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freedomfireflies · 10 months

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Reckless*

Summary: The third part to Knockout*

The one where Harry secretly gets paid to fight, but you're the one paying the price.

Word Count: 9.2k (...no comment)

Content Warning: 18+, violence, mentions of an abusive ex, mentions of blood, smut

Harry’s fist instantly snaps closed around your hand, subtly but pointedly tugging you back. Seeming to want to put a bit of space between you and the man standing before you.

“Oh, do you…know each other?” you ask slowly, glancing between the two rather curiously.

Jesse offers nothing more than a raise of his eyebrow, redirecting his attention back to Harry as though encouraging him to respond.

Harry merely grits his teeth. “We used to. Long time ago.”

It’s hardly an answer, somehow just as frustratingly vague as you expected, yet you nod, nevertheless. “Ah. I see.”

Jesse’s smile somehow stretches a bit bigger. “Are you working today?”

“Uh, no. Just…came by for the keys,” you answer, shifting your weight from one foot to the other almost nervously. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Thought I’d…maybe stick around a bit? Catch up?”

Harry’s grip gets stronger.

“Besides, today’s pie is apple, yeah?” he asks. “You know it’s my favorite.”

You force a tight-lipped grin and a hum of acknowledgement before the three of you fall silent. Continuing to stand by the door to the diner as the rest of the room continues on with their lunch. Their soft murmurs and clinging cutlery like white noise in the background of the conversation.

You clear your throat. “Okay, well…I’m gonna…I’m gonna tell him goodbye, and—”

“Oh, sure, no problem,” Jesse says, waving you away before returning to the counter. “Yeah, go ahead. I’ll be right here.”

The last word has hardly left his mouth when Harry suddenly spins on his heel and drags you back through the door. Pulling you into the parking lot without so much as a goodbye before leading you around the side of the building.

“Harry,” you murmur hesitantly, almost cautious of his rather silent reaction. In the little time you’ve known him, you’ve never known him to be this quiet when he’s upset. Or this well behaved. “What’s wrong, what is it?”

He continues his furious stride until he’s brought you both into the alley. Releasing you in order to run a hand through his hair with a strained, “Fuck.”

You slow to a stop and stare at his tensed back. “Harry?”

A long pause. Deafening and loud enough to lodge your heart in your throat.

Finally, “How do you know him?”

“What?”

“Fucking Jesse, how do you know him?” he repeats, somewhat viciously.

Your head tilts. “We…I mean we’re friends, but we…we used to date. For a while. Couple years ago. Why?”

He turns, and the pinching of his features together makes your stomach twist. “Was it him?”

“…Harry—”

“Was it…him?” His eyes flick to yours. “The one you fucking told me about. The one who treated you like shit, the one who fucking threw things at you. Was it him?”

You’re almost surprised he remembered. After all, the revelation of your last relationship had been quite a while ago. An off-handed comment made one stormy night as you sat together in his favorite booth, talking about the past and exchanging odd traumas.

But he does. He remembers. And he’s looking at you like your answer is going to break his heart.

You suck in a quiet breath and hold it deep within your chest. “Yes.”

Your voice is small. Timid and weak, nearly carried away with the wind. But it reaches him, nevertheless, and his expression guts you.

He steps back. Trying to get away, either from you or your admission. The truth he can no longer stand to be so close to.

“Why?” he whispers, and your lashes flutter. “Why did you…why would you keep him in your fucking life after he…”

You offer him the same answer you’ve offered everyone else. “I don’t know.”

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip and takes another step. Glancing over your face as if searching for more than you have to give. “Cherry…”

“I know.” You can feel the tears already working their way to your waterline. “I know, but he’s…he’s trying to do better. He’s trying to change—”

“Oh, that’s fucking bullshit,” he scoffs, hands shoving into his pockets almost vengefully. “No, that’s bullshit. He’s not…guys like him don’t change. They just get better at hiding it.”

Maybe he’s right. But it stings to hear. “I…yeah. I know. But we’re just…we’re friends. We don’t talk a lot, just when he needs help.”

“So he uses you?”

“No, he…” You hesitate. “I don’t know. I don’t think he means to—”

His vile scoff cuts through the rest of your excuse, and perhaps it’s for the better.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, fingers itching to reach for him. You feel naked without his body against yours. “I should have…I should have warned you. Or told you, I just…I didn’t think—”

“Are you safe?”

You stop. “What?”

“Are you safe?” he repeats, a tad softer. “When he’s around you, do you feel safe? Do you know that you’re safe, and that he won’t…that you can leave? If you need to?”

You consider this for only a moment before nodding once. “Yes. He’s never…it’s never been like that. He’s just…he gets very angry. And sad. And I think…a part of me wants to help, I guess.”

His expression drops ever-so-slightly, as if wounded. “I know, Cher.” He moves closer to you once again, and you feel like you can finally breathe. He places his palm against your cheek and brushes his thumb beneath your eye. Wiping away the first tear. “You always give your kindness to those who don’t deserve it.”

You take hold of his wrist and bite back a sigh. “Everybody deserves kindness.”

“Maybe.” His voice is quiet. Labored and thick. “But maybe you deserve it more.”

There’s something…heavy in the way he speaks. In the way he feels. As though he’s carrying the entire weight of his world – and yours – on his shoulders.

You know there’s more to the story. More to this anger that’s so prominent in his heart and more to his background with Jesse. You want to ask, want to understand.

But if he wanted you to know, he would have offered.

Maybe he thinks he’s sparing you. Maybe he thinks he’s protecting you in the only way he can, and you feel grateful for him. Grateful for this subtle, unspoken act of intimacy and protection that you’ve become so familiar with in the time you’ve known your handsome stranger.

You choose to have faith in him. In what brought you to him.

“I have to go,” he says now, dipping down to brush his forehead to yours. “Cause if I don’t, I’ll fucking kill him.”

You smile to yourself, but a part of you knows he means it. “Okay. Will I see you again?”

His other hand slips around the back of your neck, keeping you close before he exhales a shaky breath and brings his lips to yours. Kissing you hard and with a thousand unspoken promises. “Of course. M’never gonna leave you, sweet girl. Swear it.”

And it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

You kiss him until you can’t breathe, clinging to his hoodie as if begging with him to stay. To keep himself close to you.

And when he eventually pulls away, you nearly crumple to the ground.

“Okay,” he whispers, reaching back to slip his hood on. “Okay, I gotta go. Or I’ll never leave.”

You touch your fingers to your lips and nod once. “I know. Just come back, okay?”

He grins, and it’s wickedly delicious. “Always.”

With that, he turns around, and disappears down the alley. Rounding the corner of the building before disappearing from sight.

Leaving you exactly where he found you, only a few hours ago.

With a heavy heart and weary mind, you make your back into the diner and toward the man still waiting for you.

Jesse has never scared you. Annoyed you, but never scared you. He’s been in your life far longer than you care to admit, ever since you were just kids. And maybe that’s why you keep him around. Because a part of you believes you owe it to the people you used to be.

You loved him. You really did. He was cute, charming, witty. He made you smile, made you laugh. He listened when you talked, said all of the right things. Of course you wanted to believe him when he said he’d do anything to make it work.

His anger had taken him away from you. Had changed who he was. Or perhaps merely highlighted who he’d always been.

He was the one to end things. Claiming he could never offer you the life you deserved. That until he had his temper under control, he couldn’t be with you. You had agreed to remain friends and help him when he lost his way.

He seems to lose his way a lot these days.

And maybe that’s the part that scares you…just a little bit.

“Hey, sugarplum,” he calls once you enter, grinning brighter than he has in weeks. “You all right?”

You nod as you join him near the counter, hands disappearing into your pockets as if to hide. “Mhm. Are you?”

“Absolutely.” He leans over to nudge his elbow against yours. “Feel like it’s been forever.”

“Jess, I saw you last week,” you can’t help but laugh.

“I know, but that was last week,” he argues coyly. “Which is like a lifetime ago.”

And even if there’s a part of you that feels cautious of him, there’s also something so familiar about his company. The sound of his voice, the way he laughs. His effortless ability to remind you of the way things used to be.

Despite how it ended, you can’t help but feel calmed. Your muscles unwinding as you grow a bit more comfortable in his presence.

“Ha, very funny,” you tease, stepping closer as though drawn in by his charm. “Well, if you’re waiting for the apple pie, that’s not until tomorrow.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to come back.”

The conversation lulls as the two of you smirk at each other, and for the first time in days, you don’t feel so on edge.

“Fine,” you agree. “But you can’t come back to the kitchen with me. Not after last time.”

He pretends to pout, but it only makes you smile. “Oh, come on. Everything was going so well up until the flour incident.”

You reach out and shove his shoulder playfully, and he laughs. “All right, enough. Why are you really here?”

“I told you, I wanna catch up. Clearly I’ve missed a lot.”

The mention of Harry is like a sharp needle to your blissful bubble, popping you free of his spell until you come crashing back to earth. “Right. How, um…how again do you guys know each other?”

“Oh, we don’t. Not really,” Jesse explains, shrugging one shoulder up almost casually. “We used to go to the same gym. Spot each other now and then. But we never really knew each other, I guess.”

“Ah.”

“Was kind of surprised to see him with you, though,” he adds. “But good surprised. I told him he should come check out the diner, and I’m glad to see he listened."

Harry’s previous mention of how he found you suddenly clicks, and you nod, eyes drifting toward the floor. “Yeah, he…he seems to like it here.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.” He seems oddly thrilled by this. “And I guess you two are…?”

The implication brings a rush of heat to your cheeks, and you quickly shake your head as you step back. Almost as though guarding yourself from his question. “Oh, no, we’re…we’re just friends. Or we’re…yeah. Friends.”

His brows furrow but he’s smiling. “Are you…sure about that?”

No. “Yeah. We don’t…we don’t really know each other that well, is all. We just…we like to talk.”

“I see.” He studies you for a moment, somewhat curious. “I’m glad he found something here he likes so well.”

The heat in your face begins to burn. “Yeah, he…he really likes the pies.”

Jesse hums, expression mischievous. “Yes. The pies.”

You force a laugh and nudge him again. “Okay, enough. I should…I should probably get back—”

“Wait,” he interrupts, slipping off the stool in order to get closer, “is there…any chance you’d fancy a drive? Thought we could go around the block a few times like we used to. Just…listen to the radio and people watch.”

Truth be told, the offer is compelling. Because you know if you go home, all you’ll do is worry. About Harry, about Jesse. About all the things you wish you could do for them but can’t.

Maybe a distraction is what you need. One day where you aren’t expected to fix everybody else’s problems but your own.

So, you nod. Tentatively but with a small grin that makes Jesse’s entire expression light up.

“Great,” he chuckles before nodding his chin at you. “So…do you want me to drive? Like old times?”

Your answer is to dig back into your pocket for the keys before tossing them over. “Think you already know the answer to that.”

He laughs again and spins the ring around his finger. “Then let’s hit it, sugarplum.”

It’s almost too easy to settle back into your old habits. To follow him to your car, hop inside the passenger seat, and allow him to take you away.

And it’s nice. Comfortable and…safe. Windows down, music loud. The two of you singing along with every bad song that comes on. It really does feel like it used to, and for just one evening, you forget about everything else. And you let yourself just…be.

The two of you drive around the city until the sun goes down. He tells you about his new job at this fancy law firm and you tell him about this new recipe you’re working on for the diner. You talk, and you laugh, and you sing until your stomach hurts.

You forget. And you’re okay with that.

“Okay,” he finally declares not much later after a quick glance at the clock. “I know you have to get back, but I just have one last thing I want to show you.”

Your brow raises. “Oh? What?”

“A surprise.” He begins to grin, almost wickedly, and it makes you smirk. “It’ll just be a quick little detour, and then I’ll have you home. Promise.”

You consider this for only a moment before sighing. “Fine. But just for the record, I hate your surprises.”

He merely winks before taking a left and leading you both out of town.

The further you go, the darker it gets. This part of the city appears to be rather neglected, with very few lights along the street to guide you. The buildings are rundown and abandoned, there’s police tape over half the doors and boards across half the windows.

Sketchy would be putting it mildly.

Yet Jesse appears undeterred, swinging into one of the large, unkempt parking lots where a collection of cars are already gathered.

“I don’t…understand,” you begin slowly, glancing around the dark space in search of answers.

