”

More gunshots rang out, and then a series of blood curdling screams resounded in the streets, much louder than any of the others. You panicked for just a moment, terrified it was someone you loved. Could it be Daryl, or Judith? Or Carol, or Rosita? Maybe Ezekiel, or Gabriel? No, it wasn’t anyone you loved, but it was someone you knew.

Sebastian’s voice cried out a shrill, pathetic, “help me!” with the snarl of a walker echoing his words.

You left the kids and the baby, who had finally calmed down a little, on the bed to cross over to the window, where you peeked through the blinds. Just outside on the street, several stories down, Sebastian lay down, with a walker’s bloodied mouth latched onto his neck. His screams seemed louder now that you could see him, his mouth wide open and a gush of dark, viscous blood pouring like a waterfall. He was encircled by a terrified crowd, all of whom watched in combined horror and fascination, and perhaps a bit of approval, at the display, but in the corner of your eye, a small figure approached, holding a familiar Colt Python in both her trembling hands.

Behind her was Daryl, looking down at the wailing man. When Judith pulled the trigger, the walker’s lifeless body fell to the ground, along with Sebastian, whose last gasps of bloody breaths were choked out in front of the people he cared so little for. In the distance, his recorded voice could still be heard on the speakers, spewing his hatred over and over and over again.

You kept the children away from the window for as long as possible, trying to keep them from seeing the carnage outside. When you heard incessant knocking at the front door, you flinched and instinctively began shoving Robin and RJ into the walk-in closet, until Daryl’s voice called out your name, and you bolted to the front door, unlocking the deadbolt and the chain.

He was out of breath, holding Judith’s hand as he stumbled inside. “Everythin’ all right?” he panted as he hugged you, and you just stared over his shoulder, bewildered.

“I—I… Are you all right?”

That hadn’t even occurred to him. “M’fine.”

Robin and RJ burst out the bedroom in a hurry, welcoming the two previously missing members of their household. “We saw the walkers,” said Robin. “Are they gone?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “They’re gone, but…”

“But what?”

You pulled back to look at him, and from his expression, you knew that what had happened down in the streets was somehow going to change your plans of returning home, to some extent.

Whatever extent that was, you were sure of one thing: not everyone was going to get out of here alive.

Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs of any kind are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist Next Chapter ➳

✏ Taglist

If you seen your name is on the taglist but you didn’t get tagged, it’s because Tumblr won’t let me tag you for some reason, sorry!

195 notes · View notes

amethystina · 6 months

Text

I was tagged by @a-very-fond-farewell! Thank you so much darling 💜

1. Last song: Shishen Take On the Challenge from The Yin-Yang Master: Dream of Eternity soundtrack (which I paid a small fortune to get my hands on so you bet I've been listening to it almost non-stop ever since. The music is SO FUCKING GOOD OKAY)

2. Favorite color: Purple — which I feel should come as a surprise to no one xD

3. Currently watching: The Killing Vote, because I apparently need more dramas where the Korean public is allowed to vote on whether or not to execute people. Quite enjoying it so far! The characters are a hoot xD And I'm curious to see what they do with the Kwon Seok Joo dude.

I also just started The Guest because I want to watch it before they remove it from Netflix but BOI. That's not one I'll be able to binge, that's for sure. Horror is great but also, well, terrifying x'D

Though, I must say, I might have to take a detour and rewatch the Along With the Gods movies. I've been meaning to do so for ages and seeing Kim Dong Wook in The Guest makes the urge even stronger. Because, let me tell you, I'm SO EAGER to rewatch the movies and observe the characters now that I've seen the twist at the end of the second movie. A twist I figured out before I actually reached the reveal, sure, but I don't think that's a bad thing? Like, for real, guys. The AUDIBLE GASP I let out when I realised what the twist was going to be and then got to sit there and see it slowly dawn on the other characters? BEAUTIFUL. And it CHANGES SO MUCH. Like, I need to rewatch them because so much of what I thought I knew is now a lie! Circumstances have changed! My initial analysis might be wrong! Characters I thought I knew are now completely different! I need to do more research! I NEED TO KNOW.

(This is what happens when your brain works like mine. And one day I might tell you all about why Kang Yo Han is such a fascinating character to me, because, let me tell you, I've rarely seen a character remain so solid in his characterisation even through the kind of reveals we're given in the drama. It's fucking SPECTACULAR)

4. Currently reading: Faust by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (I do it in bursts because it's not the kind of book I can just binge, okay? x'D), We Have Always Lived In the Castle by Shirley Jackson (I would have finished this LONG ago if it didn't give me so much anxiety (but in a good way?)) and Eld by Mats Strandberg and Sara Bergman Elfgren (though I should probably start over on this one since I was very distracted when I read the first chapter)

5. Last movie: No Regret, because why not dabble in older Korean LGBTQ+ content? It was a ride, that's for sure xD And the next movie will be The World to Come (also one I want to watch before it's removed from Netflix)

6. Sweet/spicy/savory: Either sweet or savoury — it depends on my mood, really.

7. Relationship status: Married! :D

8. Current obsession: I'm not sure if I have one right now? Though I am hoping to get back on track with that diorama thing soon. I've almost collected all the materials I need! I just need fake foliage (preferably red) and I'm going to try and buy that either tomorrow or on Saturday.

9. Last thing you googled? Why my phone kept taking only green photos. And everyone kept telling me I shouldn't have unlocked the bootloader (which I don't think can be done by accident and I sure as hell haven't done it intentionally) so in the end I just restarted it and now it works just fine xD

10. Selfie: I don't really take selfies but here's a cropped version of a drawing WIP of mine.

If you know, you know ;)

(... LOOK, the suspender-pulling had to happen eventually, okay?)

11. Currently working on: Chapter 5 of A New Dawn (Begins With Us) and, after that, it'll be either chapter 37 of Who Holds the Devil or maybe the sequel to Gravitational Pull which I'm STILL struggling to find the time to work on. I'm also working on, like, six different drawings simultaneously. Because why make things easy for myself?

Tagging: Whoever wants to do it! Tell me about yourself! :D

#Amethystina Does Tag Games #I feel very all over the place right now x'D #And I have read so few books this year :/#That's such a bummer #I should look into that #I kind of miss reading a shitload of silly romance #And I also want to draw a lot #But then there's writing too #So many hobbies #So little time

21 notes · View notes

acollectionofficsandshit · 2 years

Text

Chapter 14: Three of Us

Max Verstappen x Reader (Single Dad AU)

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6 + Chapter 7 + Chapter 8 + Chapter 9 + Chapter 10 + Chapter 11 + Chapter 12 + Chapter 13

Chapters: 14/?

Rating: Teen and Up

Word Count: 11,661 Words

Masterlist

I’d like to thank @lightsovermonaco for being my beta and for more importantly keeping me sane because without her influence it’s anyone’s guess where I’d be. I also owe @sassybatflowerpaper an enormous thank you, not only for being my friend but because this story, at it’s very core, is our love child.

Sunday, November 18th, 2018- Monte Carlo, Monaco

The Penthouse

"Who knows? She might change her mind... might be back as soon as tomorrow or Tuesday," the false bravado with which Max makes this declaration might be enough to sway himself into believing the insanity of his own words but it doesn’t quite do the trick for Daniel, not by a long shot.

"Because you never really know, do you? Anything could happen! Isn't that what people say?”

He just stares blankly back at his teammate, not saying a word but not needing to; his silence speaks for itself, more than capable of holding its own.

"That is what people say, right? Did I get it wrong?" Max asks in a rush, sounding genuinely concerned by the mere possibility he’d somehow managed to get the phrasing so incorrect that it was indecipherable and well beyond any hope of Daniel’s recognition, “it's simple and it sounds right in my head, but I guess I could have-"

"I mean, yeah, mate, they do. They definitely do say that... sometimes," he was doing his very best to not let the laugh building in his chest out because he wasn't a fucking idiot and he knew damn well that the worst thing he conceivably do right now would be to so much as chuckle once.

Oh, he was fully fucking aware that it was infinitely more probable that Max would take kindly to having Daniel spit in his face than he ever would to being openly laughed at the moment– and he could respect that.

"See?" the younger man says proudly, gesturing as if the tentative, begrudging concession he'd just made was some sort of irrefutable evidence, which hadn't come with a very obvious 'but' hanging over its very head, "you said so yourself-"

"But normally, when people say 'anything can happen' they usually mean things that could actually feasibly happen or, you know, like natural disasters and shit? Not like your kind of thing because those, those, are in an entirely different neighborhood... like they're in one that doesn't exist."

Because unlike the delusions that plague his companion, Daniel isn't blinded to the realities of the situation. Thank God for small mercies, which at the very least meant it wouldn't be blind leading the blind– at least not yet. He didn't know if he could stomach the circumstances devolving to such indignities this early on in the grand scheme of things.

Not when they still had the better part of a week to get through, preferably mostly unscathed with all their limbs still attached. Well, that was if you asked Daniel how long they had left, rather than taking Max at his word, since he seemed to be the only one out of the two of them who had any true, lasting intention of holding loyal to fact– which in this particular instance was the definitive timeframe you'd given for when you'd be back.

That went without even mentioning the reality of just how fucking far you'd been pushed in recent weeks, where there was no doubt in his mind that the physical and mental drain of the season had only further exacerbated the considerable emotional toll that your responsibilities, Max and Kaia had taken on you, all of which had been compounded by the meeting at Red Bull last week.

Because it was crystal fucking clear to Daniel what exactly, or perhaps who exactly, it was that had been the very last straw, that had dealt the final blow to your defenses and had brought every thought, emotion and unresolved conflict you'd been so neatly tucked away to face at a later date, when there was the time to do such a thing, crashing down over your head... though such obvious conclusions seemed to have escaped Max's senses in their entirety.

Perhaps that was why he had little patience for the younger man's head in the sand antics this morning, because while complete and utter lack of self-awareness was the baseline from which his teammate perpetually operated, and Daniel had long ago accepted such things as standard practice, this was where he drew the line.

You were where he drew the line.

And he'd be damned if he simply sat by and let Max cross it out of his own blundering stupidity again without saying a single word to the contrary. As it was, Daniel felt guilty enough for not having done more to protect you prior to now, for not having taken preventive action that could have eliminated the threat of the very situation you all found yourselves in at the moment, for not having stepped the second things teetered towards getting out of hand, without continuing to stand idly by and not at the very least try to make amends for his own failings and those of his team.

Daniel had absolutely no qualms about resorting to unapologetic honesty because he couldn't have cared less about how the Austrian felt right now than he did at present. Because the way he saw it, it was likely better that he resorts to harsh words and brutal frankness than any of the other means of communication he was tempted to use because, fucking shit, was he itching to find out if a right hook to the side of the head would in fact prove to be sufficient enough to knock some sense back into the other man.

"Don't be a fucking idiot, Max," he said dismissively, catching his friend by the collar of his sweatshirt and hauling him sideways, breaking him from the repetitive back and forth pattern he'd been incessantly pacing across the living by forcing him bodily down onto the overstuffed sofa.

"So, let's abandon this insane little pipe dream that you've cooked up– where at just any moment now, she'll going to come waltzing back in through the door," Daniel jammed a thumb in the direction of the elevator, not wanting to leave the man opposite him with so much as a shadow of a doubt to cling to, "because while I do hate to have to break it to you, none of that will be fucking happening any time soon. Just- just enough of that, alright? Let's give it a fucking rest already."

Even amongst all the truth that was held in his words, he couldn't bring himself to entirely ignore the glimmer of something false interwoven into the statement, a singular thread of a lie– Daniel didn't hate being the one to break it to Max at all, not even in the slightest.

Because if he were to be brutally frank about the matter, he was actually fucking living for this opportunity to be the bearer of bad news and everything it was currently affording him.

"Oh, and do me a favor?" Daniel asks on a whim, and his spontaneity gets him little more than a noncommittal grunt out of Max in reply, "if it's not too much to ask, when you get up off that couch, first why don't you give taking a fucking breath or two a go? Just try it on for size. You know, before you pass out cold and bust your head open on the ugly ass coffee table someone with just shit taste picked out-"

"I'll tell my ma that the next time she phones," he says with a wrinkle of his nose, the younger man's tone halfheartedly pandering to taking real personal offense on his mother's behalf, "when she's all 'oh! And how is Daniel doing lately?' I'll be sure to say, 'thank you for asking! he's been fine, but he says you've got shit taste in furniture-'"

"And shit taste in men too but she probably already knows that bit because Jos just really speaks for himself," his retort earns him the exact snort of a laugh Dan had been expecting it to with blind confidence, knowing that without the amused sound of consensus out of Max, the possibility of that particular remark being well received was utterly out of the question.

"No one is going to argue with you on that. Least of all me."

"Brilliant! Then let's make better decisions than their generation did and just keep our thoughts to ourselves, hm? And while we're at it, why don't you pop your listening ears back on and hear me when I tell you to inhale some fucking air over there because I'm not taking you to the hospital so you can get stitches-- No, no... I'll be super gluing your face back together and then going on about my day. Got it?"

"Whatever."

"No, not whatever, there was a question there. So, again– you got it?"

"Yeah, fine, Daniel. I get it. Happy now?"

"'Course, mate. I'm over the fucking moon about it because what I won't be doing with my afternoon is cleaning blood off of a goddamn thing either. Is that understood?"

"Jesus Christ, okay! I understand! Watch," Max says, waving both hands needlessly towards himself, directing him to pay close attention as though he was genuinely concerned Daniel might miss the over-exaggerate rise and fall of his chest, which heaved with every ragged breath in and dramatic breath out, if he wasn't told where to look.

"Wonderful, you can breathe! Get up. We're going out," turning his head to look over one shoulder, he shouts loud enough that his words are echoing through the entire apartment, "Kaia! Front door, five minutes! We're going out for lunch and Da's paying!"

Grumbling at the addition, Max pulls himself to his feet and begins collecting the random items he'd left scattered haphazardly across the surface of the coffee table the night before as he calls out, "Vlinder, remember! Shoes, jacket, pants; check! All of them, on!" he pauses, roughly shoving everything back into his pockets where it had all undoubtedly come from before raising his voice to add, "I mean it, it's too cold for just your Elsa dress, I don't care what the movie says, you will freeze!"

"You know, that's not really the way her magic works in the movie because you see-" Daniel chimes in brightly, starting to breakdown the inaccuracies of the former's statement without a care in the world until he looks up and catches a glimpse of Max glowering over at him, then falls immediately silent.

"No one goes anywhere until my eyes are on you, Kaia-- and you're dressed! Fully!"

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

Monday, November 19th, 2018- Monte Carlo, Monaco

Daniel's Apartment

Max doesn't concern himself with anything so inconsequential as having any shred of common decency this morning simply because Daniel was still sleeping soundly at this hour– that would hardly have been conducive to his plans for the day since by his count, they were already an hour behind on schedule.

And he really doesn't care to admit just how many times he's checked his phone this morning, let alone in last hour because things are already starting to get really fucking pathetic. As if that weren't enough, there's the matter of his slow, steady descent into full blown obsession over where you are and what you're doing and why in the hell he's not heard back from you since Friday night to contend with... and Goddamn, does Max hate all of this.

He can't bear the thought of unlocking it again and again and again, only to open his texts to see more of the same– a screen full of nothing but his messages, delivered and unread, the monotony of which is broken only by the single photo of Kaia he'd snapped at lunch yesterday and then promptly sent in a desperate last ditch attempt to break the silence. To no avail. .

So, simply put, he may have ruled out throwing his phone off of Daniel's balcony, if only because he doesn't want to deal with the lecture that will earn him, but that doesn't mean he's going to handle any of this in a healthy manner. No, no... Max has decided he's going to deal with this the worst way he knows how, the tried and true method of packing his schedule so full of bullshit activities that there's no time to spare for anything else.

