Street Racer Darling |:| Knockout X reader

An Old Friend

~(Y/N)'s POV~

     I was excited, exuberant, joyous, giddy, fragging super-cala-fragile-istic-expy-ala-docious! Adjusting Knockout's rear view mirror, I watched Dad's pick up draw up behind us in the abandoned LA parking lot (We bridged there, curtousy of Soundwave).

         "You sure you want to introduce your Sire to the Street racing drama you wound up in?" I heard him ask.

         "Well, better to tell him now than surprise him later with a shooting or something, knowing Tyson, he probably has a price on my head. Speak of the Devil, here he comes now... and with that dame... she called herself 'Lucky', right?"

         "How about you give them a good greeting?" Knockout chuckled, and I came up with an absolutely wicked idea.

         "Or we both can."

The forming of his human self was an answer enough as he smoothly made his way from the passenger seat, me from the driver's. Dad followed suit, finding a place a few paces away.

         "Well, ain't it the traitor, and the green eyed monster." I sneered, just a step in front of Knockout. 

I wasn't surprised the two got together, they have a common rivalry: me. And to be honest, the fake reporter was really working those high heels... to bad they're blue.

         "Green eyed monster?" Lucky twittered, practically clinging to a cocky Tyson, "What's that supposed to mean?"

         "Well, for those who are un-educated in proper English metaphors, that means your jealous."

         "HA! What is there to be jealous of?"

         "Not knowing how to show off your man, for instance."

    Leaning back, I swung my arm up, hooking my hand around Knockout's neck as support. I simply hung there as he caressed my other hand, his free one holding my extended side. I knew Dad was being sightly protective at this point, hearing the shuffling of his feet as he debated whether to intervene or not. I was glad he didn't, or else I wouldn't have gotten the satisfaction of the two becoming overly awkward in showing their affections, Tyson now as stiff as a board.

         "You two just don't compare." I sighed, wanting some competition for once.

         "Is that so?" Tyson looked to be as if he was ready to gloat, "How many do you have on your team?"

My interest peaked, I stood back up, though Knockout kept a hand on my shoulder.

         "Enough." I answered, "Though I'd be terribly embarrassed if you didn't show up with more, it'd be far to easy to beat you." I stated sweetly, earning a dark chuckle in return.

         "They call me the Doctor now, and this," he snapped his fingers, and I found my small group of three surrounded by many a racer in pure black helmets, "is my staff. Every single tool I need to dissect your reputation, is right here, of course, Lucky here is our sweet little nurse." He pulled her close, to which she reacted to with a small kitten like squeak.

         "Sheesh," Knockout started, "How many Harlots do you have to go through in order to feel good about yourself."

I snickered as Tyson spluttered, and Lucky looked up at him with a rather confused look.

         "And seriously, that medical analogy was totally cheesy, and a waist of our time."

I nodded in agreement.