However, instead of answer, he merely puts the car in park, tosses you the keys, and hops out. “You’ll see. Come on.”

Despite your hesitancy, you choose to follow, trailing after him as he begins toward one of the shabby buildings just up ahead.

There’s a strange sort of itch crawling its way up the back of your neck. Blossoming into your cheeks until you feel a twinge of apprehension.

But Jesse walks ahead as though he hasn’t a care in the world. Nonchalant and relaxed, leading you to the door.

Then, he knocks twice, stops, and adds three more.

A beat passes before there’s a sharp, electric buzzing. Immediately followed by the sound of something rather heavy before the door suddenly swings open.

Your breath catches.

The inside of this disheveled building is divine. Luxury drips from floor to ceiling, a rather stark contrast to its exterior. There’s fresh paint on the walls, towers of champagne in each corner of the room, and a crowd of men and women dressed to the nines in their most elegant and expensive outfits.

But there’s something off. They’re yelling, and cursing, and cheering. Raising their glasses while shouting at something happening in the middle of the room.

And that’s when you see him.

Even from this distance, you’d recognize him anywhere. The soft, sweaty curls matted to his forehead. The blood that drips from his mouth and jaw. The tattoos and marks that glisten from his chest – the same tattoos that you saw for the first time only hours ago.

Your stranger. Landing hit after hit to the man standing just opposite him inside the large ring.

You don’t move. You don’t think you can breathe. You can’t think straight or understand…and then Jesse throws his arm around your shoulder.

“Let’s go have a look, yeah?” It’s posed like a question, but he’s already leading you toward the crowd before you can decide on your answer.

Your heart is in your toes as he slips through the collection of onlookers. Pulling you to the front until you have a near perfect view of the violence happening only a few feet away.

A perfect view of him.

You’re not sure how long he’s been at it. Clearly long enough, if the new cuts and fresh bruises are any indication. He doesn’t seem to notice you, instead throwing his arm toward his opponent before ducking down to miss the strike back.

You hear yourself gasp as you recoil away from the forceful blow, nearly hiding yourself beneath Jesse’s arm while he laughs.

“What’s the matter, sugarplum?” he hums. “Thought you’d wanna see what your little boytoy gets up to when he’s not with you.”

You can hear it now. The vindictive sneer hidden beneath his charming chuckle. And that uncomfortable itch begins to burn as you pull yourself back in order to see him. “What?”

Jesse nods toward the boxing ring. “You see, when he’s not with you…he’s quite busy. Beautifully and spectacularly fucking me over.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. “What…what are you talking about?”

“Do you know what this is?” He raises a brow. “Do you know what he really does?”

“He…he fights. He gets paid to fight.”

“Right. And who do you think pays him?”

And that’s when it happens. That’s when the final puzzle piece clicks into place, and you understand. You see the whole picture laid out in front of you, and it wears his face.

“You.” It’s a strained, timid whisper that’s buried beneath the loud, vulgar hollering.

Jesse nods. “Exactly. I pay your boyfriend to beat the shit out of anyone dumb enough to get into that ring with him. And all he has to do…is fucking win.”

The cheering grows louder in your ear as he steps closer. Forcing your attention to split between the two men.

“But I have a problem,” he continues. “You see, Harry can win a fight in his goddamn sleep. He never loses. Ever. That’s why I pay him so much fucking money. That’s why I’m his sponsor.”

Your stomach twists.

“So, imagine my surprise when he suddenly started to lose. Night after night. Over and over. Constantly and consistently losing fights he should have been able to win with his fucking eyes closed.”

There’s something trapped in your throat. The room is spinning, and there’s a ringing in your ear that just won’t quit.

“And then I find out…he’s fucking throwing them.” His hand finds your hip and he turns you toward the ring. “Every goddamn night, he throws the fight. Because, for some reason, he seems to think that these fights are up to him. He thinks that he gets to decide who wins and who loses.”

He leans down now, lips hovering near your ear while his voice settles into a rather malicious hiss.

“But the only person that really loses…is me,” he sneers. “Because if he doesn’t win, then I lose a shit ton of money on him. And I don’t really think that’s fair…do you?”

You suck in a quiet breath right as Harry steps back to avoid a massive swing before landing his own blow just beneath the man’s jaw.

“So, I wondered. Wondered why the switch. Why he’d suddenly be willing to lose so much money and allow his ass to get kicked into his throat…for nothing.”

He leans back now, and your lashes flutter.

“And then I found him…with you.” He tsks almost teasingly while his head cocks to the side. “Seems my best fighter has found himself distracted. Pussy-whipped by a pretty face that serves him fucking pie. And he thinks that if he throws the fights…he can save you.”

A set of knuckles connect with Harry’s left cheek, sending him stumbling back while you suck in a sharp inhale and turn away.

“So…I want you to watch,” Jesse tells you, snaking an arm around your waist in order to keep you in your spot. “I want you to fucking see what you’ve done to him.”

Your features twist into a fearful grimace as you drag your eyes back to the ring. Watching as Harry swipes the back of his hand across his mouth to clear the blood before surging forward. He swings and it’s a miss. Arm flying over the other man’s shoulder before he’s shoved toward the rope.

He’s losing. A few more strikes to the face and you’re almost sure he’ll pass out.

And you don’t understand. Can’t comprehend any of this. Why Jesse brought you here, why Harry does this to himself, and why you’re somehow a part of it.

They lied. They both did. Harry looked you in the eye and told you he didn’t know Jesse. Even when he knew about…all of this.

Jesse being involved in some sort of illegal fight club doesn’t surprise you. Perhaps it should, and yet, it might be the least surprising thing you’ve learned so far.

But Jesse being Harry’s sponsor…being the one who pays him to do this to himself, who gambles on Harry’s very life…

Another strike is laid to his jaw, forcing Harry’s head to snap to the side.

And he sees you.

You watch the realization pass over his face in real time. The way his eyes widen and his lips part.

He stumbles back from the blow, catching himself on the ropes before Jesse tightens his hold on your hips…and Harry looks over.

The rage that settles into the lines and details of his features is evident. The way his teeth grit together, the way the veins in his neck strain against his skin, the way his fingers flex by his side.

He must understand why you’re here now and he channels this understanding and rage into his next hit.

He spins to the side, flings his arms around his opponent’s waist, and yanks him down. Throwing him so hard to the floor, you’re almost surprised he doesn’t break his spine right down the middle.

Half of the crowd cheers while the other half yells in disappointment.

But Jesse merely smirks.

And you realize that this is what he wanted. To use you as a tool in his game. A pawn for his pleasure until Harry’s hand was forced.

Harry rears back only to raise his fist into the air. Over and over, he lands his knuckles to the man’s face. Hit after hit after hit until there’s blood everywhere. Dripping from his knuckles, the man’s nose, his mouth.

He doesn’t stop. Even long after he should, and the man has gone limp. He goes and goes and goes until the referee has to physically step into the ring and drag him back.

And the fight is declared over.

They grab Harry’s wrist and sling it into the air, raising his arm in victory while the room hollers their support.

Your heart is racing inside your chest, going far too fast, and you feel a rush of blood to your head. Your knees are shaking, and your hands feel clammy, and you can’t breathe and why won’t that ringing in your ear stop?

“This is what he’s good at,” Jesse murmurs to you now, lips ghosting down the shell of your ear. “This is all he’s good for. And he fucking knows it.”

The room begins to disperse while Harry is led out of the ring and into the shadows on the far side of the building.

Your eyes and your heart go with him.

“So, you’re gonna do what you do best,” Jesse continues. “You’re gonna remind him why he has to fucking win. Because if he throws one more goddamn fight…I’ll fucking kill him myself.”

With that, he releases you, and turns around. Disappearing into the crowd before you can stop him.

You stand there, in the middle of this extravagant room, and you stare at the ring. And the blood stains on the mat. And the shadows that dance across the floor from the chandelier on the ceiling. The collection of empty glasses and empty promises that are scattered about the vast space.

Then, your feet are pulling you toward the door Harry disappeared into. Taking you to him, despite everything else. Because even after all of this, you want to help him. To make sure that he’s okay, and…and fix him. Somehow.

The door leads to a hallway that leads to what you can only assume is a locker room. It’s empty when you arrive, although you aren’t too surprised. The other fighter was taken to the opposite end of the building, and the people who led Harry away don’t seem to be around.

You hesitate for only a moment, attempting to decipher if you truly feel safe being alone with him after everything you’ve seen in the past 24 hours.

But the answer is obvious.

So, with a deep breath, you brave a step inside.

The shower is running. Steam already beginning to dance through the air as you pass by the collection of lockers and benches. Looking for any sign of him. Your stranger who perhaps isn’t so strange anymore.

You see his clothes tossed toward the floor. See a trail of scarlet streaks leading you further into the room and toward the showers just around the corner.

And you don’t hesitate now as you step past the wall in order to see him.

He’s standing beneath the stream of water, one hand braced against the wall as he stares down at the floor. Watching the blood disappear down the drain.

And he’s…beautiful. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him – all of him – and you feel your breath hitch as you step closer. Allowing your eyes to travel along his tall, tensed frame. From his curls to his thighs and everything in between.

“Harry?”

Your voice snaps his head up, and he turns. Instantly pushing off the wall in order to fully face you.

“Cherry, you can’t be here,” he breathes, and it’s almost lost beneath the heavy stream of water. “Can’t be in here, it’s not safe—”

But you’re already moving closer, toeing off your shoes and tossing your jacket aside before stepping inside the showers.

His lashes flutter, the muscles in his stomaching quivering as he leans back. “Cher, I mean it. You can’t…I can’t let you see me like this.”

You step up to him. Ignoring his protests and the water pouring from the ceiling, you step up, you put your arms around his shoulders…and you hold him.

At first, he goes still. Deathly still, almost bracing himself from your touch. Afraid of what it means.

Then, he settles. Understands that you only want to help, and slumps into your embrace while his face buries into your neck.

You reach up and run your palm down his head. Carding your fingers through the wet curls before squeezing the back of his neck. “You’re okay.”

He takes in a sharp inhale, arms snaking around your middle. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says again. And his voice breaks like the cracks of a sidewalk.

You merely hold him tighter. “But I am.”

And there’s so much to say. So much to understand and question, but right now, he just needs you to hold him. To let him know that it’s okay – that he’s okay.

That you’re not going anywhere.

You stand there for what feels like hours. Until your clothes become soaked, and your fingers begin to prune. But you keep your grip on him tight. Offering nothing more than soft murmurs of, “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

He’s angry. So very angry, and you can feel it in the way his muscles twitch beneath your hands. Can hear it in the shallow breaths he takes and the clenching of his jaw.

He’s trying to keep himself together. For you. But he’s moments away from slipping, and you can only hope you’ll be able to bring him back.

“Harry?” you whisper, scratching your nails down his bare shoulder.

His head shakes. “No. I don’t wanna fucking talk about it.”

“Har—”

“No.” He leans back, lip curled up into a snarl. “No, I can’t…I fucking can’t—”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupt, taking hold of his wrists to keep him close. “Okay, I understand—”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says for the third time. “You aren’t supposed to be here, and I can’t fucking believe he brought you.”

“I know. I know, but I’m okay. It’s okay, I promise—”

“What did he say?” His eyes flick between yours. “What did he say to you?”

You feel your insides twist as you squeeze his hands. Taking a moment to find the right words. “He…he wanted me to see what you really do. And…to tell you that you have to win.”

His brows stitch together. “What else?”

“Nothing,” you lie. “Just…just that.”

And maybe he doesn’t believe you. Maybe he knows there was more to Jesse’s threat, but it doesn’t matter because he’s tugging himself out of your grasp and turning toward the wall before you can argue. Sending his knuckles straight into the tile until it cracks.

You gasp, quickly surging forward to pull on his arm in protest. “Harry—”

Surprisingly, he allows you to yank him away, but he doesn’t look at you. He keeps his venomous glare on the drain, chest heaving with uneven breaths.

But you aren’t deterred. Instead, you guide him back to you, and lift his hands. Studying the torn skin of his knuckles closely with a sigh. “Harry…”

The wounded waver in your voice makes his expression soften, and he allows his shoulders to roll back. Releasing a bit of his rage. “It’s okay. M’okay, Cher—”

“No,” you argue softly. “No, you’re…”

You can’t find the words. Can’t find the right thing to say that explains this anguish in your heart. That lives within your chest.