"Kaia! Get a move on, it's time!" He calls out down the hallway in a stage whisper, his words softened purely in the interest of preserving the element of surprise, waiting impatiently as his daughter comes scuttling towards him with a wicked little grin on her face, "just like we rehearsed, okay?"

"Okay! Okay!" The toddler nods her little blonde head in agreement, practically levitating with excitement, her riot of sleep tousled curls bouncing along wildly, adding only further emphasis to her exaggerated movements, "Da! Come on! Come on!"

"Ready?" Max already knows the answer, but he still asks it all the same, enjoying the childish anticipation Kaia is consumed by right now, her joy over something so simple as wreaking chaos and her enthusiasm at the mere prospect of inciting parental approved mischief is enough to brighten even his sour mood, leaving him grinning in spite of himself as he carefully twists the handle of Daniel's bedroom door and pushes it open.

Giving the three-year-old at his side a solemn salute, they tiptoed into the room as quietly as they could manage, his daughter giggling softly to herself as she crept forward, pretending to be a little mouse, just like they'd been practicing since she'd woken up with the rising sun hours ago. He'd had to come up with something to keep her occupied this morning or the entire apartment building would have been in for a very rude awakening.

Quite simply, it was a matter of acting in the best interest of the greater good because clearly, one man's loss of sleep was everyone else's gain. So, really, if you stopped and thought about it, Max was just being a good, considerate neighbor here.

Sure, he might be serving up his teammate like a lamb for the slaughter and yes, the argument could be made that, at the very least, he should be feeling some modicum of guilt over the decision to sic Kaia on an unsuspecting Daniel but that hardly seemed like enough to dissuade Max from seeing this through.

His mind was made up and there would be no changing it now, not when the plan was already in motion, his three year old a step or three ahead of him, and all but bouncing off the walls of the narrow hallway which feeds from the door of the master suite into the bedroom proper, flowing elegantly past the pair of darkly shadowed archways that hide away the massive marble bath and the walk in closet from view.

It's already a beat too late when Max realizes what's about to happen because in the time it takes from one second to the next, for him to put two and two together, his little speed demon of a daughter has already thrown caution to the wind and bolted forward. Kaia doesn't hesitate, she doesn't waste so much as a fraction of an instant before she's gone, no, she knows better than that, knows better than to waste the advantage that the element of surprise and a slight head start have given her.

In the blink of an eye the toddler is rounding the corner into the room beyond in a blur of sunshine yellow curls and baby pink pajamas, Kaia's vanished from his line of sight before he's close half of the original distance he'd let lapse between them. Max knows he's got no one to blame for this but himself because he's become endlessly well versed on the dangers of growing complacent around his daughter, this is squarely on him.

Shaking his head at himself, the motion is less one of genuine agitation at the situation or annoyance with Kaia and more one of lighthearted, self-aggrandizing amusement, the solid warmth of which floods his chest, the weight welcome and savored, it's steady thrumming presence favoring a spot on his left that sits high behind the banded shelter of his ribcage– it's a heady thing to experience, emotions like these, when most of your life has been spent feeling them sparingly, for brief, fleeting moments.

So, when Max reaches the end of the hallway, it with a rye smile on his face and he's a little less inclined to get lost in the depths of his own mind than he'd been only a moment prior, the world around him seems to have come into sharper relief than it had all morning, the edges of his vision no longer soft and out of focus.

It becomes immediately apparent that in part and parcel with Kaia's impatient, borderline impetuous insistence upon self-sufficiency, she'd dismissed the remainder of the original plan of action without a second thought and struck out on her own rogue mission. Where his daughter had been meant to wait for him to pick her up and put her atop the sleek, wooden footboard of Daniel's bed, she had instead improvised and climbed the monstrosity herself, which meant she was now struggling to keep her balance, teetered precariously back and forth, solely focused on standing on the narrow surface unassisted.

He just shrugs his shoulders at her, his lips pressed together in a thin line, both eyebrows raised in silent judgment in an expression that conveys, in no uncertain terms, 'what do you want me to do about it?' Max knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that Kaia has heard him, loud and clear, because all he gets back is a blank, unimpressed glare, one which very nearly succeeds at maintaining the facade that she's not internally starting to panic but that betrays her at the last moment when her bottom lip trembles.

God help them all, he thinks to himself, when in a last ditch attempt to convince herself she is in fact large and in charge and has not just vastly overestimated her capabilities, his daughter puts a hand on her hip and strikes a pose intended to be the physical embodiment of unwavering confidence.

It serves only to remind Max of just how young Kaia actually is because the little girl is so precocious and headstrong, and already such a force to be reckoned with, he often finds it hard to believe she's just three years old. Not for the first time, he wonders if she's just always been like this or if the behavioral traits which he now sees on the daily and as has just always known as her own are as new to Kaia as they are to him.

Max detests the thought that perhaps the cause for all this, the key motivating factor for why his daughter is already so vividly reminiscent of his five-year-old youngest sister is because of the upheaval she's had in recent years; he fears more than anything that Kaia's psyche has been altered beyond recognition by the loss of her mother, by the life altering changes she's already faced in her short little life.

Most of all, he fears that the child he knows, who is as much yours, as she is his– the one standing here before him, half alight with anticipatory excitement to prank her uncle, just happy to be included, and half petrified by the height she stands atop but who's fear is metered by the absolute trust she puts in him, in her father, who knows with unwavering certainty that he will not let not an harm befall her– now bears utterly no resemblance to the Kaia that Vittoria had known and loved and raised since birth.

Yeah, no, this is not going to fucking work, it's simply not sustainable for matters to continue on in the same manner they have up until this point. Max and his tendency to permit his life to be derailed by the dark clouds which insist rather firmly upon gathering overhead at the very first sign of grey skies have stolen enough from him in the past. He will permit it to go no farther.

Because at this point in his life, and thanks in large part to the harsh realities of his career, it's hardwired into him to realize what's happened, react to it and respond accordingly all in the same fraction of a second– and just as learning there's no time for mistakes in racing is a trial by fire, the same can be said for raising a child.

For whatever reason, it only dawns upon Max now that, in much the same way it's been ingrained in him to close his mind off prior to a race and narrow the confines of his world down to only what his five sense give him about the car under him, the track in around him and the radio in his ear, he needs to train himself to start applying the same rules to his everyday life, especially in moments like this.

He has to do better about living in the present, instead of in his head or the past, and that change has to begin now.

"Da—"

It was instinct, not a conscious decision or cognizant thought that made quick work of the remaining bureaucratic roadblocks keeping him bogged down inside his own mind, cutting to the chase and right through the mental red tape obstructing the way, and all because his daughter had whispered one word to him in the otherwise still slumbering, steady silence of the sun warmed room.

"Come here," Max is careful to keep his voice low and slow as he gestures for Kaia to reach for him, knowing that it would take more than the two of them speaking in hushed whispers to rouse Daniel, since the latter slept like the dead, "come on."

"Come on," she parrots back at him in a poor imitation of his hushed tone, her volume no doubt skewed by the flicker of fear he catches in her expression before it vanishes, replaced by a look of determination that unconsciously has him nodding approvingly up at her. Little hands first make contact with the sleep wrinkled fabric of his shirt, clutching white knuckled at the cotton neckline, in the beat before his grasp closes around Kaia's middle and he hauls her down off the footboard she'd been balanced on.

"There we go. Well done, vlinder," Max offers his daughter a cheeky grin, tucking her against his chest as she loosens her hold on his t-shirt in favor of throwing both arms around his neck and settling in with the side of her head resting against his own, pressed cheek to cheek, "change of plans?"

"Yes!" And just like that Kaia has her eye back on the ball, her attention once again entirely devoted to the promise of mischief, the fleeting remnants of fear from her near brush with a fall wholly forgotten. He'd known that the tempting offer to create chaos, even if it was sanctioned chaos, would be too good for the three year old to turn down.

Once he's finished whispering the hastily cobbled together plan conspiratorially in her ear, there's a brief back and forth discussion, one which mostly involves the repetition of the same words over and over again punctuated by Kaia's giggles and his half hearted shushing of them until she has nothing more to say or question or add. It takes less time than he'd expected it to.

And at the very least, Daniel has had the decency to stay dead to the world asleep.

"Ready? On the count of three, pool toss," Max prompts, briefly demonstrating the intended range of motion by swinging Kaia through the air in the direction of the bed, going so far as to fully extend both arms without ever letting go of her.

The toddler hardly reacts at all to the practiced movement, far too delighted by her father's use of the term she'd coined during the weekend of the United States grand prix when he'd been forced to actually bribe her with vending machine candy to get her to leave the hotel pool without a scene being caused, to care much about anything else.

"Okay... one, two, three!"

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

Quite frankly, Daniel has no qualms about admitting that he can be a bit of a bitch when it comes to early mornings and even more so when those early mornings are directly preceded by very late nights where a very sulky and at present very mean teammate has invaded his house and brought his bullshit with him.

What he also won't be mincing words over is the fact that as far as he's concerned right now, which if he's not mistaken is somewhere only slightly past eight o'clock in the fucking morning, Max has only one redeeming quality— and that quality is currently jumping up and down on his bed while loudly making demands he wake up.

Kaia is lucky Daniel loves her as much as he does because if it was just about anyone else in the world that had woken him up, his attitude would be in the basement level of hell. It doesn't escape his notice that Max, quite rightly, the fucking bastard, has carefully placed himself outside of arm's reach.

"Uncle Dan! Uncle Dan! Uncle Dannnn!" Though he hadn't thought it possible, Kaia somehow manages to get louder still when she stops bouncing around long enough to realize he's fully opened both his eyes now that he's thrown in the towel on merely squinting one eyed at Max in the hopes the younger man would back down and resigned himself to reality he won't be going back to sleep any time soon.

Still, it's not the toddler's fault her dad's a moody fucking prick, is it? Obviously not.

"That was my name last time I checked," he makes a half hearted effort to sit up, only to realize it would take more energy than he was willing to put forth at the moment and immediately abandons the effort, "which I believe was some time around 3 am and the second or fourth barbie movie."

"That sounds about right to me," the man he'd once considered to be a friend says lightly as he throws himself down into the leather chair that occupies the far corner of the room, grinning, obviously quite happy with himself and whatever rotten plot it is he's been up concocting since God only knows when.

While Daniel had yet to set his heart on the means or method just yet, he'd had no such delays when it came to his absolute certainty that Max would be made to pay for his crimes against humanity here shortly.

"Oh, does it?" he retorts with hollow sincerity, the facade of utter relief at hearing such good news painted across his features, a hand over his heart, "I am just overjoyed to hear it!"

Max has nothing further to contribute, concerning himself instead with getting comfortable where he's sat, careful to keep the phone, which Daniel somehow hadn't seen until now, held aloft at an angle which really drives the point home that this is all being caught on camera– and the smug bitch just waves at him.

"Uncle Dannnnnn, good morning! Morning!"

"Kaia-" since there's no sign of her jumping stopping any time soon, Daniel takes matters into his own hands, reaching for a pillow with one hand as he props himself up with the other, "this can go one of two ways, Ms. Thing– you can choose to sit down and I'll make you whatever your heart desires for breakfast or you can choose not to sit down and leave me no choice but to start a pillow fight. What's it gonna be?"

"Waffles, please!" She chirrups immediately, like the smart child she is, and flings herself down onto the bed all sprawled out on her back like a starfish. But unfortunately for them both, when Kaia hits the mattress, her deadweight has the misfortune to land directly atop the duvet covered line of his lower legs.

"Sold," Daniel says with a solemn nod, formally acknowledging her request with the twin of her excited grin painted across his own face.

He then continues, waggling both eyebrows at the little girl before casually asking, "so... you want to see something super cool?" and promptly launches the pillow he still holds in one hand directly at Max's head as hard as he can.

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

Monday, November 19th, 2018- Monte Carlo, Monaco

Daniel's Apartment

"Everyone gets to pick the main activity for one day, alright? So, take a moment, think it over, brainstorm— I don't care, just think of something and be ready when I call on you. Got it?"

"Got it, Da!" Kaia responds back brightly, though Max isn't entirely convinced she has any real idea what she's agreeing to, she's got the right attitude about it, so he lets her have this, opting to leave her to her own devices.

He has little interest in making her second guess herself when, at the end of the day, he'd rather his daughter have confidence that's slightly misplaced than none at all. And honestly, he's just so grateful that his daughter is happy and smiling and brimming with energy again that he hardly knows what to do with himself.

So no, he won't be calling into question the toddler's comprehension levels or what she chooses to add to the conversation being had over breakfast.

Similarly, Max absolutely will not be commenting on what she's chosen to eat this morning because at least she was finally eating something– even if that something happened to be a stack of powder sugar dusted waffles that he knows and has already accepted that Kaia will end up wearing more of than she manages to actually eat.

He bites his tongue when, unsurprisingly, she points one chubby little finger at the bottle of maple syrup held in Daniel's hand then down at her plate, only to clap her hands together delightedly when her uncle does as he was silently asked, pouring an obscene amount of the sugary liquid over the waffles.

"Your wish is my command," Daniel says with a dramatic flourish of his hand, sketching a quick mock bow in his direction, much to Kaia's delight, before being forced to abandon the gesture when Max whips a pillow full force at his face from across the room.

"Alright, alright! Jesus, watch the nose, that's my money maker you know! Break it and I break your... well I don't know, if I figure out how to break your bad attitude or your death wish like you just tried to break my beautiful face, I'll let you know but until then, maybe consider putting some of your considerable wealth into getting hotter? At least then we could be on equal footing."

"Daniel?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up before I change my mind and revoke your right to have any input... ever... on anything."

"Bite me," the Australian says with a long suffering sigh, "but fine, I'll play nice. For now, at least."

"Thank you. Now was that so hard?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you can be a real bastard when you want to be, Verstappen?"

"It has been said a time or two," Max finally acknowledges with a slow, solemn nod of his head, his gaze remaining slightly upturned in a continued show of racking his memory for any instances in which similar remarks had been made in the past, "though rarely, if ever, to my face."

"Oh okay, so now we're just blatantly rewriting history over breakfast? Good to know," Daniel huffs out a breath, rolling his eyes at his teammate, "holding true to character, aren't we?"

"Are you quite finished?" He inquires in a cool, casual disinterested tone of voice, refusing outright to let the new, icy cold edge of genuine annoyance that cuts the flow of the other man's words like a frigid undercurrent, get a rise out of him.

Instead, awaiting reply he can feel the beginning of as it builds to a fever's pitch in his friend, already simmering just below the surface, Max reaches for Kaia's plate and pulls it closer to himself, busying himself with cutting her waffles into more manageable, bite sized pieces. He has little choice but to turn a deaf ear to her protestations, the little girl stalwart in her insistence that she can do it herself, but which he knows she absolutely cannot.

"Say thank you," Max admonishes, pushing his daughter's breakfast, now neatly sliced and diced, and no longer presenting quite such a choking hazard, back in front of her, "even if you don't mean it."

"Thank you, Da," Kaia mumbles under her breath with a slightly put out expression on her face, leaving her delicate button nose slightly wrinkled and colors her chubby little cheeks with a warm, pink hued flush.

As a whole, her reaction does very little to undermine his rather immediate impression that for all her efforts to the contrary, the three-year-old is more grateful for his intervention than she wants to let on. Judging by the gusto with which she's now tucking into her waffles alone, Max has more than enough to work with by way of an unofficial answer.

"It's not going anywhere, Vlinder. No one is going to take your food from you, so, just slow it down."

Kaia says something back but he's at a total loss as to what exactly it was, since the retort came out a garbled mess, and even he couldn't hope to decipher what it was she'd intended to say. She looks momentarily frustrated as she looks around the table, her blonde curls bouncing as she peers back and forth between himself and Daniel, before she shrugs and returns to eating but still clearly put out that neither one of them understood what she'd been trying to say.

"You look like a chipmunk," Max playfully pokes at her cheek, which bulges with uneaten, half chewed waffle, "let's focus on taking one bite at a time and finishing it before we take another. If you want more, you can have more. There's no need to hoard away breakfast like we're preparing for winter."

"I like chipmunks," the toddler says proudly, beaming at what he'd intended to be a light-handed reprimand, but which had clearly missed the mark.

"You stopped listening after I said chipmunk, didn't you?"

She nods excitedly, eyes bright as she sits up slightly straighter in her seat and asks, with an air of conspiratorial intrigue about her, "what is a chipmunk?"

"What do you mean what's a chipmunk? I thought you said you liked them. How do you know you like them if you don't know what they are?" Setting down his fork and knife, his efforts to finish his own breakfast temporarily put on hold, Max turns to fully face his daughter. He's genuinely interested to hear exactly how this all works itself out inside her head because personally, he doesn't even know where to start, let alone how to go about figuring this out on his own.

"Becauseeee my brain told me I like 'em," she doesn't even have to actually say 'duh' aloud for it to make itself known, since the implication is clear enough, "we-" he assumes that here, 'we' refers to herself and her brain, though he's uncertain as to why she views the two of them as separate entities, "don't remember what it- they- no, it look like."

"What it looks like," he corrects before he can stop himself or think better of it, the words said mostly out of a deeply ingrained habit than anything else.

Accordingly, Max is hardly surprised when his addition elicits him little more than a sassy, dismissive little sigh from Kaia, followed up by the rather immediate introduction of a mildly well-deserved cold shoulder. Making no efforts to hide the extent to which she feels insulted, the three-year-old scoots around in her chair, stubbornly insistent upon putting as much distance as she possibly can between herself and where her father still sits, watching her minute rebellion in a less than impressed silence.

"You done? Can I apologize now?"

"No," she doesn't bother to so much as glance in his direction, allotting him only as much of her attention as can be gleaned from the two short letters of her response, the three-year-old looks instead to the sole remaining party present, who's status as a non-offender has earned him the full extent of her attention.

"Don't be like that, I'm sorry, alright?" He knows it's too little, too late but the fact doesn't keep him from trying to right his wrong, "I shouldn't have corrected you, Kaia, it wasn't helpful."

She just turns her little nose up at his own admittedly lame attempt at apologizing.

"Look– he's not even paying attention," Max points out unhelpfully, waving a hand at Daniel in spite of himself since he already knows from past experience that all his efforts have a high likelihood to be in vain, "but I am. And I'm very, very sorry."

"Uncle Dad," he tries and fails to stifle the sound of jealous distaste that builds in the back of his throat at the nickname his daughter is quite deliberate in her use of here, "what's a chipmunk?"

"It's an animal, a mammal if you want to be exact. Give me one more second to finish this," Daniel says with a jerk of his chin in the direction of his phone, his eyes shifting momentarily from the brightness of the screen held in his hands to find Kaia's gaze, his thumbs never slowing in their movement, typing something even as he continues, "we can search them online and you can look at pictures of chipmunks until you're bored to tears."

"Yeah?" Kaia sounds intrigued by the offer, leaning further forward in her seat until Max starts to worry that she's liable to tip the whole chair over if she's not careful. Not that he gets a chance to say a single thing.

"Kaia, sit back before you fall, I'm not taking you to the hospital if you crack your head open, we've got better things to do with our time than that."

"Fineeee," the toddler whines but does as she's told without any further to do, maintaining the pretense that it's below her to so much as acknowledge her father's presence.

Max only narrows his eyes at the pair of them, finding that he's vastly more irritated by his teammate's preoccupation with his phone than he is with anything else.

"I guess I'll make myself useful and head back home to shower," he knows he's making an ass of himself but whatever, he doesn't feel like putting in the effort required to counteract the rising storm of his already fairly shit mood. No, Max didn't particularly give a damn that he was being childish.

"Hey, Ms. Thing, Lovie wants me to tell you she says hi and she hopes you're behaving yourself," Daniel announces suddenly, simply tossing the information out into the open like it's of little consequence to anyone at all.

"Lovie!" Kaia chirps your name with a delighted little giggle, clapping her syrup sticky hands together, "Lovie!" she repeats, seemingly unable to help herself in her elation.

"Oh, you can't be fucking serious-"

"Lovie said hi, Da!"

"I know, I heard," it only takes a second for the guilt to start to set in over just how unnecessary and absolutely uncalled for the brusqueness with which he'd spoken had been, "I know you've missed her so much since we said goodbye. And I bet that she's missing you more than we- you miss her, more than you can even imagine."

"Don't worry, Max, she hasn't mentioned you," Daniel says with a small smile, the cadence of his voice giving off an immediate air of well-intentioned reassurance, the tone of his words clearly meant to be a comfort.

But upon a second and then third listen, every facet of that sentence rings hollow to his ears– like each letter, down to the very last, had played the wrong note– one after the other, composing a discordant, sardonic little song which was a far cry from the one that he'd heard at the first.

"I wasn't worried," the lie rolled right off his tongue with a slick, heavy handed ease that struck Max as believable off the cuff but which, when held at arm's length and given some distance, was merely obstinately false.

"Good."

"Great," he doesn't trust himself, nor the hold he now has on his tightly wound restraint, to say more than a single syllable back.

"Wonderful," the broad grin Daniel gives him now is a different beast entirely to the modest, well bridled one he'd worn a moment before, "Glad to see there's no hard feelings. We wouldn't want that."

"Never," still rigidly restricted to just the one word, Max does however make allowance for dual syllables in his response.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"'Course not," he gives himself just enough leash now for a two worded response but not a breath more or an inch further.

"Well if you're going to head home for a bit to shower or do... whatever else you need to, Kaia and I will probably just hang out, maybe take the time to give her a call," Max doesn't appreciate in the slightest the way Daniel says 'her,' and he can hardly stomach how crystal fucking clear it is that a degree of a claim to you, over you, had just been staked.

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

Tuesday, November 20th, 2018- Monaco-Ville, Monaco

The Private Collection of Antique Cars of H.S.H. the Prince of Monaco

“Isn’t this just a little too on the nose? Even for you?” It was early enough in the grand scheme of things for Daniel to start trying Max’s patience in earnest.

“Didn’t feel like switching it up? Trying something, anything, even remotely new? Of course not because why bother? Not when the same cars that you’ve seen again and again are still just waiting to be stared at by you for the umpteenth time in a row.”

“Has your dad gotten a little…” Daniel pauses mid thought, bending at the knees until he’s on Kaia’s level before continuing, “predictable in his old age?”

While it might not be the most grownup of choices, it was more fun than it looked, especially when one was as damn near to being an expert at taunting the young Austrian as he was.

But still, nothing. Not so much as a sideways glare or a grumble of agitation. Not even a huff of annoyance or a sigh of frustration.

“Or perhaps,” he playfully taps the tip of the toddler’s minute upturned button nose, giving her a quick exaggerated wink, “he’s just painfully, soul suckingly boring?”

“Leave off,” Max snorts and then swings, catching him soundly upside the head, “still younger than you last I checked.”

“Only on paper, never in spirit,” he retorts, rubbing at the back of his head with an absent hand despite the fact that the smack had really just sounded like it hurt.

The only lingering pain that Daniel could still feel was the rather lasting effects of the blow he’d just taken to his pride, considering the fact that he’d been caught lacking by the very man he’d quite loudly declared to be easily predictable.

“Whatever makes you feel better. Or younger. Dealer’s choice, really.”

He doesn’t bother to stop long enough to put any actual, conscious thought into what to say next because he infinitely prefers to just go in blind and mad lib it, filling in the blanks with whatever he touches first while rummaging through some dingy backroom of his brain.

“And you, Verstappen, are an absolute filthy, fucking slag,” though somehow, he manages to swallow that very first laugh when it rises to the surface, there’s no smothering the laugher that follows.

Not even if Daniel had wanted to, which for the record, he hadn’t. No, not when the look on Max’s face had been too genuine, too dazed and far too surprised to not let that mirth that starts in his chest as a rumbling which builds in his throat until it spills over, burbling up and out of him unrestrained, sounding contagiously happy, even to his own two ears.

And for a moment, if only for that very moment, life feels suspended, like reality has been reduced to a single snapshot in time, the world around them narrowed down to the scene they stand in, together and laughing and relishing in the now— the three of them, just himself and that young, lost boy he’d met on a race track what felt like a lifetime ago, the one he’d watched become first a Formula 1 pilot, then a father and then a man, and the little girl who’d saved a golden boy by making him a parent.

Yet, Daniel knew without having to ask that something was missing in that instant, the moment robbed from the grasp of nostalgia but a singular absent component— the last facet, the final piece, the person who took three cobbled together parts and made them a whole.

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

Friday, November 23rd, 2018- Milton Keynes, England, United Kingdom

You’d only just managed to doze off when, from somewhere on the bedside table your phone goes off at full volume, bringing an immediate, unceremonious end to the peace you’d finally found in sleep by wrenching you rather savagely back into the world of the living, the shrill jingle of the ringtone popping the happy little fantasy that had taken shape inside your head like someone had taken a pin to a balloon.

Grumbling, you push yourself into an upright position, desperately trying to cling to the dream you’d been having before you’d been jolted back into consciousness even as you reach out, searching blindly for your phone in the dark, but it has already started to fade, the details deteriorating further and further with every second that slips by until what is left of it is beyond repair, the remains nothing more than a faint, moth eaten memory of momentary bliss.

As your fingers finally find the familiar outline of your phone and close around it, you force yourself to abandon the last vestiges of the dream, knowing if you’re not careful about it, you’re liable to drown yourself in the fragmented remnants of the recollection and there’s hardly time for that right now, if at all.

One glance at the screen proves to be more than sufficient to knock you clean out of your head, to wash away the warmth and contentment that still lingered in your chest, replacing it with a different kind of heat, this fire built not of longing and fantasies but kindled from anger and agitation, the flames of which didn’t need much to catch, just a spark, courtesy of a single name.

“Can I fucking help you, Max? What is it? What is it that you could possibly need at-” you pause with a huff, craning your neck around to check the alarm clock on the bedside table, “at 2:30 in the morning? Hm?”

“I- it’s- Sorry-'' the three words are stilted, almost jarring, as they stumble over one another, each more cumbersome and unwieldy than the last, all conspicuously lack something, some quality you can’t quite put your finger on but whose absence is impossible to ignore.

It takes a moment, only the one, before it comes to you, the name of what’s missing, of what you’ve become so accustomed to hearing in every sentence and every letter, down to the last syllable, that it’s sudden, unforeseen absence can actually be physically felt, the pang of the loss slowly building until it’s almost nauseating.

The familiarity and flippancy you’d thought you’d hate, that you could have sworn you hated, that you detested with every fiber of your being, but, as you'd only just discovered, you’d evidently learned to love at some point along the way, though when exactly that had been was entirely beyond you.

The effect is immediate, instantaneous, when, from the other end of the phone, something which you know with absolute certainty you were never supposed to have heard, that you know in your very bones the fates had never meant for a soul to hear, reaches you over the crackling connection, sounding dangerously close to a stifled, chest wracking dry sob.

You know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, Max hated himself for this perceived weakness, and that he’d fought like hell to keep exactly where it was, where it had been, to smother in its infancy before it could gain prescience, neatly bottled up and squirreled away where no one would ever find it, buried in the dead of night, hidden somewhere deep in the hollow of his chest or the pit of his stomach, anywhere it would never see the light of day.

Like his father had taught him, exactly like his Pa had drilled into his head, and when that failed, beaten it into him.

Like Max had always done, like the dutiful son he’d once been, like he would never be again.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Just slow down, slow down,” you say softly, soothingly, with deliberate gentleness, speaking to him like you would a wounded animal that needs to be coaxed into accepting help, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that when I answered, I’m sorry. I’d just fallen asleep and well, I’m still not particularly over everything that happened yesterday.”

“It’s- it’s not that,” he’s quick off the line with this response, his sudden change in demeanor catching you entirely by surprise, as the warmth and ease returns to his voice without much to proceed the change, almost as if the shift in conversation had been all he’d needed for the informality that hover perilously close to being outright intimacy to come flooding back in.

But that being said, you’re not foolish enough to let yourself be blinded to reality by the turnaround, it had been too easy, it had been too simply won, which you’d come to learn meant that, in Max’s case at least, he was merely momentarily distracted, and more than like retreat back to the frame of mind he’d been in previously.

“Okay? So, if it's not that, then what is it? I just figure, I guess it was more of an assumption really, that you’d only called to talk about the whole boyfriend, girlfriend thing, especially considering the hour and all-”

“Uh, Kaia and I- Kaia’s hurt… She’s- She’s hurt and it’s because of me.”

“Wait, I’m sorry- What?” You ask him without really knowing what it is that you’d just said because the shape of every word as it rolls off the tip of your tongue is just a little off kilter, each feeling foreign in your mouth, the sound strangely distorted even to your own ears, like the notes that they should be composed of have suddenly become discordant.

It’s disquieting the way your brain is still operating on a delay that’s not only disproportionate to what you know for a fact should have been necessary, the certainty about which reaches you from some distant corner in the back of your mind, but it just feels wrong, like somehow whatever it was that Max has just told you has sunk in skin deep and now crawls in your veins, stealing the warmth from your blood as it goes, leeching away the color from the room around you.

“I couldn’t get her to sleep, I tried everything but nothing made any difference… so we went for a drive since that always worked with my youngest sister,” Max explains with such restraint and forethought that even through the lag time your mind is currently operating at, it's obvious that for every detail of the night that he forces himself to remember is more painful than the last and costs him dearly, “and some tourist with more car than they could handle, lost complete control when they were flying down the city street and took a blind corner at speed… into the oncoming lane- struck the passenger side- pinning the back of my car against a bollard-”

Like a switch has been flipped, understanding suddenly flickers to life inside your mind and you’re left gasping for air as the cruel, harsh lines of reality are cast into brutal, immaculate relief by the light of comprehension.

“But she’s alive? Because you’re alive,” you breathe into the phone in a voice barely above a whisper, shaken to the core by the horrific realization that Max wouldn’t be alive and breathing to make this phone call if the worst had come to pass, knowing with absolute certainty that if the daughter had been taken then the father would have followed by any means deemed necessary.

The monstrous thought shouldn’t have been comforting, but it was, and you clung to it with an ironclad grip.

“She’s alive, I’m alive… everyone is alive,” Max confirms with venom in his voice, a chill stealing through you as he continues, “though if you ask me, the fucker that hit us doesn’t even deserve to still be breathing.”

“I’m glad no one was hurt,” you say honestly, too focused on getting more detailed information out of him about Kaia’s status to care about the inherent morality of what he’d just said, “Can I talk to Kaia or-”

“He put my daughter in the hospital but there’s not a scratch on the bastard,” he says sourly, not bothering to even acknowledge what you’d said in the slightest, “but yeah, I just thought you should know. Sorry to wake you.”

“Wait-” you panic, the sudden awareness that he’d already made his mind up, that’d he’d already decided that the conversation was over, and that there wasn’t a single thing you could do to stop him, bringing yet another wave of that same helplessness from before crashing down over you, flooding your senses and drowning out what remained of your rationality, “wait, Max, wait! Not yet, not yet-”

Because this one, this one is ridiculously, pathetically, inexplicably worse than those that had preceded it– leaving you frantic and cursing the selfish desperation that takes sets in, taking hold of your mind and your tongue, systematically silencing every thought in your head that counseled restraint in the same deft stroke that severs the last tether you’d had on your self-restraint.

Because now, the rising tide of emotion does not recede, it does not lessen, it does not retreat and unlike before, the waters do not ebb, instead only continuing to rise, to strengthen, to deepen… until, for the first time, the possibility of being pulled under by the current of your fear for Kaia, for Max, even for yourself, is no longer a simple threat but a guarantee that promises what is to come.