So, instead, you bring his ruined hands to your lips, and you hold them there. Kissing the stained, battered skin while he sucks in a quiet breath.

And you don’t care. About any of it. About the fights, or the lies, or the threats. You don’t care what he really does or who he really is.

You just want him to be happy. To be safe. No matter what that looks like. No matter what you have to do to make that a reality.

You want to kiss away his scars, kiss away his pain. Take it and make it your own. Carry the weight he’s been trying to carry all by himself.

You don’t want him to be alone. You want to keep him, you want…

He watches you. Keeps his eyes glued to nearly every inch of your face as you do this. And something changes for him. You aren’t sure what.

But he sets his anger free before slipping his fingers from yours in order to take hold of your face.

And he kisses you. Pulls you to him almost desperately before pressing his lips to your own.

It’s soft, and sweet, and so deliciously him. Gentle despite everything else you’ve seen from him today.

He steps forward, subtly pushing you back. Again and again until your back meets the wet, tile wall.

He holds you there almost hesitantly before straightening up and deepening the kiss. Slipping his tongue in beside yours and savoring everything you have to offer.

And you let him take whatever he’d like. Allow him to have all of you as his chest meets yours and he cages you there. Hungry kisses now moving for your neck.

His touch travels to your hips, nails curling into your shirt as though resisting the urge to grab hold. And you smile as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. Breath hitching at the way his thigh brushes against yours.

You drop one hand to his chest. Allow the tips of your fingers to dance along the swallows on his collarbone and toward the muscles in his abdomen. Careful to mind his stitching and new cuts.

And he seems to remember now that he’s completely bare to you, his mouth falling still against your wet skin as he steadies himself.

Quickly, you stop yourself from going any further, settling atop his stomach before nosing under his jaw. “You’re so beautiful, Harry.”

He says nothing, lips ghosting across your pulse point before pressing in deep.

“All of you,” you whisper. “You’re beautiful.”

His lashes flutter shut while his arm loops around your back. Face burying in your shoulder as though to hide, and you wonder if he’s embarrassed or enthralled.

Either way, you gingerly ask, “…may I touch you?”

There’s a quick pause before he nods. Only once, and then he returns to leaving an array of kisses to your throat. Nipping at the skin until you smile.

So, you continue your search, moving your hand toward his hips and down until you feel him.

And the moment your palm brushes against his cock, you both gasp. Straightening up almost attentively before settling back into the pleasure.

Your thumb finds his slit and he curses. Hands tightening around the fabric of your shirt, keeping you against the tile as if he’s worried you’ll disappear.

“Shit,” he mumbles, palm moving to your cheek. “Baby, you know you don’t have—”

“Shh.” You wrap your fingers around the tip before smoothing down. “I want to. Please?”

When he says nothing, you stop, and it forces an instant groan. His body seeming to have made the decision for him.

“Yes,” he finally says, nodding again but quicker. “Shit, yes, Cherry. Can do whatever you want. M’yours.”

And it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

You chase after his pleasure as though your life depends on it. And perhaps it does, but you certainly don’t mind. Because his grunts and pants are deliciously addictive. And you could spend the rest of your life touching him if it meant you’d get to hear just one more.

And maybe now you understand why he’s also so determined to do the same for you.

You run your hand up and down his cock, squeezing the tip before moving lower. Palming at his balls before dragging your touch back to the top.

He does his best not to rush you or overwhelm you. Resisting the urge to buck his hips closer in a desperate attempt for more.

Instead, he focuses his attention on you. A role he seems much more comfortable in.

He kisses you everywhere he can. Your lips, your cheeks, your jaw, your nose, your neck. Below your ear, along your collarbone, and down the dip in your shirt.

Then, his fingers slip down to your jeans. Absentmindedly fiddling with the button before he whispers, “Can I touch you, sweet girl? Wanna make you feel good, too.”

And who are you to deny him?

“Always,” you whisper back, releasing him for only a moment so he can wrangle the wet material down your legs.

Once he has, he straightens up, and runs his palm along the inside of your thigh. Indulging in the feel of your skin while you take him back in your hold.

And it’s strangely beautiful, this dance you do. The synchronicity of teasing touches and playful strokes that leave you both breathless.

Anytime you gently tighten your fist around him, he curls his finger inside your walls. And anytime you brush at his slit, he brushes at your clit.

You both share a smile when you realize, and Harry laughs before nuzzling his face back into your neck. Tugging your skin between his teeth to muffle his groan.

“You have no idea how badly I needed this,” he says. And it’s a faint thought, perhaps not meant for your ears. “Fucking need you, baby. Always.”

Your head drops back against the wall. Your body already growing sluggish under the weight of undeniable euphoria he inflicts.

“You always have me,” you tell him. “I’ll do whatever you want—”

“Shit.” He yanks your chest to his, mouth painting warm, wet kisses along your skin. “Don’t say that. Don’t, or I’ll never stop.”

You grin. “Maybe I don’t want you to stop.”

You go faster. Finding a pace he seems to enjoy and zeroing in. You want him to cum – need him to cum. To offer him that release and that promise of more.

And it works. His tattoos rise and fall under the weight of his frantic gasps for air. He’s tipping over the edge, just needing a final push, and you want to get him there more than anything. Want to see what his face looks like when it’s overcome with pleasure. When he’s releasing into your hand, or your mouth, or your cunt. Want to feel him, know how his body moves when it’s spent.

“Please,” you murmur, almost anxiously as you work him closer. “Please, Har…let me feel you. Wanna feel you cum, please.”

He moves to squeeze the back of your neck before his hand disappears into your hair. Gently but pointedly tugging on your roots. “Baby—”

“It’s okay. It’s okay, you can cum. Can cum for me—”

“Fuck.” He jolts forward, fingers slipping from your cunt. “So good to me, sweet girl. So fucking good to me. Don’t deserve you. Never deserved you—”

“Yes,” you nearly whine. “Of course you do, Har, please—”

He cums with a soft groan that bleeds into your throat. Woven between his kisses and flicks of his tongue to your skin, and it’s everything. The warmth, the feel, the implication. It covers your hand, and wrist, and even parts of your thighs.

And you watch it drip down toward the floor almost regretfully, but you’re mesmerized. Addicted to something you only just discovered, and desperate for more.

But he gives you no time to reminisce, instead moving his mouth to yours in order to show you exactly how much it meant to him.

“Knew you’d be good,” he remarks playfully, nipping at your bottom lip before squeezing your waist. “Fucking knew, yeah?”

You release his cock as gently as you can before smoothing your palms up his chest and into his hair. Tugging on his curls in order to bring him closer. “Just for you.”

He smirks to himself before leaning back to study you. Glancing over your body as though in search of something. And the longer he looks, the angrier he appears to become.

Then, he mumbles, “He fucking touched you.”

Your heart wrenches. “…Har—”

“He touched you,” he says again, bitterly, and almost to himself. “He fucking put his hands on you and he made sure I saw. Wanted me to see, and now…now I can’t see anything else.”

You don’t think you’ve ever felt a panic like this. “Harry, please—”

He crouches down, large hands curling around your thighs and pulling them as far apart as they’ll go. Which, admittedly, isn’t very far because of the jeans still pooled around your ankles. But he doesn’t mind, instead staring at your legs rather thoughtfully.

Finally, he looks up.

“I need to wash him away,” he whispers, and your stomach leaps into your throat.

“What?”

“I need to wash him away,” he repeats softly, moving closer to ghost his lips along your hip. “Need to erase him. Need to clean him off you.”

Your fingers twitch by your side, and you aren’t even sure what to say. Because the look in his eye is unrelenting, and you can see how badly he wants this.

“Okay,” you exhale. “Okay, erase him. Make me yours again.”

And this is all he needs to hear, wasting no more time before smoothing his lips and his hands along your thighs and waist. Repainting every inch of you with his touch. Washing away the metaphorical marks Jesse left when he held you and replacing them with his own.

Even if it’s not inherently sexual, it’s the most erotic and wonderful thing you’ve ever experienced. The way he feasts on your flesh like a man on a mission. Nipping and licking at you just to make you whimper. He’s nowhere near your clit and it doesn’t even matter because he’s so divine.

The heat of his mouth on your cool, wet skin. The way he gingerly kneads at your ass in an attempt to comfort you. Tenderly pulling you closer as though you’re somehow still too far away.

“I’m sorry, Cherry,” you hear him sigh, and it makes your insides tighten. “M’so fucking sorry for doing this to you. For bringing you into this.”

Your expression drops while your head shakes. “You didn’t. You didn’t, I asked. I asked to be a part of you, and I don’t regret that.”

But it’s like he can’t hear you over the sound of his shame. Instead kissing you softer as if to apologize. “It’s my fault. Should have told you the moment I saw him. Should have taken you with me. Shouldn’t have left you with him when I fucking knew—”

“Hey.” You reach down and take hold of his hair. Yanking his attention to you. “None of this could ever be your fault. Do you understand?”

He seems to ignore this as well, nudging his nose against your hip with a crestfallen expression that makes you want to scream.

So, you tug harder, forcing his head back and his eyes on yours. “This is who Jesse has always been. You didn’t change that, and you never will. And I know that. I know him. I know his heart and I know what he’d do to hurt me.”

His lips part, as if going to speak, but you merely tighten your grip in an unspoken order to remain silent.

“And I know you,” you continue. “I know that this is who you are. All of this. The fighting and the bets and the torture you put yourself through. And I know that you would never hurt me. That you have always done your best to protect me, even if I didn’t know what I was being protected from.”

His hands begin to drop down your legs and toward the floor, an act of complete submission.

“This is not your fault,” you repeat earnestly. “You are not responsible for Jesse’s intentions, and you’re certainly not reasonable for mine. And I need you to know that. Okay? You have to know that. Because I have never felt safer than I do with you.”

His features remain unchanged, and you wonder if he heard anything that you said at all. If he understood and internalized your instance. If he’ll believe it.

And then—

“I love you.”

You feel your pulse skip inside your chest as you suck in a quiet breath. “What?”

“I love you, Cherry.” He says it again without pause, without a moment’s hesitation. Proving that it wasn’t a mistake or a trick of the mind. He really said it. And he meant to. “And m’so fucking sorry it took him for me to realize it.”

You aren’t sure what to do. What to say or…what to think, but he’s already shaking his head and offering you a small smile before you can decide.

“I don’t want you to say it,” he says quickly and quietly. Slipping your hand from his hair in order to press his lips into your palm. “I just want you to know. And I wish I could have done it differently, but…I do, I love you. And I will do everything I can to prove that to you.”

You want to tell him that he already has. Want to tell him a lot of things that maybe you shouldn’t, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

He merely kisses your hand before moving back to your thighs. Looking for your permission to continue.

Breathlessly, you give it to him.

With a soft grin and great care, he extends his tongue and slowly drags it up your clit. He’s not rushing this time. He’s enjoying it. Allowing himself to indulge in your taste and your feel as you slump against the tile and let him.

He leaves a trail of apologies and promises along your pussy. Kissing, sucking, and flicking until you squirm. And he’s so focused, so dedicated to your orgasm. To making you understand how badly he needs you.

And you do understand. More than you’ve ever understood anything else.

“Love to see you, baby,” he murmurs after a moment, now running the tip of his finger between your folds and down. Taunting you with the intrusion yet not giving it to you. “Love to see this pretty pussy take me.”

You whine pitifully before he finally pushes in. Allowing your walls to beckon him closer until he hums.

“Can’t wait to see you take my cock,” he muses, thrusting the digit once or twice before bringing a second into play. “Gonna watch you stretch for me. Gonna just sit and watch this sweet, little hole take me in. Get me nice and warm. Till I’m soaking in you. Fucking drenched—”

“Harry,” you whine, overcome by a rather euphoric rush that makes him smirk. “Harry, please—”

“What, sweet girl? You like the sound of that?” He ignores your cries and flicks his tongue against your clit. “S’okay. I do, too. Think about it more than I should. Think about you and this tasty little cunt till I’m fucking my fist in the shower.”

The lewd image that’s painted in your head makes your toes curl, and you imagine you’d give anything to watch.

“But it’s not nearly as good as when you do it,” he says coyly. “Won’t ever be able to picture anything else but your sweet, little hand wrapped around my cock. Making me cum like a good girl.”