“Don’t hang up! I’m not- you still haven’t explained-” it’s pointless, an exercise in futility but you keep talking all the same, knowing that you could stop the words from coming about as much as you could force Max to listen to them, “baby, please-”

Well… fuckkkk. Fuck me– baby? Baby?! Of all things, baby? Really? Just why in God’s name-

That had certainly been a choice… and unfortunately, it had been one that there was absolutely no undoing, regardless of however much you wished there was. That being said, you reasoned things could have been worse, there could have been the silence of an ended call coming from the other side of the phone still pressed to one side of your head, where instead there was only the silence of a man evidently at a loss for words.

And that quiet could be a good thing or a bad thing, there was really no telling when it came to Max.

“Uh, well… I’ll just talk to you later-” he doesn’t seem to be breathing as his tongue gets tripped up by its own words, “Okay! Love you! Bye!”

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

But to add insult to injury, there isn’t a single flight home for hours, with the first one out of the closest airport not being until a little after 1 pm today and that simply won’t do. The mere thought of having to sit here, helpless and overwrought with emotion, simply waiting and watching the clock for the next nine and a half hours is fucking unfathomable.

So, not knowing what else to do or who else to call, you dial the only person that comes to mind, stealing yourself in preparation for waking him, which isn’t a task you’re looking forward to any more than you are to asking such a huge favor of him as this but surely, if anyone will know what to do, he’d be the one.

“Horner, I know you said to never call this late unless someone is dead, or Lewis announced his retirement but-”

“Of course, he did. Insufferable, isn’t he?” The soft, lyrical voice floating through the speakers of the phone is a far cry from the one you’d been expecting, and it takes your half awake, panic-stricken mind a moment to recognize it.

“Mrs. Horner, I’m so sorry-”

“Please, don’t call me that,” she laughs lightly, like the mere thought of being addressed as much is amusing but only marginally so, “Geri will do fine.”

“Right, yeah, Geri,” you repeat, the moment feeling a little surreal when a voice in the back of your head reminds you this isn’t just Christian’s wife you’re talking to– she’s a Spice Girl– which is just a strange thing to try and wrap your mind around, “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m calling this late but-”

“We know. That poor sweet girl,” Geri sounds like she’s fighting tears, the emotion in her words threatens to open the flood gates of your own just barely contained sobs, “and Max… he’s putting on a brave face but-” she comes up short, her cadence catching as she remembers herself, “Christian’s on the phone, seeing to your flight. Didn’t seem right, you being here when they’re there.”

“I-” the guilt that had already been building to a fever pitch seconds into the phone call with Max, which you’d only managed to compartmentalize out of the sheer demands made by necessity, very nearly takes you out at the knees when it makes a savage resurgence, the wake of worry crashing over your head with a violence that suggests the feeling is on a campaign of revenge following its earlier, rather unceremonious exile.

“I know, love,” the understanding that floods Geri’s voice should be a comfort, the reassuring cadence of her tone should be a balm to your rubbed raw and bleeding emotions, and yet at this moment, it’s anything but.

The sympathy she speaks to you with is suffocating because there is nothing, nothing, that she can say or do in this moment that will change the one thing you know with absolute certainty just now– that you do not deserve the gentleness and the compassion that colors her every syllable, not when you should have been there in that car tonight, instead of an ocean away.

“Oh, don’t do that,” she remarks with a sigh, the frank delivery of her words cut from a far less forgiving cloth than anything she’d said prior and takes you entirely by surprise because this time around, instead of pulling punches, Geri hits home with disarming accuracy.

“Don’t do what-” it’s a desperate, last-ditch attempt on your part to try and deflect which quickly proves to be futile.

“Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself, don’t torture yourself with the what ifs. It won’t do you any good and it won’t undo the horrors that have been inflicted on your family.”

“I’m not–” evidently you find maintaining the facade of dissent is infinitely easier than conceding to the truth. And if you were to be entirely honest with yourself, that definitely tracks.

“Yes, you are. Of course, you are,” Geri retorts with unwavering certainty, dismissing all of your protestations out of hand, “because any mother would. I know I certainly would be. It’s simply a reality of motherhood, one which you have to face head on and learn how to handle on your own terms because now is not the time to waste worrying about the past and what can’t be changed. Focus on what’s to come, not what's done.

So, from one mother to another, focus on getting yourself dressed and ready to head home and let Christian and me handle getting you there. You understand?”

“Yes,” there’s a great deal else you’d like to say back right now but instead, you set a hard limit of one worded assent for yourself because, as it has already been rightly stated, there’s hardly time for any long winded waffling at present.

“Wonderful– that’s settled then. One of us will email you the details. Give Kaia and Max my love,” she announces with an air of prim finality, and with that, the line goes dead.

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

Friday, November 23rd, 2018--Luton, England, United Kingdom

London Luton Airport

You could only stomach sitting down for as long as was strictly necessary, and it had taken every ounce of the self-restraint that you were usually on Max's case about failing to show to force yourself into a seat for the time it takes for the jet to taxi to the runway and take off but not for a second more than that.

Luckily, beyond letting you know when it was safe for you to get up and walk around the cabin, the flight's skeleton crew– a single pilot and a lone stewardess– kept largely to themselves and left you to your own devices, a fact about which you were deeply grateful for because to be frank, all you were cut out for at present was pacing back and forth, walking the same invisible line up and down the length of the jet without reprieve, while getting so deeply lost in mire of thoughts crowding your head that reality fades away into the background.

It was far easier to fold in on yourself, to look inward for solace, than it was to let yourself acknowledge Daniel's presence in the corner farthest from the pilot's cockpit, because the weight of his gaze on your face, the earnestness of the emotion held in those eyes teetered dangerously close to spilling over– his concern for you and what await the both of you in Monaco wasn't a comfort, it was all but fucking unbearable.

So, feeling like the coward you so often accused Max of being, you hid from your friend, ignoring him for the sake of your own wellbeing, because you could barely stomach your own roiling emotions and all those passing glances his attention as it brushed over you as it was... but even the briefest glints of Daniel's guilt that you unintentional caught glimpses of out of the corner of your eye was enough keep you staring at the ground.

Because while you knew in truth, what had happened tonight hadn't occurred as a direct consequence of his absence or his actions which had left Max and Kaia behind at home on their own, you weren't naive enough to think that there was anything at all that you could say that would convince him to absolve himself of the personal responsibility he now felt for the series of events that had put a little girl who called him her uncle in a hospital bed.

Better to leave him to his own thoughts as you yourself wanted to be than to overstep your bounds and unintentionally inflict any further pain to his already weakened and damaged defenses.

There wasn't much either one of you could offer the other at present without running the risk of doing more harm good and that was just the lay of the land, the hand that you'd been dealt, the way the stars were aligned. There was no changing any of it and you both knew that instinctively, with the same certainty you understood that there was solace and support to be found in the shared experience that stretched unspoken between the two of you that otherwise neither of you could spare the other if the silence was shattered.

So, with Daniel beyond your reach, the only thing outside yourself that kept you tether to the world that still existed around you was your cell phone, which in spite of having been tucked away, out of your line of sight since you'd boarded the plane, felt like it was burning a hole in your pocket, almost as though it was conscious of how far from grace and the usual place of importance it had fallen.

Despite your efforts to the contrary, its presence was impossible to just completely ignore when the temptation to pull your phone out and switch it back on, just for long enough to find out if you had service on the private jet or not, to find out if you had any open messages waiting for you-

No, you were determined not to fall under the spell of the siren's song being sung to you by the unknown, tempting you to give in, to just see if it was still nothing but radio silence from Max, but you knew a slippery slope when you saw one.

Because while you might have a less than stellar track record for stupid fucking decision making where he was concerned, and that was under even the best of circumstances, at least you were capable of owning up to that.

And sure, maybe it was unfair of you to harbor such acrimonious little grudges against him at a time like this, what when all things considered, Max was just trying to get through what had to be one of the worst nights of his life, it would take more than your conscious to get you to forget how you'd felt when the line had gone dead and he'd left you with only unanswered questions to keep you company.

The fact of the matter was that after the nearly three months you'd spent learning first hand why Max was want to pull the bullshit that he did, you'd become rather adept at assessing the damage and identifying what the motivating factors were for the decisions that had had been made but even you, forged in the flames of the trial by fire that had been your first few weeks on the job, were limited by what you understood about the cause and your ability identify all its corresponding effects.

In short, it was a bunk science that relied on proving your theory with cherry picked data points instead of properly testing the hypothesis, and it was about as reliable. If only you'd been more realistic with yourself about all of this, if you'd been smart enough to remain objective when it came to Max and the working arrangement, you'd found yourself ensnared in then perhaps none of this would have hit as hard and there wouldn't be that sharp pain twisting in your chest, threatening to consume you-

"Enough!" Daniel's voice is rough as the command rumbles out of him, the rich cadence of it superseding the humiliating squeak of surprise you let out as he pulls you clean off your feet and neatly into his lap before you can do a thing to stop him, "you're driving me up the fucking wall."

"What are you- Let go of me!" You demand, trying to extricate yourself from his grasp but it's of no use, his arms only tighten around you as he simply shakes his head, the gesture filled with such frustration and exhaustion that you're momentarily disarmed, your body going temporarily slack in his grasp.

"You clearly had no plans to stop pacing back and forth until we landed so I had to take matters into my own hands," Daniel explains with a shrug of his shoulders as if to say that much should have been obvious.

"You could have said something," you point out rather unhelpfully.

"And you wouldn't have listened," he's right but you're going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that so you admit nothing, "so, fucking stop moving and just let me have this– just this one thing, just this one time, would you?"

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

There was something in your touch that invariably made complicated, lurid things happen in his chest, things which he neither knew the name of, nor fully understood.

And not because the answers were beyond him or because the twisted knot of whatever the fuck it was that roared to life every goddamned time you so much as brushed up against him as you slipped past him in the crowded paddock or your fingers grazed his while you walked at his side, was some great unknowable mystery destined to haunt the ages.

No, it was nothing so grand or interesting as that.

Rather, quite simply put, Daniel did not know what to call the whole host of complicated shit that went down in his chest at the slightest provocation because he didn't want to know, he'd never wanted to know, so he'd never asked.

Better to remain in the dark, obstinate in his unawareness, wholly able to maintain the facade of his own blissful ignorance by sheer force of will then to take that final step forward, to trade the inky black of night for the golden light of day and be made to face what waited for him in the sunshine— the unadulterated truth of it all– a burden which he did not wish to bear.

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

To be added to the tag list and notified whenever a new chapter is posted, just respond to this post, send me an ask or message me to let me know!

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

@defnotsobbing, @formularicc, @checkeredflagsandshit, @teenwaywardasgardian, @e16leclerc, @sincerelymendess, @mysticdan, @ohpuckyeah, @embearsxcks, @pg10ln4, @thinemineours, @ggaslyp1, @afraidoflove1997, @tamaraudvardy, @miahelen, @octaviareina, @its-astrotea-love, @e16leclerc, @itsmycorneroftheinternet, @ohpuckyeah, @lharrietg, @judreads, @darkice99, @suckerforspace, @darkdjarin, @hellolipoops, @baddtexter, @empress-ofbloodshed, @burnwithus0, @savannah-elliott, @haterpenny, @sunshinesewis, @earth-to-lottie, @xeniarocks, @blueflame2778, @scottmctominbae, @black-repunzel99, @rosalysaoirse, @ricciaryoyo, @zem-hoe, @ynhya, @formulahan, @juliette123, @allison-rosewood-maximoff, @xaviersgifted, @xheera

145 notes · View notes

handoverthekawaii · 10 months

Text

We Go Together | Homelander x You | Chapter 11

Taglist: @hom3landr

“Do we have a fucking problem?” Homelander asks, his voice low and dangerous.

“No, sir, we don’t, sir — not at all,” The Deep stammers. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know —”

“Didn’t. Know. What?” interrupts Homelander. His eyes are beginning to glow red now, his fingers clenching The Deep’s shoulder so tightly that he’ll wake up tomorrow with bruises.

“I — I didn’t know she was with you, sir!”

“No no no,” Homelander replies, grabbing The Deep by the collar of his supersuit and pulling him close until their faces inches apart. “I’m only gonna say this once, Deep, so you better fucking listen — it doesn’t matter WHO somebody is WITH.”

“We’re The Seven. We’re fucking HEROES — and that means we don’t TOLERATE that kind of behavior, much less PARTICIPATE in it! Can your idiot brain comprehend that?!”

“Yes!” The Deep says, his tone desperate. “Yes, sir, I understand you perfectly. It won’t happen again.”

“Let’s hope not, for your sake,” Homelander warns, releasing The Deep’s collar. “Now get out of my sight, you fucking degenerate.”

When he reappears at your side a few minutes later, you deposit the dessert plate Homelander requested into his waiting hand.

“Thanks,” he says with a tight smile. “My teammate and I just had a discussion about the standards of excellence we expect in The Seven.”

“I appreciate it, Homelander,” you reply, feeling grateful that he cared enough to intervene on your behalf. “You didn’t have to do that, but… thank you.”

The ballroom is beginning to clear out as some guests call it a night, while others move downstairs to continue their evenings playing blackjack or roulette. After Homelander has said a few farewells, the two of you head outside and embark on the flight back to New York City.

It’s a beautiful evening, the temperature comfortable and just a few puffy clouds visible in the darkened sky. Soaring high above the city lights makes it easier to see the constellations above, and you can’t help but marvel at their otherworldly beauty from your perch in Homelander’s arms. At one point you even see a shooting star — you point it out to Homelander immediately, and he nods in recognition before shooting you a picture-perfect smile.

Much too soon, you find yourself touching down in the townhouse’s tiny front lawn. Homelander walks up the front steps, standing attentively by your side as you fish the house key out of your purse. It’s very late and you have work tomorrow but, more than anything, you wish this night never had to end.

“Here, come on in for a sec,” you say to Homelander, opening the front door and gesturing inside. After you close the door behind you, the house is dark, lit only by the pale moonlight shining through the windows. Your eyes begin to adjust in the dark, and you can see Homelander’s silhouette standing before you.

You break the silence first: “I had a really good time tonight.”

“That makes two of us,” Homelander replies. “Since you had fun and all, I thought we might… do it again sometime.”

“I would really like that,” you say earnestly. Homelander lets out a deep sigh at your words, his face uplifted toward the ceiling for a moment and his eyes closed in sheer relief.

She feels it, too! he thinks to himself. She feels the same way! The very thought elevates Homelander’s consciousness to a whole new level of rapture, of obsession… of brazenness.

He takes a step towards you in the darkened entryway and asks, “Y/N, can I do something?” [continued in AO3]

#ao3 writer #fanfic #homelander #homelander x you #the homelander #homelander x y/n #homelander x reader #homelander the boys #the boys #the boys fanfic #the boys tv #the boys amazon

25 notes · View notes

honestlyyoungtyphoon · 11 months

Text

Sovieshu's regression arc chapter 11: Very long post!

After reaching western palace Sovieshu stayed there the whole night sitting in the drawing room without sleeping, for Navier. As it should be 💅.

In the morning Navier hears about him waiting for her whole night, so she lets him in her room. Aww she's so nice

Scene 1:

Sovieshu immediately entered her bedroom and approached the bed.

Navier was lying in bed, her short, wispy hairs soaked in cold sweat. She smiled faintly when he drew closer like a ghost. She smiled at him despite being ill 🥹

"Empress, are you all right?" Sovieshu asked as soon as he reached the head of the bed.

He instinctively reached for her hand, but since it was under the blanket, he couldn't reach it. Awkwardly, he lowered his hand and looked at her.

Navier gazed back at him.

"I heard you stayed in the drawing room all night," she said.

"I was worried about you." 🥺

"It's nothing serious. Only a bout of chills." Girl, stop downplaying your condition.

"Don't they hurt?"

Navier stared at him silently for a moment, then smiled peculiarly.

He had no idea what it could mean. She's mysterious that way 😌

As he sat there, dazed, Navier began to mumble quietly.

"I thought you would only keep it up for a few days, then give up."

"No."

I still think you would."

"Navier..."

"But now... I'm starting to wonder if you're indeed sincere." Yes!!! My girl is starting to believe his sincerity 🥳

Sovieshu stared at her earnestly. If he showed her what he's been through, his heart, everything-would she believe him?

But if Navier found out about all his memories, she might prefer to become the empress of the Western Empire and leave.

When Sovieshu felt ashamed for coming to this conclusion, his expression darkened. Exactly! Stop making assumptions about her. You don't know what she'd choose. You're forgetting that you're her first love, best friend. Stop being an idiot bro. 🤦‍♀️

Navier gazed at him and proposed, "Your Majesty and I are both healthy people, yet we became ill at the same time. Perhaps the two of us need to take a vacation." Holly Molly she wants to spend some alone time with him!!!

"You get some rest. I'll take on your duties." And of course this idiot doesn't get it. He's dense. 🤦‍♀️

Shall we recuperate at a nearby Imperial Villa for a week?"

Sovieshu thought he heard wrong. Then he feared she was making a sarcastic remark. Yet, there was no sign of mockery on her face. Again this idiot! 😭 He's hopeless. Get a hint bro.

Once he noticed this, Sovieshu quickly nodded. Finally! 🥴

Navier nodded once at his prompt response, then burrowed herself a bit farther into the blanket.

"In that case... let's pick a date together." Awwwww imma cry and melt 🥹🥹

Then he started packing his own pack in excitement. I understand his excitement though. Lol. But Navier doesn't ride with him in the same carriage and leaves first. He stares at her carriage gloomily but quickly follows her. After 12 hours they reach the villa. Damn that's a long journey. Sovieshu immediately looks for Navier after reaching there and when he knocks her door, Navier herself opens it for him, despite countess Jubert being in the room. 🥺😍 I think she's finally warming up to him.

Then she offers him tea. Cause she's a classy lady and gives Sovieshu an excuse to stay in her room 😌

Scene 2:

As he sat hesitantly, he accepted a cup of tea from Countess Joubert, who had come along with Navier.

"What about you, Empress?"

"I had some earlier." Really? You came only ten minutes earlier than him. I think you just want to observe him without distraction. 🤔

Sovieshu nodded, blowing on the tea and taking a sip. A smile creeped up, and he hid his lips behind the teacup. Lol he's beaming

"Empress, shall we go horseback riding together?" he suggested eagerly. Have you lost your mind?

"We've been riding a carriage all day." Exactly!

"Or the day after tomorrow, maybe..."

"The doctor advised us to rest. Let's not push ourselves." Polite way of saying"My husband is an idiot." Which he is. Sovieshu's brain exits his body whenever he's around Navier 🤣🤣 I can understand though. Bro's not thinking properly because of his excitement. That's how happy he's around her. 🫂

"You're right, Empress." I've a feeling that you'll be saying that line a lot in near future, whenever Navier put an end to your outrageous proposal.

Countess Joubert nearly laughed aloud in disbelief. Unable to withstand it any longer, she rushed out to where no one could hear her hearty laughter.

Her speculation that the emperor had lost his mind was now the most supported opinion among the servants. 🤣🤣🤣

Navier's POV:

That night, Navier wondered whether Prince Heinrey had received her apology letter or not. Who cares about him? 😒

Heinrey was supposed to make an appearance when she requested a remarriage after the divorce. When the divorce was suddenly dropped, however, it was difficult for him to reveal himself. This was furthered by the fact that he had come here unofficially. Good, let him suffer. 😌 He's lucky Sovieshu didn't seize his ass for illegal intrusion. Anyway Navier sends him an apology letter but birdface didn't reply and she thought he returned to his country. Girl he's called stalker for a reason. He followed her to the villa as per his characteristics.

Navier heard the plaintive cry of a bird and stood up.

Queen?

The cry sounded like his. She went to the window to see if he had come like he did before. There was indeed a similar-looking bird running away from something.

Why is he running...? Probably saw you and Sovieshu getting well together. Realised he had no chance 😊 Bye bye, you won't be missed.

In the middle of the moment (McKenna was chasing after birdface), Navier breathed in the cold wind and began coughing. So she shut the window and closed the curtain. Ha-ha. Girl literally closed the window like "Ain't nobody got time for this" 💅

She was about to get into bed when suddenly the thought of Sovieshu spending the night on the drawing room sofa to see if she was all right popped into her mind. 🥺

Why did he do that? she thought, unable to sleep. Aww she's losing her sleep over Sovieshu's dramatic ass

Then she wrapped her cloak around her and went out for some fresh air.

To her surprise, she found Sovieshu lying on his side on the drawing room sofa, asleep.

Dumbfounded, Navier drew closer to wake him up. But as she bent down to shake him, she noticed tearstains from his eyes to his cheeks and froze.

Did he cry? But why? For you, girl!

She had no clue why Sovieshu would have cried. It couldn't be because of her. It's exactly because of you. These two are hopeless. 😮‍💨

As she stared at him in wonder, she knew she couldn't let him sleep here either way, so she reached out her hand to wake him. But before she touched him, another tear trickled from Sovieshu's eye as he cried out in a small, but desperate voice.

"Navier... Navier, come back. I'm sorry. Navier, don't leave me." I've a feeling Sovieshu would experience this nightmare for the rest of his life and Navier might see him crying for her in his sleep multiple times. 🫂 Why do I do this to myself? Making up angst headcanon and make myself 😭😭

It was difficult to understand his sleepy mumbles, but the majority of it had something to do with her name, pleas for her to come back, and how sorry he was.

Hearing this, Navier was thrown into even bigger confusion.

Is he actually sorry for me? Yessss! Baby girl yes! 😔

It wasn't as if he had nothing to be sorry for. But he, who hadn't had a smidgen of remorse before, becoming suddenly so desperately and earnestly pleading for her was hard to believe. I guess it'd seem sudden to her. She has no idea about this Sovieshu longing for her for the rest of his life. My girl has no idea 😔

What in the world had made him this way? Navier looked at him with mixed emotions, then sighed. She returned to her room to bring out a blanket, then covered him with it. Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh Navier put a blanket on Sovieshu!!! Somebody help! 🫂😍🥰

Sovieshu groaned faintly and turned, causing the tears in his eyes and cheeks to trickle into his hair.

Carefully, Navier held out her hand and smoothed his hair back from his face.

Me: Somebody help. I can't with the cuteness!!

Sovieshu, can we... really go back to the old days? Just like the day we planted that tree together? Yes, yes you can. 🥹 Navier is hopeful 😭

Scene 4:

Sovieshu sat up, squinting his eyes against the white light that spread over his eyelids. Then his eyes widened when he discovered the blanket covering him. It was the same one he'd seen yesterday in Navier's room.

Did Navier do this for me? Who else but her would care for you like this? 🗿

His heart swelled with emotion. He hugged the blanket and stood up.

At nearly the same time, Navier emerged from her room. When she saw him, she stated coldly, "Sleep in the bedroom from now on."

"Y-you mean, together?"

"No, in your own room, Your Majesty."

"Oh." Lmao bro slow down 😂

"We're here because we aren't well. So we shouldn't be making it worse."

"I understand. But there aren't any ladies- in-waiting on duty today, so you don't have anyone to look after you if you feel sick. That's why I waited here a while..." Oh please you'd be still here even with the presence of the ladies in waiting like you did in the palace. 🫠

"If I feel sick, I need only to call a servant. That's what the bell is for."

"Yes, yes. You're right."

Sovieshu agreed mindlessly. When he saw Navier smile in bemusement, the corners of his mouth raised up. He didn't want to look like a fool, but her demeanor gave him a surge of hope. She's smiling again 🫂😍

Just then, the sound of thumping footsteps came from the hallway. The door opened with a bang, and Marquess Karl burst in.

"What's going on?" Sovieshu asked, casting aside his sheepishness when he noticed the urgency.

With a pale face, the marquess reported, "Your Majesty, Lady Rashta is in such distress that she may lose the baby!"

Nooooo! They were having such a cute moment! I feel bad for everyone here. Good thing I know the ending, otherwise I'd have

#we're nearing the end #chapter 11 played with my emotions like a cat plays with it's prey #I can't just can't #navier #sovieshu #navier×sovieshu #navieshu #sovieshu's regression arc #remarried empress #the remarried empress

27 notes · View notes

thaliaisalesbian · 3 months

Text

i get myself twisted in threads

Chapter 20: when you see it's me

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 21

Nancy’s stuck in her head at lunch, but Jonathan knows he is, too. His grades have never been the highest—his average is probably a B, honestly—but with everything going on he’s let them slip a little more. He’s been pulled aside by both of his teachers today so far.

He needs to pick up his grades again, or he might not get a scholarship like he needs to in order to go to NYU for photography.

He doesn’t try too hard to draw Nancy into conversation; he managed to get a couple of extra credit assignments, and he’s going to be doing make-up points on a test tomorrow. He can get his grades back up, and then when he’s going into exams he won’t have to worry as much about getting an A in order to keep his Bs in his classes.

If he wants As, he’ll have to try a little harder.

He hadn’t realized that all the time he’s been spending with Steve had been affecting his schoolwork this way. Given how much time Steve has been spending on his own schoolwork, he probably should be doing better.

“What time did you want to leave today?” Nancy asks, as they’re walking out.

“I’ll be in the dark room,” He says. He hadn’t had a set time in mind. “Just whenever you’re done, I guess.”

“Okay. I’ll try not to take too long.”

She walks away, like she’s got a plan in her head; at least more of one than she’d had this morning.

It’s then that Jonathan realizes he hadn’t even asked her how her test went.

finish on ao3 or under the cut

He’s got a lot of film that he needs to work on, with all of the pictures from the other Saturday, and a few that he’s taken for his portfolio.

It doesn’t help that he hasn’t been in the dark room… probably since before Steve went missing. He hadn’t had any pictures to develop and look at like he had when Will had gone missing.

He’ll have to remember which ones he needs to make multiple copies of, too.

It’s nice to fall back into the easy rhythm of processing the negatives; he’s practiced enough at it that he can almost zone out as he works.

By the time Nancy knocks on the door, he’s got a couple rolls of film hung up to dry. Since he booked the room for the night, no one’s going to disturb them, so he leaves them up. He’ll get them in the morning before he goes to class.

“Your mom won’t mind me staying for dinner?”

“Never, you know that.” She’s got a little crease between her eyes. “Find anything?”

“A little. Our best bet is still probably talking to Steve, though.”

“Should we stop at the public library?” It’s a lot bigger than the one here, and it might have something else.

“No, by the time we get back to your house it’ll be dinner time anyway.”

Will and Mike are at the table when they walk in; that probably means that Steve is in his room.

“Mom called and said she’ll be home soon.” Will pauses the conversation to tell him. “And I already put dinner in the oven!”

“Good job, Will.”

“I was just following Steve’s directions. He’s in your room, he was out here but when Mike came over he left.”

“Thanks, Will.” Jonathan ruffles his hair, just to annoy him. Mike’s making a face at him, but that’s nothing new. He stopped being cool as soon as he started dating Nancy, apparently.

He wonders what Mike would think if he knew that Nancy was dating both him and Steve now. He knows that Mike had had more than a few things to say about Steve at first. He’s cooled off now, which is probably for the best.

Steve’s got some of his work spread out on Jonathan’s bed; he doesn’t look up when they come in.

“Hey,” Mom probably won’t say anything with Mike here, so he shuts the door. “Anything fun in there?”

“No. Is there ever?”

“Probably not.” Still, Steve’s gotten almost all the way through his make-up work. Jonathan would have taken the year off, but he knows that Steve doesn’t want to hear it again. He just thinks it’s really impressive, how much work Steve has gotten done.

“I have bad news for you, Steve.” Nancy sets her bag down and pulls a folder out. “They gave me more work for you today.”

“I’m not even done with everything they gave me last time!”

“You’re pretty close, though.” Jonathan sits next to Steve, careful not to disrupt his papers.

“You want to talk about last night.” Steve guesses, before either of them says anything. “I don’t know why it happens, it doesn’t happen a lot, and I can’t control it. I wasn’t ignoring you, Jon, I wouldn’t do that on purpose. I just… couldn’t talk.”

“I looked a few things up.” Nancy launches into what Jonathan’s sure is going to be a long description, filled with psychological terms, more clinical than personal.

It’s what she tends to do, when she’s worried or scared. He doesn’t know how to talk to her about it.

“Nance,” Steve stops her after a few minutes. “Thanks for looking that up, but it’s all going way over my head.”

“Steve, I’m trying to find an explanation!”

“I know you are.” Steve soothes, and Jonathan doesn’t think he’s seen this particular side of Steve and Nancy before. “It’s nice that you want to help.”

“I can help! We can figure it out and we can stop it, or make it easier for you. We can have a plan for what we’re going to do when it happens again, a signal or something.” She looks like she’s about a second from stomping her foot on the floor. If this weren’t supposed to be a serious discussion, Jonathan would laugh at her.

“And we can do that. But, Nancy, come on. We don’t need a reason why it happens, we don’t need a bunch of fancy words right now. We can have a plan without those.” Steve holds up a hand before either of them can say anything, taking a breath and letting it out slowly. “Besides, I’m pretty sure it’s just a trauma thing. It’s not, like, tied directly to anything happening, but sometimes everything’s just too much and I shut down.”

That… could be right. It’s the best explanation they have, at least. Or at least it’s part of it.

“You did this before the Upside Down, Steve.” Nancy accuses, like that really matters. “You can’t just brush it off like that!”

“I’m not brushing anything off. We can come up with a signal or something, for when it happens, but I don’t think you need to be looking into that much.”

“What if we can stop it? What it’s something we can fix?” Her voice cracks on the last word, and Jonathan looks between Nancy—arms crossed tight over her chest, fingers twitching, and tearing up because she’s so frustrated—and Steve—sitting straight up, very stiff and still, and with an eerie blankness in his face.

He feels like he’s just learned something, about both of them, but he can’t describe what it is.

“I’m not a project for you to fix, Nance.” Steve says softly, shaking his head, and there’s a little warmth in his voice, breaking the frozen image.

Inexplicably, Jonathan’s fingers itch for his camera.

Nancy visibly stops herself from saying something. “I just want you to be okay, Steve.”

“I know.” When Nancy sits on Steve’s other side, not as careful of his work as Jonathan was, Steve pulls her into his side and then reaches for Jonathan to do the same. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier, Jon. I didn’t think it would happen.”

“It’s okay.”

“How long do we have until Will and Mike come looking for us?” Steve leans in a little. “We could clear off the bed, and it’s not like your door is open…”

“Steve.” Jonathan says. “No, my mom is coming home soon.”

“Not even a little making out?”

“No.” Besides, Jonathan’s not sure why Steve wants to do anything right now; while he’s healing, they’ve been told very firmly by Owens, Irene, Mom, and Hopper (that one had made Jonathan want to crawl into a hole and never come out) that until Steve’s cleared for more vigorous activity, they can’t try anything.

“But it’ll be a good distraction!”

“From what?”

“Homework.”

“We can be distracted from our homework and not be making out.” Nancy rolls her eyes, looking at him for backup.

Steve also looks at him, but he’s doing an exaggerated pout, and somehow it doesn’t even look all that funny on him.

Jonathan does want to kiss him now, actually.

“I don’t know, Nance, Steve might have a point.”

“Not you too!”

“But it’s fun, Nancy! Don’t you like kissing us?” Steve must poke her side from the way she jumps.

“That’s not the point! We have things we need to be doing, and talking about, and two little brothers just outside in the living room!”

“Your brother being in the house has never stopped you before, Nance, don’t pull that card. Holly being in the house hasn’t stopped you, at least Mike knocks thirty percent of the time.”

“Will knows how to knock, and you really think he’d let Mike come in without knocking?” Jonathan says, just to get a rise out of her. It works.