He adds a third finger, and your vision goes hazy.

“And this,” he breathes, fucking into you a bit faster. Until the sound of your arousal bounces between the walls. “Replay this in my head every goddamn day. The way you sound when you take my fingers, take my tongue. S’fucking beautiful, Cher. The best thing I’ve ever heard.”

You believe him.

“Wanna listen to you forever.” He laps at you like he’s dying of thirst. “Wanna taste you, wanna feel you. Wanna fucking hold you and never let you go. Never let anything hurt you. You’re the only good thing in my life, sweet girl. Need you to know.”

You aren’t sure if the tears in your eyes are from the pleasure or his admittance, but they fall from your cheeks almost mercilessly. And you can’t even wipe them away because, in some strange sort of way, you enjoy it. This pain and this angst that comes with the man on his knees before you.

“You’re mine, yeah?” he asks next. But the lustful undertone is gone. He’s pleading with you now. Begging you. “Not his, but mine. Always mine.”

Your agreeance comes before you can question it. “Yes…yes, I’m yours. Yours, I promise—”

He groans into your cunt like he’s never been happier. And the reverberation down your thighs and across your clit nearly ruins you. “Say it again. Say it again, baby, please—”

“I’m yours. Just yours, Harry. Not his. Never…never his—”

“Fuck.” He pulls on your thigh in order to bury his mouth into your pussy. And you almost wonder if he’s actively trying to suffocate himself. “Again. Again, Cherry—”

“Yours.” The word drips from your tongue like honey from a honeycomb. “Just yours. Don’t wanna be anybody else’s.”

His entire face is nuzzled between your legs, and it almost kills you. Because he’s so beautiful. You’ve never seen or felt something so ethereal, and you can’t look away. Even when your eyes are desperate to fall shut, you force your attention on him. Watching as he mouths at your clit and drives in his fingers until it hits you.

You nearly collapse onto the floor, but he refuses to let you. Keeping you upright before you can go slipping down the wall and cementing you to his tongue in order to drag you through to the other side.

“Mine,” you vaguely hear him hum, and your heart flutters. “Always mine.”

When he’s sure you’ve caught your breath, he straightens back up, and takes you in his arms. Kissing you and holding you and keeping you safe. Making sure you understand that he wants more than your orgasms. He wants you. Even without the explicit words, you know his true intentions. Know where his heart truly lies, and you settle there beside it.

Moments pass before either of you speak again. Instead listening to the sound of the running water hitting the floor.

And you’re afraid to be the first to break this tranquility. Because you know once you do, you might not find it again. Jesse’s threat still lingers rather prominently in the forefront of your mind. And you’re terrified that every time you look at Harry…you’ll remember.

“Cherry?” he whispers minutes later, and your pulse jumps.

You bury your face in his neck, bracing yourself from whatever he might say next. “Harry.”

He nuzzles his cheek against the crown of your head and sighs. And you can feel the heaviness of the breath leave his body. “I don’t know what to do.”

The vulnerability makes your throat run dry, and you subsequently tighten your arms around his middle. “Don’t have to do anything.”

“Cherry—”

“No, just…we’re okay,” you insist. “It’s okay. You just…you’ll win. You’ll keep fighting and you’ll win, and we’ll be okay. And I won’t have to lose you.”

A beat. “But what if I lose you?”

“You won’t. Never.”

“But he knows, Cher,” he murmurs. “He knows, and he’ll use you to hurt me. He’ll drag you into this as many times as he fucking wants, and he’ll use you. And I can’t let him – I won’t let him.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care what he does, he doesn’t scare me, Har—”

“But he fucking scares me.” His volume rises until it can carry over the shower walls. “All right? He terrifies me. Because now he has the one thing I can’t fucking…”

Your eyelids flutter before you take hold of his hand.

“And he wants to play this stupid fucking game, and I won’t let him,” Harry continues. “I won’t let him use you or threaten you, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper. “Okay, but you’re the one with all the cards. Right? He’s shown his hand. He’s shown how desperate he is. He can’t do anything to me if he really wants you to listen—”

“You don’t know him like this,” he nearly scoffs. “You don’t know what he’s willing to do—”

“Harry—”

“I can’t…I can’t,” he seethes. “I can’t get him out of my fucking head, and I can’t let him win. I won’t let him win.”

He’s unrelenting. Unwavering in this insistence and you feel as though your insides are being twisted around a knife.

All he has to do is win. All he has to do is let Jesse believe he’s still in charge. And he’ll be okay. You’ll both be okay.

“Harry,” you try again. Softer this time, hoping to reach him. “We’re gonna be fine. Okay? It’s you and me. We’ll be all right. We have to be.”

His expression instantly drops before he dips down and lays his forehead to yours.

He says nothing else. Offers no more ideas or excuses. He simply exists in this belief and the serenity it provides.

Even if he knows it’s not strong enough to stand on.

“Okay,” he finally mumbles. “You and me.”

And it’s the best thing you’ve ever heard. Because for the first time all night, you see the way out. You see a future where he can be who he is, and you can be who you are, and it can still be all right. Where you can be together and be free of any threats and complications and just exist in this little world you’ve created.

A world outside of the diner and the backseat of his car. A world where he offers you more than his orgasms but his secrets, too. His life. And you need that. You need it more than you’ve ever needed anything in your life.

He leads you out of the shower not much later, digging through his things before offering you his hoodie and sweats to wear home.

And there’s something so intimate about wearing his clothes. The way the tattered fabric feels against your skin. The way it smells like his cologne and the shampoo he must use. The way it fits your frame as if it was always meant to, keeping you warm despite the frigid air that greets you when you step outside.

You offer to drive him home, but he refuses. Insisting that it’s better if you don’t know where he lives, at least for right now. And you don’t have it in you to argue.

He makes you promise to lock your door the moment you get inside the car, and to lock your apartment door the moment it’s closed. You vow to do both before dragging him closer for a kiss.

And he gives it to you. He gives you five kisses, in fact. One on the forehead, one on each cheek, one on the nose, and finally…one on your lips.

When he lets you go, you feel empty. Lost. As though a part of you is missing, and it aches the entire way home.

In fact, it aches for the next two days until you can finally see him again. And you busy about your shift, watching the clock like a hawk until midnight finally strikes, and you fly through the kitchen doors. Ready to see him and fill this gap in your chest.

But for the second time this week…booth 505 is empty.

Instantly, the blood drains from your face. All the way down to your toes, and almost feel faint as your shaky legs carry you to his table.

However, the moment you’re close enough, you catch something just out of your peripheral, tucked just beneath the sugar dispenser. Something that most certainly wasn’t there a few minutes ago.

A note.

With furrowed brows, you slip the folded napkin free and bring it closer. Straightening it out until you can make out the haphazard message scrawled across in black ink.

Meet me at the station after your shift.

Don’t tell Owen.

Next Part:

~ Uppercut*

Previous Part:

~ Whiplash*

~ Full Knockout Masterlist

~ Main Masterlist

Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @dylanobandposts21 @lovebittenbyevans @caynonmoondreams @amberbambridge @percysaidnever @prettydelilah @ripesinner @fairytale07 @hannah9921 @mitochondrialeva-blog1 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @buckybarnessimpp @lomlhstyles @be-with-me-so-happily @daphnesutton @ribbonknives @stylesfever @slutforcoffein @rainycowbride @harringtonhundreds @kaybee87 @youcan-nolonger-run @tobesocoldasyou @cherryshouse @char112244 @harryscowgirl @hsbabygirl22-blog @mypolicemanharryyy @snwells @hermionelove @cherryluvhobi @becauseheartsgetbroken-hs

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burnthatbridge · 5 months

Text

if you love him let him go (if you love him let him know)

pre-buddie, bucktommy | T | 3k | angst, pining tommy needs to tell eddie something not on ao3 atm because i can't figure out if this is done or if i'm continuing it - please let me know your thoughts! now on ao3 because i hate not having all my fic in one place

“Can I get you another beer, man?”

Eddie checks his watch. It’s only a little after nine thirty. He’s kind of hoping to get home before Chris goes to sleep, but he’ll not be heading to bed any time soon, will likely stay up later than Eddie. Friday night means he disregards his supposed bedtime — not that he sticks to it that well on school nights, now he’s sixteen. “Sure, thanks.”

Tommy nods, disappears into the kitchen, returns a moment later with a can of IPA in one hand, a bottle of lager in the other. They’ve already finished the six-pack Eddie brought over, but trust Buck — well, Buck and Tommy — to have Eddie’s favorite beer in their fridge. Tommy hands over the can, already cracked open, and Eddie takes a sip as Tommy settles down at the opposite end of the couch. He doesn’t turn to face the TV, sits twisted towards Eddie instead, but he does pick up the remote and turn down the volume, the post-fight commentary rendered nearly unintelligible.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Eddie twists towards Tommy himself, something not-quite-anxious-but-almost flaring in his chest. Over the years they have been friends, he and Tommy have spoken about lots of things, including those not so easy to discuss: their respective experiences in the army, Tommy’s tough childhood, Eddie’s difficult parents, the hard aspects of the job. But they’ve all been topics that have come up naturally, raised organically. Tommy has never led into anything with such a pointed opener before.

Eddie studies him. He has one knee pulled up on the couch cushion, foot poking out off the end, the other foot planted on the floor, nearly parallel to the base of the couch. One arm is up on the backrest, the other relaxed, beer bottle in that hand, resting on his thigh, dripping condensation painting a charcoal ring on his — probably Buck’s, in fact, given how tight the fabric is stretched over the muscle of his leg — grey sweats. He’s not tense, but he’s not smiling, and there’s something about his expression that Eddie can’t place. It’s not that he hasn’t seen this look before, because he’s pretty sure he has, witnessed it in flickers across numerous occasions over the years, there and then gone, present for but a heartbeat. But he’d never known what it meant any of those times and he certainly doesn’t now.

“'Course,” Eddie says, when Tommy doesn’t go on, seems to be waiting for some kind of sign. Then adds, feeling like it’s necessary given the gravity he can feel pulling this lightsome evening down to something more serious. “Anything.”

Tommy sighs, bites his lip like he doesn’t want to speak, even though he’s the one who said he wanted to talk, then shakes his head and takes a pull of his beer.

“Is everything okay?” Eddie’s starting to feel worried now. He mentally scans back over the past few weeks, trying to remember if Tommy has mentioned anything about work that could be a problem. He saw him at basketball last week, and nothing had seemed off. Plus, Buck hasn’t said anything. Not that he’d necessarily tell Eddie about an issue Tommy was having, not if Tommy wanted it kept private, but Eddie can usually tell when Buck’s concerned about someone, and he hasn’t picked up on anything, not at all.

But maybe this isn’t about a problem Tommy is having. Maybe this is a Buck problem, something Buck has kept from Eddie. It would make sense why Tommy would bring it up with him; sometimes a concerted, multi-person effort is the only way to get through to Buck. And Tommy’s more likely to bring in Eddie first, and then expand the team to include Maddie, Chim, more, as needed.

“Is Buck okay?” Eddie asks, something like panic constricting his throat, making the words come out a little strangled.

Tommy actually laughs at that, a small, choked thing, an exhale of sound and air. He shakes his head again, but not a no. More like an extension of the laugh, a motion to accompany it, to better convey the disbelief — not humor — contained in it. “He’s fine.”

It’s a relief to hear. Buck had seemed physically okay, when Eddie had seen him briefly before he left the house, since he’d maybe purposefully waited to order his Uber until Buck pulled up in his jeep outside, despite Christopher’s insistence he didn’t need to wait for Buck to arrive, despite the fact that his kid is more than old enough to be left in the house alone for the twenty minutes it would have taken Buck to drive over, while Eddie was ferried the opposite way. But there could still have been something, Buck could have been fighting through pain, much better at hiding any hurt of his body than he is at masking his emotional distress.

“But,” Tommy says, and that one word is enough to have Eddie’s muscles tightening once more, “It is Evan I wanted to talk about.”

Again, Tommy doesn’t follow it up with anything. Eddie has found, in their time as friends, that Tommy is not often a man lost for words. Quite the opposite, in fact. He usually says what he means, means what he says, and is an expert at listening and delivering sage advice. This reticence– it doesn’t feel like it bodes well, has the hair on the back of Eddie’s neck prickling.