“If you don’t want to kiss, that’s okay.” Steve tells her, leaning a little more into Jonathan’s side. “Jonny and I can entertain ourselves.”

Nancy buries her face in her hands and mumbles something. Steve laughs, close enough now that Jonathan can feel his breath on his face. It’s just a light kiss, at first, but when Jonathan pushes a little harder, Steve follows his lead.

When he needs to breathe, he pulls back just a little; he can’t even really see much of Steve’s face.

“What was that, Nance?” He knows he sounds just a little breathless; it’s what he was going for.

“You’re going to kill me!” She says, looking up at the end of her sentence, right in time to see them kiss again.

Jonathan feels the bed shift as she moves, but he’s more focused on pressing Steve down into the pillows, carefully settling his weight over Steve’s hips.

They’ve just gotten comfortable with it—he doesn’t think he and Steve have actually kissed quite like this before—when Nancy steals a pillow and whacks him with it.

“I thought you wanted to do homework?” He asks, a tad too innocently. “What’s with the pillow, babe?”

“It’s my turn.” She’s got her arms crossed again, but’s a little looser than it was earlier.

“With who?”

“I don’t know! Both of you! Move, Jonathan.”

“If you don’t know, why does he have to move?” Steve gets hit this time. Jonathan would kiss him again, but Steve’s laughing too hard for it to work.

“Mom’s home! She says it’s time to eat!” Will calls through the door, and Nancy huffs.

“Do you think she’ll let us eat in here?”

“No, not when Steve and I look like this.” Jonathan says, and Nancy’s eyebrows draw in as she gives them both a once-over. Steve’s hair is more of a mess than usual; he hasn’t been styling it lately, but it’s noticeable, and Jonathan’s sure his is too.

“My turn, then. I mean it.” She kisses him first, and he lets her take the lead.

Before they’d started dating Steve, Jonathan had never gotten her wound up like this on purpose. Probably couldn’t, not in the same way, at least. But god is it fun.

She doesn’t shove him off of Steve, just lays down so she can grab his face and turn it towards her.

It’s probably a good thing that his mom knocks when she does.

“Don’t make me open this door, I know you heard Will. You’ve got five minutes.” She says sternly, but underneath it she’s laughing a little.

Maybe they can get her to tell a story about her teenage years tonight. Jonathan doesn’t know much about what she was like at his age.

“Coming, Joyce.” Nancy pulls away to answer. “Fix yourselves up, boys.” She says it like she’s not red in the face either, her lips a little swollen.

“Oh, shut up.” Jonathan tells her, if only because he can’t think of anything else to say.

Jonathan climbs off of Steve, and he sits up a little too quickly if his wince is anything to go by.

“You good? Do you want your crutches?” Steve’s hardly been using them, even if he’s still supposed to. “Nah, I’m fine. Hey, how much footsie do you think we can get away with under the table?”

“Don’t even start, Steve.” Nancy warns.

“Well, yeah, we’re not at the table yet.”

“Steve. Jonathan, control our boyfriend.”

“I dunno, it sounds fun to me. Mom won’t care. Unless we kick her.”

“I am going to sit far away from you. I’ll sit next to Mike.” Nancy threatens, but Mike would probably kick her if she did that and she knows it.

“No, you won’t.” Given that she beats them to the table, she easily could have, but instead there’s a spot for Steve across from her and a spot for Jonathan next to her.

Will makes a face at him behind Mike’s back, and Mom gives him a look, but other than that, no one says anything.

The air around the kitchen table feels lighter than it has in a long time.

It almost feels like it did during the kids’ sleepovers, before the Upside Down stuff started.

Jonathan doesn’t know much about psychology, but something about it feels a little like healing.

<;- 19 21 ->

5 notes · View notes

observeowl · 9 months

Text

Her Assistant | Chapter 11 - Road to Healing

Summary: After losing her family, Natasha Romanoff builds her company from the ground up. During the rise of her company, she decided she needed an assistant, one that works in her office and her house. That's when she saw your resume. After working five years for her, how was it like working for her? Or more importantly, how things progress?

Series Masterlist

Natasha POVSoon, the night arrived. However, Y/N and I were not going to sleep. After the traumatising event that happened, we were going to plan for our next course of actions. Clearly Fury was right that something was going on here.

Thankfully, Wanda Maximoff prepared for us a place to sleep and instead of driving us away. The distaste of outsiders coming into their village was made very apparent especially after the arrival of the mad woman. Y/N roughly translated everything and summarised it for me when we finally had some time to breathe. Y/N made the coffee straight black since it was going to be a long night.

"To think there would actually be victims of werewolves... It's slightly different from your reports-" Before I could finish my sentence, Y/N shoved a piece of bread in my mouth. I was about to be mad about her action but she placed a finger on her mouth before moving quietly to the door.

In one swift movement, she opened the door and Wanda fell into our room with a thud.

"Well well Miss Maximoff, all here by yourself without your brother?" She asked as she helped her stand up.

"I- I just came to see if you all are well settled."

"However, I can't admire a lady that would stand outside the door - eavesdropping. Can I ask your business?" If anyone can get information from a person, it's her. Y/N knows how to push their buttons and get them to confess.

"Business? You're the one who have business with me don't you?"

I froze for a second before gaining back my composure. "What?"

"I am a witch... I can see through your thoughts completely. I had a premonition as soon as you entered the village - that tonight I would have to destroy the key to the secret chamber I have protected for 11 years."

Is she talking the truth or is she trying to make us place our cards on the table first? I can't get a read on her for some reason.

"Why is Mr Maximoff not with you at the moment?" Y/N moved the topic to somewhere else.

"Pietro? He's more like a guard dog. He's my brother but he feels more like a stranger sometimes."

"Speaking of guard dog, everyone in the village seems to be very scared of these Great Werewolves. What are they?"

I saw her facial expression turn down for a second and normally I wouldn't like to push but I have a feeling that this is important to clear this mission.

"It was said that witches drive away misfortune with spells and save people with herbs. That's the original purpose of a witch. However, with the times they were declared heretics and had to run for their lives into this forest to escape their persecutors. Then, one witch offered her own legs to protect her companions, and formed a contract with the werewolves. She was said to be the Red Witch."

Wanda gave us a rough history of her predecessor's story. "So, why did the werewolves attack the villagers? Isn't that against their contract?" I asked.

"It's been hundreds of years since the Red Witch made her contract. It might be that the witch's blood thinned out too much." She reasoned. This means, no one else had sacrificed their legs since.

"So then... this village isn't protected by the werewolves, but instead imprisoned by them, right?" Y/N asked.

"... That might be true." She softened.

"Since I was born, I haven't left this village. And I don't think I ever will. You will go back outside tomorrow right? So, I want you to tell me of the world outside that I don't know of!" Her eyes lit up and she spoke with such enthusiasm.

"Her will is absolute in this village. Wouldn't it be best to be nice to her, for the investigation as well?" Y/N whispered in my ears as Wanda watched.

"Ahhh sheesh. Fine!"

I didn't want to have too many people around for the mission but being in this hierarchical village, it was better to have the Head of the Residence to be on your side.

"Ah! That's right. I'll give you these." She handed me three amulets that were the size of a compact powder hanging at the end of the lanyard. I guess she's giving one to Bucky as well. So these were what the women were wearing around their neck.

"They are amulets against the werewolves. You should wear them when you head back."

"Thanks."

We proceeded to teach her things in the outside world because she persisted. She was very interested in how the car works but I had very limited knowledge about it. I can tell that she and Tony would have a great time inventing new things. I had to move on to something easier such as cards that I do without thinking much.

"Wanda! You should have been to bed by now!" Pietro came into the room as we were trying to teach her the simplest of games - tic tac toe.

"But Piet, I am having so much fun here..." She whined.

"I don't care, you need your sleep." He proceeded to carry her out of the room against her will.

"You don't get to order me around! You are only 12 minutes older than me!" She screamed as she was being carried out on his shoulders.

"Forget everything you heard for her. Once dawn breaks you will leave. Understood?" He looked at us both right in the eyes sternly.

Once the siblings left, I collapsed on the bed when the fatigue finally caught up with me. Her interest in everything was the highest I ever saw. Questions kept flooding in and thankfully, Y/N was there to translate everything. But I realised that we could talk pretty well with just single words. She was a lot easier to understand compared to the guy we bought the wagon from.

Your POV We went to explore the forest after making sure no one was following us. The forest was dense with fog and it was hard to see even a few meters out. It was very quiet and I'm not sensing any movement.

I turned to make sure Miss Romanoff was close by as it would be really hard to find each other in this thick fog. "Miss Romanoff, st-"

Tears were coming out of her eyes as if she didn't realise it until I looked at her.

"What is this?!" She tried rubbing her eyes to stop the flow but it wasn't working. "I don't get it! It just keeps coming!"

"Don't rub it in" I had to hold her arms to prevent her from touching her eyes and making it worse.

Suddenly there was a howl and a shadow of a werewolf appeared. Just as fast as he showed himself, he ran away amongst the trees.

"Hurry up! Let's go after him Y/N!" Forgotten about her tears, she began running towards his direction.

"Wait!" I got a hold of her wrist. "Something is wrong in this forest! I have a bad feeling about this. I will go after the werewolf. Please go back to your room, Miss Romanoff." I said with huge urgency. We know nothing about the forest and proceeding forward only means danger we don't expect.

Reluctantly, she agreed and I brought her back to her room before making a move again. As I ran to the forest, I've never felt such a bad foreboding before with all the missions I've been on with Miss Romanoff.

I felt my cheeks getting wet and I realised that the same thing was happening to me like Miss Romanoff. I'm not even feeling such emotions to shed such tears.

Suddenly I started coughing out blood and as I inspected it in my palm, I noticed my hand getting disfigured and so was the rest of my body. Bumps were appearing everywhere and my face was swollen.

I immediately ran back to Miss Romanoff's room when I thought of her.

"MISS ROMANOFF!"

She turned to look at me and it was as if her face had blisters underneath her skin almost ready to pop. Her hand was filled with blood dripping out from her nose and I expected myself to look the same as her.

Bucky came in at my shouting and looked at the both of us in horror. "What happened to the both of you?"

Before I could reply, I started coughing vigorously as if my body was on fire. I couldn't get a chance to breathe and I passed out.

Bucky POVY/N collapsed to the ground and I knew it was a matter of time before Miss Romanoff did too. I picked up Y/N and told Miss Romanoff to follow after me as I banged on the door of Miss Maximoff's.

"Miss Maximoff! Please help us, Miss Maximoff!"

Her eyes were half open when she opened the door. "Hmm? What is it? Banging on my door at this time?" Once she was awake enough and registered that I was holding an unconscious body in my arms, she gasped. "That skin! You went into the forest didn't you?"

"Sorry, we'll take whatever punishment later, please save Y/N somehow." Miss Romanoff said beside me and I could tell she was getting weaker by the second as she was clinging onto my clothes.

"What did she say?" Miss Maximoff rushed as she knocked on another door on the way somewhere.

"She said she'll take the punishment later and to save Y/N." I repeated what Miss Romanoff said. Pietro rushed out of the room and saw the crowd in front of him

"You!"

"Piet! Prepare to detox them! Get everything we need." She ordered her brother as she began taking our mysterious liquids. "When did you go into the forest?" She asked. I have no idea so I asked Miss Romanoff while she still had a bit of consciousness.

"Fifteen minutes ago." I told her after getting an answer.

"Take off their clothes!" I was surprised at her orders but I went along with it.

"I'm sorry Y/N, don't hate me please." I mumbled under my breath as I took off her clothes one by one. Miss Maximoff was done with Miss Romanoff's but Y/N was wearing a lot more layers and I had a hard time unbuttoning her clothes in a panic.

"Keep their heads under water! Don't let them come up until I say so."

It was a lot easier to deal with Y/N since she was already unconscious, however Miss Romanoff was struggling to stay underwater for that long and kept trying to resurface. Pietro had to hold her down and I can see the bubbles rising.

"They can come up now!" Pietro pulled Miss Romanoff up and she finally was able to breathe in air. "Make them swallow this and spit it out!" She gave me a funnel and a jug.

"Forgive me Y/N." I shoved it in her mouth and poured the liquid in before forcing her to puke it all out again. I kept doing it until Miss Maximoff told us it was okay to stop.

Finally, Miss Maximoff said everything was fine and it was up to Y/N to heal up. Miss Romanoff was alright apart from the scratchiness in her voice due to the forcing down of liquid down her throat and bruising like things on her face that had faded compared to the first time I saw her.

I brought Y/N back to her room to rest and Miss Romanoff dressed her as I waited outside.

Natasha POVFinally everyone was settled and we were allowed back to our rooms. Y/N and I took Bucky's room since it has two single beds for him and Y/N. Currently, Bucky and I are waiting for her to wake up.

Suddenly, I saw Y/N struggling in her sleep and I jumped out of bed to wake her up. She kept squirming in her sleep before eventually waking up screaming.

"Oh thank god, I was worried for a moment." Bucky said. "I think I lost a few years seeing you pass out."

"Y/N? What's wrong?" I asked when I saw she wasn't responding. She kept making small noises as if she wasn't aware of her surroundings.

"NOo... Noo.. I don't want the pain anymore!" She clung onto me and waved off an imaginary person. "It's dark... Where am I? I'm scared..." She gripped onto me tighter.

"What's wrong? It's not dark at all." Bucky said. I shook my head at him and told him to tell Miss Maximoff about the issue.

"Someone turn on the lights..." She whimpered

After Bucky left, I lay Y/N down after calming her. I've never seen her so distraught even after the most gruesome bloodbath I saw her in due to our missions. It's as if she went back a couple years and being a teenager again with how soft her voice was. Perhaps it's due to the three years in her life that I cannot find anything on.

"You'll be okay." I stroked her head.

"Stay please..." She begged.

"Okay..." I sighed. With the way you're gripping onto my arm, I don't think I'll be able to leave either way.

Bucky POVI proceeded to tell Miss Maximoff that Y/N had woken up and something had affected her eyes. Not only that, she seemed to have some trauma that she couldn't get out of. It was as if time had rewound for her.

"I can only tell after seeing her."

"I think it's better to proceed slowly. I'm not sure if she gets scared when someone approaches her."

"I'll see what I can do."

When I returned to see Y/N. Miss Romanoff and her were cuddling in bed asleep. I figured I'd use the spare bed since I'm not very comfortable in the huge room Miss Romanoff was in earlier.

I was passing time until I heard Miss Romanoff calling out for me.

"What did Miss Maximoff say?"

"She said she'll come in and check on Y/N later if she's up for visitors."

She nodded before her head perked up again. I looked at her and waited as she asked her question. "You understand German?"

"I was sent to a base in Germany during my years in the army for training. Had to learn a bit then if you don't want to be picked upon." I explained. Miss Romanoff nodded in understanding.

Since we were asking each other questions, I figured there's no better time than now to ask. Otherwise, it would be awkward with each other awake and doing nothing. "Do you know why Y/N is acting like this? She's been following you for five years right?"

"I have no idea... I've never seen her like this ever." I watched as Miss Romanoff ran her hand up and down Y/N's back as she didn't dare to let Miss Romanoff go even in her sleep.

A knock sounded on the door and I went to open it seeing the sibling here. "Is she awake?" Miss Maximoff asked quietly. I shook my head but let them in regardless.

"Do you mind if I check in on her?" She asked.

"Yes, sure, go ahead."

"Miss Maximoff, you're speaking English!" I realised when she was addressing Miss Romanoff.

"I have a few books in English but I never saw the need to read them. Figured I could start now. Also, everyone can call me Wanda. I have enough people around the village calling me Miss Maximoff." She said as she took out her first aid box to change her bandage.

Miss Romanoff gently shook Y/N awake and told her that Wanda was here to change her bandage.

"Will it hurt?" Y/N asked while hiding behind Miss Romanoff's shoulder.

"It will hurt more if I don't."

Y/N thought about it for a few seconds before appearing full body in front of Wanda. "I'll have to touch you." She warned first before slowly removing her bandage and wrapping a new one around her head. "You're healing quite fast!"

As Wanda was checking though Y/N, Pietro called Miss Romanoff over and I took her place next to Y/N.

Miss Romanoff and Y/N were the ones who saved me from the terrible place they call the army camp. The Commanders and Generals there were corrupted, using us as test subjects for unknown reasons. It was speculated that they wanted to create a super soldier so they themselves don't have to step foot in war.

I was the last subject standing and had managed to escape before I saw the both of them standing at the door. Y/N stepped forward before Miss Romanoff told her to wait. My name was James Buchanan Barnes then.

"THAT'S WHY I TOLD YOU NOT TO GO INTO THE FOREST!" Pietro raised his voice and slammed his fist on the table.

"I told you time and time again so why did you go?"

"THE WEREWOLVES DON'T RANDOMLY WANT TO HURT PEOPLE! Why can't you understand that?" He pulled Miss Romanoff's collar and before I was able to react, she raised her hand for me to stop.

"Pietro! Stop it!"

"I'm sorry. Please save Y/N, for that, I'm willing to do anything you wish."

"Is that so?" Wanda stood up. "In that case, until Y/N is healed, you'll be my assistant."

"Wanda! You can't! We don't even know her." Pietro said.

"It's my decision to make."

As we were focusing on Pietro and Miss Romanoff, I failed to notice that Y/N was getting agitated from all the shouting and had hid herself under the covers.

Third POV"Y/N..." Bucky tried coaxing Y/N to get out of the covers but it wasn't working.

"No no, don't choose me. I'm sorry." Her trembling figure underneath the cover made everyone stop moving.

"You take care of her from now on." Miss Romanoff said before leaving with the siblings.

"It'll be fine Y/N. If scary things come, I'll get rid of all of them." Bucky tried to urge. "I'll protect you. That's what I told myself when you and Miss Romanoff gave me my new name."

"I'm not worth protecting." She cried underneath the covers.

"Don't say that! You named me Bucky. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you and Miss Romanoff. I'm sure she will find a way to cure you." Y/N continued crying until she fell asleep again.

Meanwhile, Natasha was helping Pietro in the kitchen to prepare lunch. She was introduced to Hilde, Grete and Anne who were in the kitchen as well.

"I'll be bothering you for a while. If you're in need of a hand, please do tell me." While Natasha may be the CEO of a company, she knows her way around the kitchen. She also knows that she's wealthy enough to hire someone to do all these things for her which was why she hired Y/N.

She has a very particular taste which was why it took very long before Y/N was able to get a lock on her taste.

"We're out of white wine for cooking." Natasha noted while cooking. She was following their recipe since they were the ones staying at their mansion. It's not nice to change someone's recipe without asking.

"The wine cellar is down the stairs, all the way back on the right." Pietro said while weighing out the ingredients he needed.

"Understood."

She went down the mansion but she didn't turn right. Instead, she took a left and found herself on a dead end. Knocking around, she managed to find a spot where the sound was reverberating, indicating a large space behind it. She began feeling around before coming across a protruding brick. Pushing it in, the wall split in half, revealing a staircase that led further underground.

"Hey, just what do you think you're doing?" Pietro's sound came from behind her back. "I said the cellar was done to the right."

"I'm sorry, it's just the mansion is so huge. I wonder what could be down there."

"The next time I see you here, you're done for."

"Certainly."

After successfully finishing lunch, Miss Romanoff brought some up from Y/N and Bucky.

"There's still much more!"

"I'm full..."

"But you only ate one sandwich..."

Bucky felt someone staring at him and turned back to look. A werewolf burst through the window and came face to face with him. Natasha also jumped into action and pulled Y/N further away from danger.

However, she wasn't quick enough and Bucky had to jump in between them which resulted in him getting clawed on his back. He swiftly turned on his heel and kicked the werewolf in his chest. It hardly did anything to him before he was able to return another strike, the commotion from the hallway scared him away.

"What is it?" Wanda said as she came into the room.

"The werewolf came. He left via the window."

"He attacked?!"

"No no more... I want to go home..." Y/N scrambled closer to Natasha and hid her face between her shoulders and neck.

"It's okay, it's okay." Natasha tried her best to calm her down the best she could while Wanda and Pietro were busy speaking amongst themselves. Pietro went to get some bandages for Bucky before leaving with her sister.

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

After doing a ritual for the werewolves to appease their anger, Wanda went to the townhall at the request of her villagers. They were getting worried and angry that the outsiders had caused that much chaos and were urging their Head to chase them out immediately.

Wanda had wanted to learn more about the outside world but in these circumstances, it's not going to be possible.

"WHY ARE YOU HESITATING RED WITCH?" The crazy lady came again. "Are you fine with the villagers dying because of those outsiders?!"

"Of course not Harkness!"

"Instead of being obsessed with the outside world, you should hurry up and find the ultimate magic. Then the werewolf's anger will surely subside."

Wanda clenched her fist and made a tough decision. "Tomorrow, I will make sure those people will leave the village."

Finally the villagers were happy and cheered slightly that they were going to have peace again.

"Pietro, you haven't forgotten your duty have you?" Hilde talked to Pietro.

"Of course, I am Red Witch's assistant."

"As long as you know, we shall leave it to you to send off that lot."

While Y/N was sleeping again - the only place where she can relax for a second. Pietro came in to tell them that they were asked to leave tomorrow morning and left without waiting for their reply.

Knowing that there was only a few hours left before they had to leave, Natasha did a final check around to see if she could find anything useful in completing this mission. A hand being placed on her shoulder caused her to grip the person's wrist harshly and was prepared to swing them to the floor until she realised it was Maria Hill herself, Fury's second-in-command.

"How did you come here?" She asked.

"Pay no attention to it, where's Y/L/N?" Maria asked, knowing it was usually Y/N who does the footwork.

"She's not feeling well at the moment. So I'm doing the work myself."

"Fury asked me to pass this to you. He said it was urgent."

"Got it. Be careful on your way out."

"Thank you. Tell Y/L/N to take care too."

---

"Wanda, it's nearly dinner time." Pietro came to bring her sister to the dining room.

"Piet, I really can't see them off tomorrow?" Even though Wanda was The Head, she still has limited movement around the area. Pietro hardly ever leaves far from her.

"No you can't, it's dangerous in the forest. If anything happens to you, we-"

"I KNOW! I know but... only for a minute, I really want to see the outside world." Pietro was taken back by the tears that were on the brink of her sister's eye. He wanted nothing more than to keep her safe. "I want to know more about the world they live in, Piet."

"You can't." He harshly rejected her request. This shocked Wanda as he has never spoken to her like this before. "Even if it's you asking. I can't let you. We were wrong to let them in afterall."

"I'm sorry..." He went to hug his sister.

"Piet?"

"I'm sorry Wanda... I am... I am..."

"Piet, don't cry. I'm sorry. I'm not going anywhere. I will complete the ultimate magic and protect all of you."

Second POVAfter reading the message from Fury, she walked into the room and told Bucky to get out. He followed his order and went out not sensing anything amiss.

"As you know, we'll be thrown out of the mansion tomorrow morning. Brooding over your fears and regrets, curled up in your blanket is not what you should be doing right now. Come, get out of bed." Natasha said sternly. Her previous kind demeanor had totally vanished as if she had changed person.

"No..."

"No? Abandoning your post midway is against the contract." She wrapped her hands around your neck and started choking you. "What an utterly boring end. I feel sorry for all the people that became a victim to your boring existence."

Not getting any oxygen to your lungs, you tried pulling her hands from your throat. "Noo..." You were getting weak from the lack of oxygen your body was begging to receive. You started thinking about the people you were with in that school. One by one, they started disappearing in front of you.

"NOOO, Miss Romanoff, let me go right now!"

Natasha let go of your neck and smirked that she finally got you back. "Slacking on your job? You even made me take care of you. Expect more work when we get back."

"Sorry, Miss Romanoff."

She walked away and opened the door causing Bucky to fall in. "Eavesdropping? What kind of employee have I been recruiting?"

"Ahh no... I heard a loud bang other than that I really couldn't hear anything. The door is too thick..." Bucky tried to defend himself.

"Either way, come in."

Miss Romanoff was about to speak but you cut her off. "Please forget about how I was up till just now!"

You knocked the air out of everyone with your words. "Y/N, that's going to be quite hard." Bucky laughed and patted your shoulder.

"That means you have memories up till earlier?" Miss Romanoff asked.

"Yes... I'd like to get rid of them all. I didn't do those because I wanted to. I feared even the littlest of things and completely lost my self control. I can't really put it into words though."

"That happens a lot on the battlefield doesn't it." Bucky said. "Even a well trained soldier will panic when they get badly wounded unexpectedly. It happens a lot. So I think it's only normal that you get like that."

"It's true, when you fell to the curse, the appearance had quite an impact. I wonder if they were aiming for a psychological attack too." Miss Romanoff commented.

"Aim?"

She handed you the letter that she received from Fury. It has a few letters that look like code. After figuring out what it was you looked at Miss Romanoff and she shrugged her shoulders.

"It was unexpected but he added another letter."

I want to meet that Red Witch.

"He really likes to bring things a tad too far." You sighed after reading.

"Either way, prepare to leave. Further instructions will come later." Miss Romanoff instructed and she left with Bucky for me to change.

By night time when everyone was supposed to sleep, you and Miss Romanoff went to knock on Wanda's door.

"Good evening Wanda." You greeted when she opened the door.

"Y/L/N! You're back to normal!"

"Yes, we are. We wanted to thank you before we left." You said.

"We have prepared the thing you want most." Miss Romanoff said.

"What I want most... you say..." Wanda repeated under her breath.

"The outside world." Miss Romanoff revealed.

"The outside world?"

"Yes, you can gain experience that you would never be able to if you stay here. How about it?" You encouraged further, trying to show the positives.

"But.. I'm the Red Witch... the village laws."

"I see... it can't be helped then, I'm sorry to say strange things like that." Miss Romanoff apologised and walked towards the door. "We'll be gone by the morning, just like a dream."

"Ah..." Wanda was reluctant to let them leave. She had a really nice time with Y/N and Miss Romanoff, learning all the new things and foods.

"Thank you... friend. Goodbye." Miss Romanoff turned her head once last time before leaving.

"I- I'll come! I... I want to know many more things." Wanda reached out and held onto Miss Romanoff's clothes. Tears were coming out of her eyes at this newfound opportunity.

Miss Romanoff and you stretched out your hands for her to take. "Very well, we will escort you to an unknown world."

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha x you #my writing #Her Assistant #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff fanfiction

14 notes · View notes

steddieasitgoes · 2 years

Photo

Can’t Fight This Feeling Anymore | Written By steddieasitgoes | ao3 link

“Well, don’t I have the prettiest graduation escort in all the land,” Eddie teases, laying on the dramatics thickly. He leans over the center counsel and childishly puckers his lips. For a brief, terrifying yet exhilarating moment Steve thinks Eddie is going to kiss him. But then he watches as Eddie’s lips touch his own hand in a slobbery kiss before he slaps Steve’s cheek with it. Pairing the action with an obnoxious “mwah” before moving back into his seat laughing.

It’s not romantic in the slightest, and yet Steve feels tidal waves erupt in his stomach. He knows Eddie Munson’s lips didn’t actually touch his cheek but from the way the heat is pooling in his gut, they very much might have. Steve thinks… well he doesn’t know what to think. Instead of confronting whatever feelings he's feeling, Steve chooses to shake his head instead. He takes his right hand off the steering wheel and wipes the back of it across his cheek. Ridding the spot of Eddie’s saliva.

“Nice to see you too,” Steve manages to say, before throwing the car into reverse, backing away from the trailer. He chances a side glance at Eddie whose fumbling with the radio in Steve’s BMW. At least he knows the guy beside him isn’t spiraling like he is. “Didn’t know you could clean up so nice, Munson.”

“Couldn’t have my escort outshining me at my own graduation,” Eddie quips, playing into the game Steve’s set up.

Vecna is dead. Or so Steve thinks until Dustin is screaming "Code Red" through a radio. Steve runs out of the house with conditioner still in his hair to save the day only to learn the "code red" is that Eddie Munson is being a little shit and doesn't want to go to his graduation ceremony tomorrow. Steve's going to kill them both.

71K Words | 11/11 Chapters | Mature

Bonus Chapters Coming Soon

#steddie #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #steddie moodboard #steve harrington/eddie munson #fluff #angst #humor #mine #ITS SO HARD MAKING MOODBOARDS FOR THESE TWO

147 notes · View notes

disorganizedkitten · 1 month

Text

This Is The Road To Ruin Chapter 2

Harry Potter | 2022 | 3,862 | Ao3 | Prev | Masterlist | Next

4/11/87

I had a nightmare last night. It was another one about the stone room and the people in masks. I wish I knew what it meant. I wish I understood how my Sight works.

I think the dream has to do with why I’m here, in the muggle world, instead of home, but I still don’t understand it. If I hadn’t met Tansy, I think I would have assumed that my memories of home were imaginary - they fit into fiction ever so well. But Tansy is real, and she has magic, which means my childhood was too.

I just wish I understood it. I wish I remembered what caused the change. Hopefully I will one day.

Hopefully it wasn’t as bad as the nightmares make it seem.

‘

Clemencia is off at a placement, officially, but she came to Aletris’ today Freaking Out. It’s… a lot.

Tansy, Hawthorne, Hana, and Clem all have magic. I’ve mentioned this before, because we’ve had to grow around it. I remember growing up around magic, so I knew that we weren’t… as isolated as it seems, I guess, but I didn’t expect this to be our way in. Back.

Clemencia got accepted to a Magical Secondary School. It’s called Hogwarts - they won’t tell us where it is, but the teacher who came to deliver her letter took her on a tour of what sounds like a magical mall. She’s going to take us there tomorrow; she chose to accept the acceptance/invite.

I’m going to talk to Mrs. Calmiris tonight. Apparently, school starts at eleven, and I remember her asking me about letters around my eleventh birthday. The next year I got Hawthorne. She’s always been very calm about our magic; if she’s like me, or like Clem, I want to know. I know she’s not like Tansy, though.

Speaking of Tansy-

***

Justin hadn’t meant to go school shopping during the apparent pre-school rush. He’d been hoping to beat it, actually, but his summer had taken a sort of nosedive when he got his letter. Not intentionally! It had just been… derailed. They’d had everything scheduled already, from ordering his textbooks to his uniform fitting. All under the impression that Justin would be attending Eton, come fall.

Which was not going to happen.

Instead, a week before his birthday, they’d had a guest over who informed him he’d have to spend the next seven years at a Magic School unless he wanted to become a human bomb.

Which, obviously, he didn’t.

The professor has offered to escort them while shopping, but Justin had been having a slight breakdown at the time, so his mother had gotten directions and gently shooed the professor out. Which lead to now, three months later, exploring the Wizarding World by way of Diagon Alley, in London.

Justin was sure it was going to be super cool, as soon as he could stop hating it for tearing apart his life. If he’d had more warning the change might not have been so jarring.

He had hoped that coming to Diagon Alley would show him something cool, something to make it seem less horrid, but they’d entered through a dingy tavern that gave his parents headaches, had to get help entering the alley and were given condescending looks when they asked, and the they were greeted with less of an alley and more of a mosh pit. A magical mosh pit. Lovely.

Justin knew he was being unfair, but he didn’t particularly care. He had to go to a school where he’d have none of his friends, because of something he had no control over. He was allowed to be bitter.

Professor McGonagall had also failed to inform them that they’d be using an entirely different currency; luckily Dad had noticed while they were in the tavern and before they were actually trying to buy something.

That would be embarrassing. So very embarrassing.