“Alright,” Eddie says, a feeble prompt. “So, Buck?”

Tommy nods, like he’s gearing himself up for something, to face a challenge, to take a punch. Eddie is expecting something bad, so the words he says catch him even more off guard than they would have. “I want to ask Evan to marry me.”

Maybe if Tommy had seemed eager, excited, when he turned to him, Eddie could have anticipated the blow, could have felt a creeping suspicion this is where Tommy was headed, could have been provided with enough of a heads-up to brace himself. As it is, he doesn’t see the hit coming, takes it full force to the chest, so hard it steals his breath, knocks the wind from him. His mouth goes slack, and he feels his fingers slide against the slippery sides of his beer can, almost spills it over Tommy and Buck’s lounge carpet before he gets a hold on it, on himself. He forces himself to smile. “That’s– that’s great,” he makes himself say, only faintly aware that Tommy isn’t smiling back, like this moment should call for. “Did you–” he swallows around the bile climbing his esophagus, “Do you want help planning the proposal?” He wishes he could take the words back the second they’re out. Because this — just hearing that Tommy wants to ask Buck — is torture enough. To be involved with it, to help enable it, Eddie will be lucky if it doesn’t kill him. Maybe not his body, but certainly his soul.

“No.” Tommy shakes his head. “No, I want to ask him to marry me. But I’m not going to. At least, not now.”

Eddie squints at him. The news that Tommy wants to marry Buck might hurt Eddie, but it’s not exactly surprising. Eddie’s seen how much Tommy cares for him in the years they’ve been together, has seen the way he looks at him, the way they look at each other. Has felt the way it burns him, the scorching heat of flame, the searing cold of ice. He doesn’t understand what Tommy is saying, doesn’t understand why this proclamation seems not to be a happy one. “Why not?” Eddie asks, almost grateful for the opportunity to present confusion, curiosity, rather than forced pleasure at the thought of one of his closest friends and his– best friend marrying each other. “You guys are serious. I mean, you live together.”

Tommy huffs another laugh, still more disbelief than humor, really the opposite of humor. “His lease was up.”

“Right. But he chose not to renew it. He chose to move in with you,” Eddie says, slow, struggling to understand, the pounding of his pulse not helping him think clearly, see through the puzzle that is everything Tommy has said so far and the way he has said it.

“He was never going to renew it,” Tommy tells him.

And that’s– that’s something Eddie didn’t know. He hates it when he learns information about Buck from Tommy, always has, even though he fights with everything in him not to feel like that. Tommy is Buck’s boyfriend, of course he’s going to know things about him that Eddie doesn’t, know him in a way that Eddie doesn’t.

“We hadn’t spoken about living together,” Tommy says, eyes on Eddie. “But he’d said he thought the loft was too expensive and he was spending nearly every night at mine by that point. When he wasn’t on shift. Or at yours.” Eddie pulls his eyes away, takes a sip from his beer for something to do, even though the bitter taste is turning his stomach. “He said he wasn’t going to renew it, that he’d look for somewhere new, cheaper. But this was too close to the end of his lease to find a place before he had to move out. I asked where he was going to stay in the meantime.”

“And he said with you,” Eddie guesses, more a statement than a question.

But Tommy shakes his head. A smile curls his lips but his eyes– his eyes don’t match. “He said he’d crash on your couch, actually.”

Eddie takes another mouthful of beer, holds it there, on the back of his tongue. He didn’t know any of this. Buck would, of course, have been more than welcome. Likely why he hadn’t asked in advance, why he planned for it without seeking permission.

“I said he could stay with me, instead. That he’d be able to sleep in a bed here.” Eddie swallows, the beer somehow thick and cloying in a way that it shouldn’t be. “And then when he started making noises about looking for a new place, I told him he should stay.”

While it’s not how Eddie had, unwillingly, pictured it in his head — Tommy and Buck mutually agreeing that Buck shouldn’t renew his lease, deciding they wanted to live together — it still doesn’t explain what Tommy has said. “And he did stay,” Eddie says. “So, why aren’t– Does Buck not want to get married?” But that can’t be it, that can’t be right. Eddie is certain Buck does want to be married, only he’d tried hard not to think of Buck wanting that with Tommy, with anyone. Anyone else.

“No, he does,” Tommy confirms it. He leans over and deposits his beer on the coffee table. Then sits back, still turned to Eddie, but arms crossed over his chest, like a protection of himself. “We’ve spoken about it, discussed it. And he’s told me he’s always wanted that, to get married, to be part of a family.” Tommy pops one hand out of the fold of his arms to hold it up, out, quelling, like Eddie has protested. He hasn’t, but his heart is doing something approximating a riot at the idea of Tommy being Buck’s family. “And I know he has a family. He knows he does. In you and Chris, in Maddie and Jee, in the 118. But–” Tommy breaks off, tips his head to the side, gaze boring into Eddie’s face so strong that Eddie wishes he could turn away, duck and run. “You know how much he’s always wanted to belong somewhere.”

He does, Eddie thinks, the thought almost violent in its intensity. He belongs with me. Except, he doesn’t. Not really, not how Eddie wants, not the way he does with Tommy.

“And I want that for him,” Tommy goes on, tucking his hand back in, squeezing his arms tighter about himself. Eddie’s never seen him like this, hunched in on himself, curled small. Tommy is usually so open, larger than life. “I want to be the one to give that to him.”

Eddie wants to be the one to give that to him. Desires it desperately, a secret need he’s tucked as far inside himself as he can. He can feel it now, raging to be let out, to be set free. But he can’t, he won’t. Buck is with Tommy, he’s happy with Tommy. Tommy who is so warm and kind and good, Tommy who is better than Eddie in every conceivable way, who brings so much to Buck’s life, who gives all of himself to Buck. Who wants to give him even more. Wants to, but apparently won’t.

Eddie doesn’t understand. “Then, if you want to, why won’t you ask him?” he questions, trying to.

“If I ask him now, he’ll say no.” Tommy states it like indisputable fact, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world that Buck would refuse him.

Eddie shakes his head, understanding even less. “But he loves you.”

Tommy smiles again, then, larger than he had before, but as devoid of happiness, as empty of cheer. This smile hurts to see, reflects the way Eddie felt inside when Tommy had said I want to ask Evan to marry me. “I know he does.” Tommy’s tone is sure, but wistful. “But he loves you more.”

It’s like– It’s like nothing Eddie has ever felt. Or maybe it’s like everything he’s ever felt. The shock of a residual lightning bolt, the joy of being a part of the 118, the pain of a bullet ripping through his shoulder, the awe of holding his son for the first time. Eddie wants Tommy’s words to be true maybe more than he’s ever wanted anything. But he also cannot believe them, has no trust that they are true. Because they can’t be. Buck loves Tommy. Not Eddie.

“We’re friends. Best friends,” Eddie points out. “Of course, he– he loves me. But not more. Not like he loves you. He’s in love with you.”

Tommy sighs, arms uncrossing, palms coming to rest on his thighs, body taking on a posture Eddie is familiar with, the one he falls into when he’s talking someone through something, the one he adopted when Eddie came out to him some six months ago. “Eddie, he’s in love with you.”

Eddie shakes his head. It’s everything he’s ever wanted to hear, but coming from the wrong lips. Spoken by not by Buck himself but by Buck’s boyfriend, oh god. “He isn’t. Tommy, he can’t be.”

But Tommy is nodding, nodding like what he’s said is true, like he wants Eddie to believe it.

“He’s not,” Eddie says, hears the denial, the disbelief spill from him. Buck doesn’t love him. He doesn’t. But Eddie�� Eddie loves– “I’m sorry,” Eddie says, almost a gasp. “Tommy, I’m sorry, I–”

“It’s not your fault,” Tommy cuts him off. “I knew what I was getting into. When I started seeing Evan, I knew there were going to be three people in this relationship. I just–” Tommy sighs again, scrubs his palms along his thighs. “I didn’t expect it to get this far. I thought we’d just be a fun, easy thing. Something to ease Evan into his sexuality, that new part of himself. I didn’t expect it to go like this. I didn’t expect to feel like this.” Tommy closes his eyes, lashes falling to his cheeks. He breaths in and out, while Eddie’s own breath is caught in his chest. When Tommy opens his eyes, he says, “But I don’t have to tell you how easy it is to love him.”

Fuck. Tommy knows. Because Eddie does. He loves Buck, loves him so endlessly he doesn’t know where the feeling starts and where it ends. Doesn’t know when it started; doesn’t think it will ever end. “I’m sorry,” Eddie whispers, needing to say the words again, needing Tommy — his friend — to hear them.

Tommy lifts one palm from his thigh, his wrist pressing into the muscle as he cuts his fingers to the side in a dismissal. “Don’t apologize for it. I’m certainly not going to. I’m never going to be sorry for loving him.” He drops his hand back down, pats his leg, emphasis of the point. “But it is a problem.” He smiles, rueful. “I thought I’d be able to break up with him, if he didn’t break up with me. I should have, ages ago. I certainly should have when you came out.”

Eddie, selfishly, had hoped Buck would break up with Tommy then. But it had seemed like a farfetched fantasy. He had told Buck he was queer after Buck had already moved in with Tommy. He’d admitted it to himself, to Frank, before that, but hadn’t told anyone else for weeks. In hindsight, sometimes he figures he’d left it too late, but most of the time he didn’t think it would have made a difference at all. But now, with what Tommy has told him, maybe it would have. It’s a knife sliding between Eddie’s ribs to think maybe. Maybe.

“But I didn’t.” Tommy looks resigned, shoulders drooping.

“Why are you telling me this?” Eddie needs to know. It seems like Tommy has known for years that Eddie has loved Buck. Loves Buck. I knew there were going to be three people in this relationship. So why is he only bringing it up now?

“Because I didn’t. Because I can’t. I can’t break up with him. But I want to move forward. And I want to do so with him, for us to further our life together. But if I ask him to marry me when he doesn’t know for sure that you’re not an option, he’ll say no.”

Fear freezes Eddie’s insides. “So, what– what are you asking me to do?” Because Tommy is asking something of Eddie, wants something. Something Eddie fears he will have to make himself give.

Tommy straightens up, shoulders rolling back. He’s serious, solemn but not demanding or pleading when he says it. A devastating request. “I’m asking you, as my friend, to let him go.”

Eddie could be sick, he thinks, could vomit up the three and a quarter beers and the half a dozen chicken wings he’s consumed since he got to Tommy and Buck’s place. Could spill the mess of his insides up all over himself, all over Tommy, all over their lives. Tommy is his friend, was his friend before he was ever Buck’s boyfriend. Eddie should do this thing for him. Should give Buck his blessing to marry Tommy, give Buck up, give him over, completely, to this man who has loved him so well for the past three years. Eddie should; in his gut he knows it would be the right thing to do. But his heart– his heart is in revolt. It’s Buck. He loves him. How can he ever let him go?

Tommy leans forward, places a hand on Eddie’s leg, squeezes his fingers around the ball of his kneecap, until Eddie lifts his gaze and meets his eyes. “Or,” he says, somehow even more serious, “I am telling you, as your friend, to go and get him.”

#do we need to see where this goes next?#or is it good as is?#these are the questions that haunt me #(also i am totally avoiding writing chapter 5 of my wip please don't kill me)#buddie #bucktommy #buddie fic #bucktommy fic #911 fic #911 #911 abc #myfic

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deunmiu-dessie · 3 months

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(unedited) widowedfather!simon gets help with his daughter. [ connected with this post as an au! ] [ one, two ]

the incessant wailing of the baby seemed never-ending. her plump, delicate cheeks were tinged with a crimson hue, and torrents of tears streamed down her face. simon, standing amidst the formula cans, wondered briefly how such a tiny thing could produce such an ear-piercing noise, the sound grating at his ears, which only served to exacerbate his already troubled state of mind.

he was at a loss, unable to figure out what was causing her distress. simon had just fed her, burped her, and changed her diaper recently—yet she continued to cry inconsolably, legs kicking and arms tucked to her body. it’d been like that, him desperately trying to calm her down while receiving judgmental glares from onlookers (although he couldn't bring himself to care) for the past fifteen minutes.

she misses her mother.

well, she's gone. he was all she had now, and he wasn't much– he knew that. he’d asked price’s wife for help several times after she was born, when he couldn't figure out why she was crying, what to do when she wouldn't go to sleep. simon eventually stopped asking for help a couple of months later, didn't want to inconvenience them any more than he already had. didn't matter if they swore that he wasn't. he was a father, he needed to act like one.

simon had never been annoyed or angry with his child. how could he ever find it in himself to be annoyed or angry with his own flesh and blood? especially when she bore such an uncanny resemblance to his late wife.

no, his anger was solely directed towards himself, anger for not being able to understand her needs quickly, anger for not knowing how to soothe her. doubt plagued his every thought, making him question his capability to raise her properly.