Of course, then they had to hope that the bank, once they found it, offered exchange services. Thankfully, the bank was huge, visible when they entered the Alley (through a brick wall that vanished when it was tapped, which was actually pretty cool, Justin had always wanted a secret room in his closet) and bright white, so it was easy to find. Getting to the bank was another matter, as the alley was crowded, with an air of anticipation, as though they were all waiting for something big to happen. It, alongside the constant thrum of noise, put Justin on edge.

They tried, rather unsuccessfully, to make their way through the masses, until they noticed the crowd shying away from a pair of young adults - who were also heading towards the bank. Justin grabbed his mom’s hand and followed them.

The man called out once they had a direct line of sight, and got an enthusiastic wave back from someone much closer to the bank. The couple seemed to be hunting for friends or children in one of the few places that wasn’t packed beyond belief.

It wasn’t until they reached the open space that he realized there were two yards of white marble steps, on which the rest of the couple’s group seemed to be waiting. And they were the only ones - everyone else seemed to go up and down the steps as fast as they could, or stay off them altogether, as though unwilling to infringe upon bank territory.

The Finch-Fletchleys watched as their unknowing guides met up with a group of younger teenagers and one he couldn’t tell if was an adult or a child. The shortest one’s features changed as he watched, and Justin felt a giddy bit of awe bubble in his chest before his parents herded him the rest of the way into the bank.

Shapeshifting!

The only superpower Justin had wished more for as a child was invisibility. If he could learn to do that, this whole charade would be worth it.

The creatures that ran the bank were a little scary, less so inside than the guards outside were, but his dad treated them just like he would the bankers at home, and the conversion was quick and painless, minus the part where they had to calculate everything in seventeens and twenty-nines, instead of tens and hundreds.

Still, it was easy to move on, until they realized they had no clue where to go for anything. Maybe they should’ve tried to reschedule with Professor McGonagall, or at least asked for a map.

So this wasn’t their best planned trip. It was fine. His mother had immigrated (illegally, not that it was common knowledge) and had to learn Britain and London from the ground up; thus they could too. At least it didn’t look like he’d have to learn a whole new language.

“Perhaps the bookshop?” Justin’s dad offered hesitantly. Flourish and Blotts sounded like a stationery store, but the display was full of books, so that’s where they went.

Thankfully, the bookshop seemed to be more organized and less busy. It also smelled like books, which was a welcome change from the sunlight-and-burnt-sparkplugs of the rest of the alley.

They split up, giving Dad the list to find the required books while Mum and Justin went on the hunt for anything that looked acclimation-y. Cookbooks, history, Mum even grabbed two fiction novels, and they continued on in that manner for a little while. Justin grabbed all three of the etiquette books he found and promptly plopped down to skim them.

He didn’t want to accidentally insult someone’s family line, or ask them to marry him, or call them names. He refused to be engaged before he was sixteen, at the earliest.

“Muggleborn?”

Justin jumped, looking up. There was a translucent person looking over his shoulder. “Um. Yes?”

“Well, I’m glad to see you willing to learn. Have you tried Modesty and Magic, by Harold Sheppner yet?”

Justin shook his head mutely. The… ghost? Astral projection? nodded. “You should, if you get a chance. It was my grandson’s final project for his History of Magic mastery, and while a lot of that’s gone out of style, knowing it can earn you points with some of them prissy purebloods.”

“Yes, sir,” Justin said slowly, pretending he knew what half those words meant. He took note of the title, though, because it did sound useful. “Would I find that here?”

“Yeah, sonny,” the man grinned. “It’s got a gold spine, in the S section. Want me to show you?”

“Yes please.” Justin stood up, closing his current book around a finger. “What’s your name?”

“Geronimo Harvester,” he said with sly grin. “Halfblood, if you were wondering.”

Justin was not, but he’d take note of it anyway.

Harvester turned out to be a great guide; Justin’s earlier guess was right, he was a ghost, and he’d been haunting Flourish and Blotts for around seventy years. He helped customers find their books when they weren’t being rowdy, but he was a bit of an open secret in the shop.

“Necromancy is one of those magics people ain’t that fond of,” Harvester explained, pulling out a book on The Legality Of Tabooed Magics Throughout The 19th and 20th Centuries. “Not that I’m too much necromanced, but we ghosts ain’t supposed to be able to touch stuff. Can’t say I remember the whole reason, but people who die steeped in Dark Magicks tend to have a stronger presence if we stick around. ‘s why they don’t use the Death Penalty in the Magical World.”

That was… slightly horrifying but good to know.

***

Leonie had read through nearly an entire cookbook when she realized she’d lost Justin. He hadn’t wandered too far, and since the crowds outside had stayed outside, he was easy to find. Once she found him and they finalized their haul, they set out to find Caleb

He was at the checkout desk, conveniently finishing at the same time. She leaned forward to kiss her husband and hand him their plethora of extra books.

He hummed into it. “All done?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed. “I do love these baskets.” They had to be enchanted somehow, with how many books she and Justin found, but once the books were inside it didn’t seem like they weighed much more than a single textbook, which, while a lot, wasn’t nearly as much as twenty should weigh. Her shoulders heartily appreciated the lack of strain.

Caleb hummed in agreement, brushing noses, before turning to Justin. “Find anything cool?”

“I found a book on something called blood magic, and the first three chapters look like an overview of various legal, illegal, and once-legal magics and why they’re considered such. It’s partnered with a book detailing the topic for the past two hundred years. It sounds interesting!”

He sounded happy. Leonie smiled proudly at him, some of the guilt from this summer dissipating. She hadn’t helped him accept his fate as a wizard, griping about how many things had to change, and how she’d have to lie to her cousins, and every other thing she could, until their older son came and asked what they’d done to convince Justin he was cursed and should’ve drowned that time at Lake Windermere.

It was a horrifying conversation.

She’d been very careful to be as positive as she could be since, even though many of the obvious enchantments sent her head spinning and the people were rude and it had become very obvious humans were not the only human-adjacent species out there.

That last one was not as much of a surprise, but she would admit she’d mostly blocked out those memories as a child’s overactive imagination and underdeveloped brain.

After the bookshop they went to clothes, which was… a thing. Leonie’s fashion sense consisted of ‘is the texture okay’ and ‘does my daughter laugh at me’, so she was definitely no use there, but it looked halfway similar to their own with flowing regenmantels (robes, probably, but why fix what isn’t broke) thrown over the top, or occasionally worn alone, as she would a dress.

They also seemed to do a lot with embroidery and ‘runic enchantments’ on the clothes themselves, something that she found thrilling. It made them shiny!

Justin laughed at her, but it was fond and he was finally smiling, so she had no regrets.

Of course, then they managed to get dragged down a branch off, first by stepping in as it was another of those places that most of the crowd avoided, and then further when Justin saw a shop called The Cloak and Decoy and practically dashed to it, expecting… well she wasn’t sure, but he must have thought that it sounded very cool.

Leonie felt her heart slow and then speed up again as they ventured deeper into the branch off. It felt distinctly similar to when they had to visit gang controlled areas. Still, they weren’t attacked on their way in, just eyed like prey.

They probably seemed like it, so obviously unsure. Except Justin, because he was eleven and finally enjoying magic and didn’t have the experience Caleb and Leonie had to smell danger.

That was why Leonie didn’t pull him back, as much as she wanted to.

***

Justin pushed open the door to the cloak shop and nearly stepped right back out. Unlike the one they found earlier, where they purchased only what was on the list because they weren’t sure what else would be useful, this shop’s lighting was pale white, giving off a heady, psychedelic feeling of being in-between worlds.

More odd and unsettling, though, was the sudden chill, the smell of frozen metal sharper than that of fresh snowfall.

Despite that, Justin persevered.

His parents followed him in, and he split off to look around. Despite the lighting being dim enough to give him a headache, it illuminated the cloaks rather well. And boy was he glad they hadn’t gotten anything extra earlier. These cloaks were beautiful.

Some of them were made out of materials he couldn’t recognize, thick furs and silvery leather and some fabrics that looked like they were cut out of a star. Dual layers, single layers, reversible, one even could adjust the length, operating as a cloak, a caplet, or a scarf.

This was so cool! How many times had Justin wished he didn’t have to lug around a coat during winter events?

“Mom, come look at this!”

She did. They were discussing it (and the concerning note that said it could be enchanted with a command word if someone needed to be ‘eliminated’) when the door opened again, a familiar gaggle making their way inside.

“Oh, it’s you!”

“As close to in the flesh as I can be,” one of the young women said brightly. Somehow, her presence seemed to make the room’s temperature fluctuate uncomfortably.

Justin wondered if the theory behind keeping Cloak and Decoy so cold was that people would want to buy cloaks, even in the summer heat. If so, it was clever.

"Yes well," the man behind the counter said, turning to duck into the back room. "I know your cloaks haven't worn out already, why the menagerie?"

"But Gordan, we're not animals," said one of the teenagers, the one with blue tips, moving forward to drape herself dramatically over the counter. "We're flowers."

"Of course," he called back indulgently. He was humoring them. "Why bring the greenhouse, then?"

The older half of the group laughed.

"Do you remember last year?” The blond young man asked, darkly amused.

The proprietor reemerged, a mannequin and cloak floating behind him. “I suppose we don’t want a repeat, no.” With a flick of his wrist, and likely the wand held loosely in his hand, the mannequin landed in the middle of an aisle and the cloak settled prettily on top of it.

“Alright, Florine, have at it, I think I’ve figured out the enchantments,” said Gordan.

Florine, (Justin assumed the name went to the one with the most rapport - ad who responded) hummed doubtfully, looking at the seemingly expensive fabric. “You do know it’s going to be destroyed if you’re wrong, right?”

Gordan shrugged. “And if I’m right, it proves I’m using the right materials.”

“Almost,” hummed the other woman, with dark skin, darker eyes, and a ponytail. “It’ll only last one use.”

Florine’s head snapped around so fast Justin thought he’d seen her neck vanish. “Oh really?” The slow, creeping smile that accompanied the words was the most unsettling thing they’d seen yet. Frankly, Justin didn’t hate it.

Magic came with monsters. The question was what kind of monsters they were.

Florine stepped forward, leaning as though she was going to do a flip, and then there was no woman, only an oppressive cloud of smoke. It started from her feet and pulled the rest of her body into nothingness, and whipped out at the cloak so fast mum shrieked beside him. Thankfully, it seemed to be largely drowned out in the cheers of the other kids.

A moment later, the smoke meandered back their way and turned back into a girl.

The mannequin had been reduced to dust, but there were fabric scraps left.

"Holy crap, it survived," muttered one of the younger girls.

"That's impressive," said the boy, moving to inspect it.

Justin stepped closer to the ruins, accidentally falling in line with the shapeshifter.

"Won't stand up against a second go," said Florine from behind them. "But, congratulations, Gordan."

There was a sigh. "You still obliterated the mannequin. That doesn't say good things about the wearer’s chances of survival."

"You can figure out the design once you have a working ward,” said the smoke girl, unconcerned.

“That was awesome,” Justin said, crouching to look closer at the rubble. It felt like leaning into a commercial freezer, so cold it burned. He didn’t touch. “Do they teach that at Hogwarts?”

“No,” said the boy beside him. “Florine’s self taught.”

“You can do that?” If he could be self taught, maybe he could still go to secondary school with his friends.

“It’s not advised,” said Blue Tips, dipping her fingers into the remains of the mannequin. She slid them lightly through the dust before yanking them back with a muttered swear. She pulled them up and made a face. “Ouch. If you’re eligible, everyone wants you at an actual school.” She wiped her fingers off on her pants and then stuck them in her mouth.

“Oh.” Justin’s heart sank. “Why?”

“Something about proper growth of a magical core. Florine’s exempt because hers is pretty damaged.”

“Oh.” Justin paused. He wondered what that meant, what a magical core even was, and if it was rude to call what must be a chronic illness or disability cool. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” said the shapeshifter, standing from his crouch but still leaning down. “Anyway. I’m Harry, nice to meet you.”

“Justin,” he returned, taking the chimera handshake-hand-up. “You too.”

“Justin, we’re ready to go, honey!”

He glanced at his mum, who had apparently decided to buy the size-changing cloak. Awesome. “Coming!” He turned to Harry. “See you around?”

“First year starts on September first,” Harry returned with a grin and a peace sign.

Justin’s smile widened. Maybe Hogwarts wouldn’t be so bad.

***

Caleb listened with a soft sense of foreboding as the man behind the counter of the Cloak and Decoy explained how the murder aspect of the cloak they’d just bought their son worked. He chose the code phrase option, and had it ‘keyed’ so it only activated if Justin himself said it. The last thing he wanted or needed was for Justin to accidentally strangle himself with magical tech they didn’t think through.

Caleb had considered asking Mr. Gordan to leave it off. But they didn’t know what awaited their son in his new world, they’d just seen a girl turn into some sort of shadow monster, and Caleb did not doubt in the slightest that Wizards’ very wands were more dangerous than a loaded gun in the hands of someone with a grudge. He didn’t think a switchblade would work in this instance, thus Justin got the assassin cloak.

He’d tell Justin about it when they got home. And inform him to never say “Loki would stab Merlin with excalibur for the fun of it.”

He asked about the legality and how traceable it would be if the cloak did kill someone, and finally saw a glimmer of acceptance in those muddy eyes. They’d definitely walked into the magical version of the black market. Or mafia. Lovely.

When they’d finally ushered themselves out, Justin carrying the folded cloak while Caleb took the books and Leonie held the clothing bags, it was nearly noon.

“What next?” Caleb asked.

“Drop these in the car?” Justin offered. It was a good idea, they wouldn’t be able to carry much more and anyway, lugging around this much shopping was already tiring. Caleb wondered how the wizarding folk stood it - did they levitate everything? He’d certainly seen plenty of floating objects in the main alley.

Leonie stopped at the edge, looking at the crowd that seemed to refuse to so much as brush the side alley they were in. She was still carrying their clothes purchases, in a little themed bag that didn’t seem nearly big enough. Caleb hoped it wasn’t this busy everyday - how many wixen could there be in Britain anyway?

“Aw,” said a voice that sent chills down Caleb’s back. He’d thought they’d done well enough at acting as though they belonged to keep anyone unsavory away. He shifted closer to Justin. “If you don’t want to brave the crowd of big bad wizards you could come join us for a game.”

“I’m afraid we don’t have time, as much as we appreciate the invitation,” murmured his wonderful wife, turning as well.

The old woman with galaxies behind her eye pouted. “I’m sure you could make time.” her other eye was scabbed shut, gray skin stretching over the socket in a hollow way.

“Echo, don’t be an ungracious host.”

Caleb didn’t jump at the extra voice, but it was a close thing. The smoke woman from the Cloak and Decoy walked up, unhurried, but the old woman backed away slightly. “What’s ungracious about inviting them to experience the magical world?”

Smoke didn’t say anything, just tilted her head slightly. Apparently, that was enough of a threat. ‘Echo’ backed away with a side comment about how they’re welcome at any time, should they change their minds.

“Sorry about that,” the shadow witch said, turning a much kinder smile on them. “Are you okay?”

Justin nodded, slipping between him and Leonie. “Yeah, thanks. I’m Justin Finch-Fletchley.”

“Florine Dupont,” she said, shaking the offered hand.

Justin pulled his back a little fast, just enough for Caleb to worry. Still, he and Leonie introduced themselves as well. Caleb quickly learned why Justin’s handshake was too fast - her skin felt like frozen chicken on bare skin. The intrusive thought that flesh was technically raw meat was entirely unwelcome. Still, he smiled at her. “Caleb Finch-Fletchley, it’s nice to meet you.”

#Harry Potter #Hawthorne Doe #Jaymeow Writes #Crossposting Spam #TRTR #This Is The Road To Ruin #Hyacinth Au #Saturday Updates #Florine Dupont #Jacinta Perez #Clemencia Doe #Clemencia Riddle #Hana Griffiths #Aletris Carson #Wbwl #Harry Potter fic #Justin Finch-Fletchley

3 notes · View notes