“hi, would you like some help with her?”

taken from his thoughts, simon turned slightly to where the voice spoke, a woman standing just a few feet from him. her grocery cart was filled with food and two children, twin boys, were hanging off the side he realized. they seemed to be no more than five years old, but they were calm; giggling amongst themselves and pointing to what cereals they would eat early tomorrow.

simon redirects his attention toward the woman, her smile is warm, sympathetic, and non-judgmental. she eyes the newborn with starry eyes and a slight pout on her lips. simon shakes his head softly. “s’alrigh, don’t want t’bother you.” he murmurs gently. regardless, even though he declines her help, his daughter continues to cry inconsolably, much like the day she was born.

she waves him off and grins— everything about her was so, motherly, so kind. “believe it or not, i miss the newborn phase. they're like little critters when they hit their tot years.” she whispers the last part to avoid her kids overhearing and sends him a wink. he chuckles, it's small, barely there but she hears it nonetheless and responds with a soft laugh of her own.

the woman takes a few steps forward and gently takes the baby from his grasp, despite his hesitation, before he can decline once more. and a weight is lifted from his shoulders, his body no longer tense from not understanding what was wrong. simon watches as she cradles the newborn, a bright smile adorning her face, before she looks up at him. “she’s just a little gassy, feeding her while she’s upright will help to stop this from happening.”

simon anxiously nods, his heart pounding as the woman gently applies pressure just below his daughter's tummy, causing the gas to escape gradually and the baby's cries to turn into soft whimpers instead. his heartbeat slows, and he readjusts his arms to take the child. the woman lovingly coos at the newborn one last time before placing her delicately into simon’s waiting embrace.

she waves him off once more when he goes to thank her, smiling. “we parents need to stick together,” she says, before she walks back towards her cart and affectionately runs her hands through her children’s hair. “so, where to next?” her laugh is soft and loving as the two excitedly shout, "candy!" she looks over her shoulder at him and rolls her eyes, mouthing: ‘critters’

and simon, since the death of his wife, finally feels something.

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wheeboo · 5 months

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hand in hand | lee jihoon

SYNOPSIS. in which you take your boyfriend to a work outing. PAIRING. lee jihoon x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, established relationship, a lil comfort WARNINGS. mention of alcohol and reader being a lil tipsy, just jihoon's love language secretly being physical touch w the right person, some self-doubt n insecurity on his side :(( WORD COUNT. 1.5k

requested by anon: woozi + #43 list 1 - #43: "I love your laugh."

notes: i promised myself i would try to write n post a fic for the event every 2 days but i'm def not sticking to that .. anyway i hope u all enjoy this 😔🫶 not entirely proud of how this was written dijdissnnd

join the 2k celebration!

Jihoon doesn't know why he's here, knowing that he doesn't share any hint of knowledge about finance and corporate interests. All of it makes him feel like he's a fish out of water.

The food is good, though. He won't lie about that. But the air reeks of alcohol and burnt meat at this point, and Jihoon is genuinely surprised no one has passed out drunk yet. He can feel the tiredness seeping into his eyelids as he peers around tensely, knowing that he definitely only exchanged a singular hi, nice to meet you with everyone before sitting down.

He checks his watch for the time, and also mindlessly checks the time on his phone too as if it was going to miraculously display a different hour. But it doesn't. It's still 10:34 PM, and Jihoon contemplates how much longer he must endure this social ordeal as he'd rather be in the comfort of his place...

...with you.

Jihoon barely processes the way his face lights up when his eyes land back on you emerging from the restroom. He's already picking up his body from how slouched he was sitting down moments ago. A small smile stretches across his face, momentarily erasing the look of social exhaustion.

His eyes follow you until you sit yourself down in the seat next to him, a cute, eager grin plastered across your face. Jihoon catches the slightly flushed look to your features from some of the drinking you've done earlier, but it only adds to your charm even more.

Under the table, he feels your hand sliding into his even while you're goofily greeting everyone for the third time tonight, fingers intertwining together as if you've never left. Jihoon's heart does a little jump at the touch, glancing around the table to see if anyone has noticed. But everyone seems too engrossed in their own conversations to pay much attention.

Jihoon knows that you're popular at work, and it's hard not to see why. The entire restaurant glows at the sight of you, or perhaps that's only what he sees.

It kind of makes him wonder if it was really necessary to let you drag him along. He hasn't contributed much to the entire outing except for being able to fill an empty chair. And yet, you were very excited to invite him as your plus one when everyone else only brought themselves.

But then again, he doesn't seem to mind that much𑁋he gets to hold your hand, gets to steal endless glances at your face and watch you enjoy yourself, knowing that at the end of the night you'll be coming home with him, and that's enough to make this evening bearable.

There's a squeeze to his hand, and Jihoon glances down before flickering back up to your face. You're peering at him with sleepy eyes, a lopsided smile, a small bit of dried sauce at the corners of your lips. Yet, there's some worry in there etched between the lines. He knows it's directed towards him.

He squeezes back your hand reassuringly, and before you can say anything, one of your coworkers taps on your shoulder to redirect your attention. Jihoon hardly catches what they say, but the laugh you let out a minute later is music to his ears. It's a hearty, genuine laugh that fills the air around the restaurant; it's the only sound he could discern among everyone else's' laugh.

However, his chest tightens ever so slightly, and his smile falters a little. His grip on your hand tightens subconsciously.

"And didn't Y/N have to hide under Seokmin's desk? Just because they were eating when it wasn't their break?"

"But I ended up getting in trouble anyways!" Your hand lets go of Jihoon's briefly to swat playfully at your coworker, then it isn't long until your hands lock together again. He really likes it when you do that. "And it's all because Seokmin couldn't keep his mouth shut!"

Jihoon doesn't know how much longer the conversation lasts because he's too busy playing with your hand, tracing aimlessly along the lines of your palm with his thumb. There's a nagging feeling tugging at the seams of his mind that's a bit too hard to brush off. He continues stealing glances at you, catching the way your eyes sparkle as you listen intently to another story from a coworker.

You look happy, genuinely happy, and a part of him wants nothing more than to keep that smile on your face.

When it was finally time for your coworkers to all start leaving one-by-one, Jihoon finds himself lingering near you, practically hovering as you bid your goodbyes and exchange your hugs with everyone. By the time it was the two of you left outside the restaurant, you trail towards your boyfriend laggardly, nearly collapsing on him in the process.

"I'm so tired," You mumble into his shoulder, before pulling away and reaching for his hand. "Think I'm going to pass out when we get home."

Jihoon just chuckles quietly. "But you had a lot of fun, right?"

A dreamy curve makes its way across your lips as you nod.

"Hmm, yeah," You reply lazily, somewhat tipsily. "Lots of fun."

The cool night air brushes against your skin as you walk together, the streets quiet and empty save for the occasional passing car. Jihoon can feel the weight of exhaustion in his bones as well, and the weight of your body leaning on him only adds to it, but he doesn't mind.

Your hands swing back and forth together as you stroll along the sidewalk, the soft glow of streetlights casting gentle shadows around you. Despite the tiredness, a warm contentment settles over Jihoon.

"Are you okay?"

Jihoon turns to you. "What?"

"I asked if you were okay," You repeat, a bit more softer this time. "You were just a bit quiet earlier."

He blinks a few times.

"Ah," is all Jihoon could respond with right now, because he doesn't know exactly how to answer that. He's fine, he knows he is, but there's a bit of unease in each step he takes.

You hang your head low to the ground as if in guilt. "I'm sorry for kind of forcing you to come with me. Just wanted your company, you know?"

Jihoon just shakes his head. "No, it's okay." Then he brings his eyes down too. "Seeing you happy made me happy. It was worth it."

You smile at that, just barely, though you swear there's still something else he isn't telling you. But you don't press on though, choosing to let some quietness roll over instead. The heaviness in your head had manage to slither its way to your own footsteps. You really can't wait to finally sleep.

Jihoon's grip on your hand is somewhat loose. Even though on the outside it may appear normal, you've held his hand one too many times to know when something is amiss.

"I don't... bore you, right?"

You stop in your tracks to face him. "Bore me?"

"It's ridiculous, I know," Jihoon says bashfully, immediately regretting asking that. "It's just... You were laughing a lot earlier. It's been a while since I've heard you laugh that much."

Your eyes wander over him, peering at him as if he's said the most strangest thing ever. Then you let out lighthearted scoff, letting yourself step closer to him.

"Hey, look at me," You urge him, tugging slightly on his hand for him to bring his eyes up to you. "Please?"

And so he does, meeting your gaze with a flicker of confusion. You hold his eyes for a few moments before you start to struggle, almost like you’re in a staring contest. Then a blush creeps up your cheeks, blossoming across your face like a freshly bloomed flower. A soft, nervous giggle escapes your lips, starting as a quiet chuckle before growing into a hearty blend of laughter.

For a second, Jihoon is a bit puzzled, before he feels a laugh of his own tumble out of his chest. "Why are you laughing?"

"Because you're cute."

"And that... makes you laugh?"

"It makes me happy," You answer witfully. "You make me happy. And just because I'm not laughing doesn't mean you're boring me."

Jihoon just gazes at you both dazedly and fondly, and the more he does so, the more it has you giggling even more. It could be from the alcohol earlier and it's a sign that you should really get back home this instant, but he's simply just standing there like a confused toddler, and you're happy.

"And your laugh... Gosh, your laugh," You continue on, and there's an affectionate look in your eyes. "I love your laugh. Please laugh more like that around me or I will go insane, Jihoonie."

A small grin spreads across Jihoon's face. "Then be cute, like you are now."

"Deal," You quip tauntingly, bringing his hand up to your lips to place a small kiss on before the two of you continue strolling down the sidewalk.

The silence takes over for some time, a comfortable silence that isn't heavy or awkward this time, only the tapping of your shoes against the pavement and the occasional rustle of leaves in the cool night breeze filling the space.

"I love your laugh, too."

You pick your head back up, gazing at him with sleepy, half-lidded eyes. "What did you say?"

Jihoon hesitates, before smiling bashfully.

"I said that I love you."

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strawberrygummiess · 10 days

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anemone.

azul ashengrotto x gender neutral! reader 4.6k words cross posted on ao3 "Can I request Azul x reader where after a trip into town the reader is begging Azul for a few shifts at the most to lounge? Turns out in a little shop they found what looks to be a replica of their mom’s wedding ring and they miss their parents so much. Who cares if it’s not real gold or fake diamonds? It looks like home and they’re willing to slave just to get it. Azul can’t turn away tears now can he?"

Everyone knew you were short on money.

You had become one of the most notorious penny pinchers on campus, although, it wasn’t your fault. Crowley’s “generosity” could only take you so far before you had to be creative. Brand new, dubious tuna-based dishes; impractical fixes for your household wares; sewing and resewing every hole in your uniform; and of course, finding jobs anywhere they’d take you.

This was easier said than done, of course. As much as you’d love to go into town and find a stable part-time job, you could only get so far into the application process before it became very apparent that you were not from this world. And you suspected that an unknown person coming in and out of Night Raven College gates with zero records of their existence was not a scandal that Crowley (or you, for that matter) was equipped to handle. Not that anyone would let you starve to death, you had more food-related gifts than you could handle. It made you grateful for Grim’s never-ending stomach. The food was nice, but it wasn’t everything. What you really needed was a steady income.

If you can’t get a job in town, you would have to get the next best thing: The Mostro Lounge. The students who worked there always bragged about the pretty paychecks they earned every two weeks. Who cared that they looked ragged every day? You needed that money.

And that’s why you were here, deep in Octavinelle dorm, begging Azul for a position at the Mostro Lounge. You needed money. Your dorm was falling apart. Your clothes had holes in them. You were just so tired of eating tuna. Anything to garner some sympathy.

He didn’t need to know the real reason. That you’ve been eyeing up in the jewelry shop in town. That you were desperate to buy a ring that looked eerily similar to your mother’s wedding ring. That you were grasping for any reminder of your home. Because that would be embarrassing. And a prime opportunity to get manipulated by Azul. And you had already done that song and dance.

So now, here you were, nervously bouncing your leg while you waited for his response. He seemed to be mulling the idea over, seemingly thinking of a way to trick you into getting the short end of the stick. He hummed an unrecognizable tune while he filed through his contracts, finishing the task he started before you arrived, occasionally peering over his glasses to look at you. You were undeniably anxious, fidgety, and uncomfortable: the prime emotional state to agree to a dodgy deal.

“Now Prefect, do calm down,” Azul mused, placing his chin in his hand after he finished his sorting. He watched as you settled your leg and gave him a tense smile. Despite his confident demeanor, he knew he had to tread carefully here. You were a delicate case.

On the one hand, you were smart. You had already bested him once before, and he knew you were entirely capable of doing it again. You also wouldn’t sign any old contract, even with this out-of-character desperation. On the other hand, Azul couldn’t say he’d seen this level of distress from you before. Especially about your “money problems”.

As smart as you were, he was no fool. Something was up. He just didn’t know what.

“I understand you’re looking for a part-time serving job. The Mostro Lounge is always looking for new talent, however- “

“It’s crucial that I get this job.”

Azul tsks at your interruption before leaning back in his chair. You can see it on his face. Annoyance, frustration. A hint of confusion if you knew what to look for. Nothing pleasant. The smile on his face didn’t change, but his eyes narrowed slightly. Less patient.

“Now, now Prefect, I know your work ethic. I am not against hiring you per se. I just ask for a little… transparency amongst my employees. I’m a fair and equitable boss, I only want to help you.”

Your leg began to bounce again.

“C’mon Azul, you remember what Ramshackle was like. It hasn’t gotten much better. And look- “You hold up your arm to reveal the miserable patch you scrapped together with what remained of your curtains. Your blazer had more mismatched patches than linen at this point.

“Your clothes are ruined, and you’re looking to eat something a bit different this week, yes, yes, I know this one.” Azul finishes. His stare is pointed. “However, this is how it’s always been. And never have I seen you so desperate to pick up shifts. Is there something going on? You know I can help you without sending you to work.”

Fat chance. You know his game. You’d allow him to “help” you and then be stuck as an errand boy indefinitely. You were already Crowley’s servant. You weren’t too keen to be someone else’s. You gingerly lower your arm and take a moment to decide on your answer. The whole truth was out of the question, of course, but you could afford to tell him a little bit. Just enough to get him off your case.

“It’s nothing you don’t already know about, like you said. I’m just… tired of living this way. It’d be nice to have extra cash, so I don’t have to complain constantly. That’s all.” You settle. It wasn’t a lie. You needed extra cash anyway. You were just going to use it for a non-essential.

Well, a non-essential to everyone else.

Azul hums in approval before swiveling his chair around to the filing cabinet behind him. He riles through files of paperwork before grabbing a thick stack of papers. At this point, he knows he isn’t getting any more information out of you. If this was the game you were going to play, he would win by your rules. Azul lets out a soft “ah” as he finds what he’s looking for. He turns back around, and with a snap of his fingers, the filing cabinet closes with a loud clink. He sets the stack of papers down on his desk before opening another drawer. You take the opportunity to read the cover. Mostro Lounge Employee Handbook.

“That is yours to keep. It has all the information you need about our company, code of conduct; policy and procedures- do study those thoroughly-; and workers’ rights,” Azul begins to flip through the booklet before landing on a section towards the end.

“And this is your acknowledgment that you’ve read the handbook. When you finish reading through it, sign here and tear the page from the booklet.”

You grab the booklet from his desk, flipping through the pages quickly. It would take you at least an hour to read through it, let alone study. You land on the Policy and Procedures page and glance at the text written on it. You notice the usual statements, Attendance, Safety, and Security. Each statement had a lengthy explanation of the expectations and appropriate procedures for employees to follow. Each statement ended with a bold statement: No exceptions.

Before you can speak again, Azul hands you another set of papers.

“Here are some other official documents I will need you to sign. Onboarding processes usually involve tax forms and such but considering your unique situation we will have to create a new form for you. As for payment, as you have no bank account, it’ll be in cash.”

You thumb through the additional papers. One is an agreement of payment. The other is a form about uniforms and sizing. There is a rundown of waiter etiquette, the type of service, and a menu. Azul hands you a pen, gesturing to the payment agreement form. You quickly scan the page, looking for nefarious fine print, but ultimately decide it is safe. And you’re happy to see the high pay rate. Working for at least two weeks, plus any tips you could earn, you’re sure you’ll get that ring in no time. You sign your name eagerly. Azul quickly takes the paper and pen from your hands and grins.

“Please return the uniform slip to me by tomorrow so I can get your uniform fitted as soon as possible. I will also need you to sign the other acknowledgment papers and return those before your first day. Once your uniform is ready, you can begin working with us. Do study that menu, I need it memorized before your first day. You will shadow Jade and Floyd. Do you have any questions for me currently?”

Azul was flashing a charming smile at you. His previous look of annoyance is long gone, now replaced with a confident and relaxed gaze. You were slightly overwhelmed but matched his smile.

“Nothing I can’t text you about later, right?”

“Of course. We look forward to working with you, Prefect.”

He rises from his chair and extends a hand. You stand, shake his hand, and bid Azul farewell, carefully securing your stack of papers against your chest. The easy part was finished. Now you had to survive the hard part.

By the time you return to your dorm, it’s late. Grim is sitting on your kitchen counter, tail flipping in annoyance. His eyes are squeezed shut, but you know he’s awake and aware of your presence.

“All that time spent in Octavinelle and you didn’t bring any food home?” he grumbles but he happily leans into your scratches as you search for a can of tuna. His eyes open and scans the stack of papers on the counter.

“Since when did you work at the Mostro Lounge?”

“Since today.” You respond, removing your hand and opening the can. Grim follows your hands, walking in front of the can to chase your pets. You swat his head away. For a creature that claims not to be a cat, he sure acted like one.

“Are you gonna start bringing fancy food home? I want steak every day.”

“There’s no way I’m going to be able to bring steak home ever.” You laugh, emptying the tuna can into a bowl and setting it aside. You take the opportunity to look at the formidable pile of documents and sigh. You supposed you’d have to get started on memorizing sooner rather than later.

It was worth it for the ring.

A week passed before you were able to officially start your first day. It was an agonizing wait for you. You compulsively went to the jewelry shop the day before your start date to check that the ring was still there. Still on display, the modest ring sat among the other fancy bands. You had seen others beside it come and go, but the silver ring stayed put for nearly a month. You had never been so thankful for your mother’s practicality.

350 madols. You’d get that in two weeks if you were diligent.

On your first day, you were early. Several hours early. You entered Mostro Lounge, still crisp uniform feeling foreign on your skin. Even back home, you had never worn anything this fancy. You tentatively looked around the dark room and took in the sight of the restaurant. You had never seen it so empty. You almost felt like you were trespassing.

“Woaaah Shrimpy even beat us! Guess they’re serious!” You heard Floyd before you felt him. He grasped your shoulder while he moved in front of you. He was wearing the same uniform as you, although slightly more unkempt. While Azul’s policies had stated there were “no exceptions” to the uniform expectations, you figured Floyd couldn’t be contained by such rules.

“Well, that’s good to see. Not many new hires are this passionate about the business,” Jade strides to the other side of Floyd with a polite smile on his face. “You’re aware of the shadowing process, correct?”

“In theory,” you say, shifting your weight from foot to foot. You’ve always been slightly intimidated by the twins. “Floyd is a server and you’re on expo… I doubt I’ll be spending much time with you, though.”

Jade grins at your knowledge. “No, not while I’m doing that. But I also double as floor manager when Azul is out. That’s when you’ll be under my watch. I’m impressed. Azul told me you’re serving experience was limited.”

You bite back your comment about using the internet to look up your questions. Compliments are nice. And you didn’t want to feel any more over your head than you already did. Expeditors were for fancy restaurants. You had never seen one in your old jobs.

“So, because today is a Saturday, we’re open earlier. The chefs will be comin’ in soon to start prepping and making family, and then we’ll be ready to open. It's great that you’re here so early though. Now I can show you everything without people being in my way.” Floyd explains, guiding you through the dining area with your shoulder.

“This is the floor; you’ll primarily be working here. You’re gonna be serving with me, bussing tables, and running food.” Floyd kicks the doors open to the kitchen.

“This is the kitchen, Jade’s territory. That’s the walk-in, that’s the chef area, cleaning station, blah blah blah, you won’t really need anything back here unless you do.”

You decide not to comment on the “unless you do” bit and hope that it means it’s above your pay grade. So far it doesn’t seem too bad. Although there aren’t any guests yet.

“This is your locker; you can put your… nothing here. Yikes. Things that bad at home, Shrimpy?”

“I can always bring Grim if that makes me look less sad.” You joke, glancing around before following Floyd out of the locker area. He shows you Azul’s office, where you quickly drop off your remaining paperwork, the break area, and the storage area. By the time you’ve finished your tour, other employees have already filed in and begun their side work.

“And that brings you to the end of Floyd’s restaurant tour! I deserve a 5-star rating, right Shrimpy?” He grins, leaning down to your height to flash his teeth at you. “Go ahead and start rolling silverware, I’ll come to get you before family.”

Floyd leaves and you join the other servers, chatting politely while you prepare for service to start. You take a deep breath and try to steady your heart. You have to focus and keep your eyes on the prize.

Family was deceptively calm and quiet. Service was hell.

The few times you had dined in Mostro Lounge had been nearly perfect. The servers were attentive, the food delicious, and the atmosphere tranquil. It had been a while since you had worked in food service, but even your limited experience in a family-owned diner couldn’t prepare you for just how intensely Azul ran the Lounge.

The shift from front of house to back of house was like night and day. The second you entered the kitchen you could hear screams for “Hands!” and “Service!”. You constantly messed up dishes- bringing the wrong plates to the wrong tables, bringing them too early or late much to Jade’s annoyance, forgetting the menu out of stress, and the amount of chastising you were hearing for letting dishes die was agonizing. You had even crashed into a dishwasher after forgetting to announce “Behind!” breaking several dishes.

This was only your first day.

Floyd quickly told you to take five in the locker room while several students cleaned the mess you made. You quickly sat on the bench and placed your head in your hands. This was an utter disaster. You let out a miserable groan, pulling your knees to your chest. You couldn’t imagine what Azul would make of your performance. You were hoping for some sympathy, but after all the trouble you made, you wouldn’t keep an employee like you around either.

“Prefect.”

Azul’s harsh tone made you quickly regain your composure. You grimaced as you looked up at him from your seat, placing your legs back on the floor.

“I’m really sorry. It was more than I expected, I should’ve asked more questions… I can pay for the dishes, just take it out of my paycheck, I just really need this job- “

Azul put his hands up to stop you. You’re glad he did. You could feel your throat tightening as you explained yourself. You didn’t want to cry in front of him.

“Dishes can be fixed with magic. What can’t be fixed is the experiences the patrons had today.” Azul states. He opens his mouth to say something else before hesitating. You look utterly miserable. Tired, stressed, and anxious. Usually, this many mistakes in one day would warrant termination, but you’re a special case.

“…Clearly, service is a bit much for you. Tomorrow morning, I am heading into town for the farmer’s market. You will join me. Meet me in the Lounge, 6 AM sharp. Do not be late.”

Azul turns sharply and leaves the room. You breathe a sigh of relief before leaning back against the lockers. You only had a couple more hours of your shift. That was plenty of time to get at least one table right. You resigned yourself to doing the best you can before joining everyone back in the kitchen.

The next morning you are utterly exhausted. You were chewed up more times than you could count, and the quick turnaround from the previous workday to this morning left you with only a few hours of sleep. You were sure you looked ragged as you walked into the Mostro Lounge.

Floyd and Jade were already there, Floyd half asleep, and Jade fixing centerpieces. Jade glances at you and raises his brow.

“Oh? I figured you would’ve been fired last night.”

The harsh words made you wince, but you nodded in understanding. You did too.

“Yeah Shrimpy,” Floyd yawned. “You messed up big time yesterday. Never seen someone so bad at this.”

You pursed your lips. You were getting less understanding.

“I’m not joining you in service today,” Your brow twitched in annoyance at the sound of Floyd’s Thank God! “I’m joining Azul in town today. Picking up ingredients with him, I think.”

Floyd and Jade exchanged a look before they let out a series of giggles. Floyd’s giggles turn into a cackle that fills the room. You had never felt so much anxiety in your life. Think of the ring. Think of your mom.

“Is there something funny, Floyd?”

Azul asks as he enters the room, exactly on time. You’ve never been so excited to see him before, but if you had learned anything from NRC, it was that you did not enjoy the Twins’ company. Floyd responds to Azul with a cheeky Wouldn’t you like to know? making him scoff. Azul glances around the room, finally spotting you. He seems pleasantly surprised to see you there so early, almost expecting you to be late, or not even bother to show at all. You truly were dedicated to the paycheck. Azul couldn’t help but admire your devotion.

Jade strode over to Azul with a smile, handing him a piece of paper. Azul sighed, read over the note, and gave Jade an annoyed look before stuffing the list in his pocket.

“The Mostro Lounge does not require fifteen new types of mushrooms, Jade. Come now Prefect, otherwise, we’ll be late to the market.” Azul links your arm with his and begins leading you toward the door, and you hear Floyd’s cackles fill the air again.

The walk to town is mostly quiet. You don’t have much to say, and you’re admittedly too tired to wrack your brain for conversation points. You sneak glances at Azul’s profile as you walk, wondering what’s going on in his head.

What was so special about you that he kept you around? What did he want from you that he couldn’t get from anyone else?

“Is there something the matter, Prefect? It’s impolite to stare.”

Azul glances at you with a smile. You furrow your brows.

“Why didn’t you fire me?”

He chuckles.

“Well, I thought you needed a job. I’m helping you, like you asked.”

He leaves it as that once you approach the market. You don’t need to know how much he enjoys your presence, even when you’re messing everything up. You also don’t need to know that Jade and the head chef are usually the ones making the farmer’s market trips. If you were going to withhold information from him, it was only fair to do the same to you.

The time spent shopping is pleasant. The tension fades away the longer you two are shopping together, and you find yourself listening to his explanations of the dishes he serves, and why the restaurant is run the way it is. You’re impressed by how much he’s accomplished at such a young age. Every time he mentions his mother’s restaurant, you can’t help but smile.

As you’re finishing up, you happen to glance around, realizing the jewelry shop is on this street. You look at Azul, who is still conversing with a vendor and begin to inch away towards the shop. You’d just take a look at the ring again, and quickly go back to Azul and leave. Simple.

You enter the shop and greet the shopkeeper, who at this point knows what you’re there to look at. You walk over to the display and peer into the glass. Still on display was your mother’s ring.

“Ah, so this is what you needed the money for!”

Azul almost sounds giddy as he approaches you. You jump back in surprise, not realizing he had even come in. You stammered out apologies, trying to cover up why you had wandered off, but it was too late. You were busted.

Azul glanced at the ring that captivated you. It was a plain silver wedding band with a simple vine engraving. There were no jewels or diamonds in the ring, making it an unpopular pick for couples. To him, it was nothing special. He turned his attention to you, who was still sputtering out explanations, embarrassed. If you just wanted it for aesthetics, you wouldn’t be this flustered. Whatever it meant to you was something he wasn’t privy to, but clearly meant a lot.

“Hey… it’s,” you finally find your words. “It’s 8:30. We have to get back so…”

Azul thankfully says nothing. He nods in agreement, and you begin your walk back to campus.

Your walk to quiet once again. You shuffle behind Azul, acting like it’s the groceries in your hands slowing you down. You try convincing yourself that getting caught wasn’t so bad. It shouldn’t have been something you were so embarrassed about. It was natural to miss your parents. It was natural to want something to remind you of them. It was natural to want to work yourself to the bone to earn some money. You didn’t mean to start crying, but you figured you needed it. It started as quiet tears, but they soon turned to sniffles, and then blubbering hiccups. By the time Azul realized you were crying, you were almost wailing.

If you were in the emotional state to pay attention, his panic would be hilarious.

He couldn’t figure out where to start. Did he hug you? Apologize? Ignore you? Tell you to stop crying? He wasn’t trying to upset you. He just wanted to know why you were acting so weird. He tentatively grabbed your arms, gripping them tightly, attempting to soothe you but only successfully shocking you out of a cry. His eyes were wide and worried as he tried to understand where he went wrong.

“Why are you doing that?! It was a ring!”

You sniffed, blinking away the tears in your eyes before frowning.

“It’s my mom’s ring.”

Azul purses his lips. You don’t need to say more than that. He’s a bit of Mama’s Boy himself. He nods slowly and releases your arms before reaching into his coat pocket. He pulls a handkerchief out and wipes your face before you can put the bags in your hands down. Your face is still puffy, but he tried his best to get all the tears and snot off of your face.

“We are extremely late. We must get back immediately so we can open on time.”

And without another word, you two finally make it to the lounge.

You finish off your first week a bit better than you started, but not by much. You’ve learned the kitchen lingo fast, but you still weren’t designed for fancy service. You had at least gotten back on Floyd and Jade’s good side, even with the occasional broken dish. You definitely understood why students earned such a high paycheck for their work at the Lounge.

After the final sweep-through, you waved goodbye to the other servers and headed to the locker room. You still hadn’t brought anything to work besides a cell phone, but you preferred sitting here rather than the official break room. You sighed and leaned your head against the lockers, eyes closed. You were utterly exhausted.

A curt, ahem, caught your attention. Standing in the doorway was Azul, eyes focused on you. Since your outburst over the weekend, you have avoided him to the best of your abilities. The embarrassment of breaking down in front of him still fluttered in your stomach. If he noticed, he didn’t show it.

“Hello Prefect. Happy to see you survived your first week,” he said, a small smile gracing his lips. It wasn’t one of his usual suave smirks, but a natural grin.

“Survive is right.” You groaned. “You run this place like a Sargent.”

“That is the restaurant business.” He laughs, approaching you. You notice an envelope in his hands.

“I noticed your improvement. Towards the end of the week, you were beginning to be a bit of help.”

“I think you mean ‘becoming a big help’?”

“No, I was very intentional with my words. You are not cut out for this.”

You put your head in your hands. You couldn’t believe he was firing you with a smile on his face.

“Great, thank you. I assume that’s my first and last paycheck?” You gesture to the envelope with one hand while the other massages the space between your eyes. Azul hums in agreement and hands it to you.

“Please do not let this deter you from visiting the Mostro Lounge again in the future. We will still honor your employee discount.” He opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but the words don’t come out.

“Good day, Prefect.”

Azul leaves abruptly, turning on his heel and exiting in a hurry. You raise a brow but quickly turn your attention to the envelope. It's smaller than you expected, bulging strangely around the middle. You can’t help but open it in the locker room.

You pull out the contents hurriedly. First is your notice of termination. The second is a note. And lastly, is the ring.

You quickly read the note.

Prefect,

I apologize for not delivering this in person. I figured you wanted to be alone after last weekend. Please let this be a reminder that I can always help you without putting you to work. We absolutely could have worked out an arrangement to fund this ring. Nonetheless, I hope this makes up for a paycheck.

Yours sincerely,

Azul

You can’t help the grin that splits your face as you slide the ring on your finger. You’d have to tell him the truth about your feelings.

The whole truth, this time.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader

243 notes · View notes

woodlandwrites · 7 months

Text

i. mind over matter

aphrodite!reader x luke castellan

pre-tlt, characters 18+, mdni, def going to be a pt.2

warnings: cursing, whole lotta impertinence!

2.7k read - unedited

You have been plagued by flocks of doves and Luke Castellan. So Aphrodite decides to meddle a little a lot in your love life. Who needs memories anyway? Unfortunately, the only person you find comfort in - is the very person you hate.

A/N: first fic in a loooong time - stick with me here. there will be more parts and maybeee some spice? anyways hope you enjoy!

You’d like to think that Aphrodite loved the game of making you miserable. In retrospect, you hated your mother. She was a hard act to follow.

Don’t jump to conclusions - you loved your cabin. Your brothers and sisters were wonderful - not vain like most campers would say. No, that was not an issue. The problem started with one slender, curly haired, crooked smile boy - Luke Castellan. He was the golden boy of Camp Half-Blood and the bane of your existence.

Luke was an astonishingly aggravating self-centered egotistical bigot.

“Why do you hate him so much,” Silena asked one day out of the blue. You both sat in the stands watching Luke teach his swordsmanship class. You pondered her question for a while.

“Because. He confuses me - and aggravates me constantly. I have never met anyone so full of themselves in my entire life. He is Narcissus reborn again. It also does not help that he is a complete jerk,” you nodded as you ate another fresh strawberry. Silena pondered on your words.

“Are you sure this has nothing to do with mom and the whole..argument,” she said in a cautionary tone.

Silena was the only one who knew about you and Aphrodite’s - complicated past. To be fair - she didn’t know the entire truth. The prophecy, the impertinence, all the bullshit. However, she did know that your shoulders seemed to tense every time Aphrodite’s name was mentioned.

“I mean every time I have talked to him at camp counselor meetings he seems like an alright guy.

Silena - forever the optimist. Sometimes when you looked at her through the corner of your eye she resembled your mother. She had this soft tone and locks of hair that seemed to always catch the wind just right. Yeah, no wonder Luke was nice to her. Selina was extremely beautiful - Beckendorf struck gold.

“Yeah, I can see right through the façade-” you were cut off by a dove landing next to you. He started pecking at your strawberries mindlessly. Silena stifled a small giggle.

“It is funny when it isn’t happening to you. The bastards have been following me around for days,” you said annoyed.

You tried scaring the bird away - only for more to return. After a couple minutes an estimated 20 doves flocked around you mimicking every move.

“Go away!” you screamed - only for the feathered friends to cock their heads in curiosity. By now, the entire arena seemed to convert their attention to you.

“Hey! I heard if they shit on your head it’ll bring good luck,” Luke echoed watching amused.

He leaned against his sword in a cocky manner. What an asshole - you hated when he did that. The other campers seemed to laugh along.

“Up yours, Castellan,” you yelled with a face the color of cherries.

The doves had now increased their army to a solid 50 - all looking to you for a further instruction. Doves had followed you around your entire life - a gift your mother had bestowed to you. The unfortunate part was that they were pretty much the most non obedient monsters on the entire planet. You never had truly understood why they would appear - most of the time it was a random occurrence. Of course - Luke was always there to revel in your misfortune. You still had not forgotten when the doves caused a complete riot last month at dinner - leaving quite a mess for you to clean up. The younger campers were still traumatized.

That was the thing about doves - they were just like your mother. At first they are nice to look at, almost sweet. That is until they turn into vicious assailants from Tartarus (Silena says you overreact). They also annoy you - another common attribute with your mother.

“For Gods sake just leave!,” you yelled again, stomping off, bidding Silena goodbye.

You did not want to continue being entertainment for the rest of the campers. The doves seemed to take the hint - maintaining their place in the stands. You were sure there were some week old snacks stuffed between the seats the rotted things could ravish on. Luke chuckled before turning his attention back to his students.

The sun was setting and soon it would be dinner - but you still sat in bed thinking about what Silena had mentioned early about your mom. Maybe it was your nerves - but you knew a visit soon would be unavoidable. The doves only confirmed your suspicion. It was rare for gods to visit Camp Half-Blood, at least publically. The closest thing the camp had to godliness was Mr. D - what a joke. However, you knew your mother and her constant desire to meddle with your life.

Dinner went without a hunch - except for the Stoll twins starting a food fight at the Hermes table. You loved quiet nights like these where the summer breeze feels like a warm hug. Silena nudged you - reading her expression you knew she was inquiring about the events from earlier. A shrug sufficed. You were so caught up in laughing with your siblings you failed to notice the yelling from the other side of the pavilion.

“One of the Ares girls was flirting with Luke after you left today - Charlie and I could not help but laugh. It was so awkward,” Silena mentioned.

There were a couple of murmured sounds and gawking from your siblings - which was the usual. If there was one thing they loved it was - well - love. However this subject rubbed you the wrong way - maybe it was just Luke’s name being mentioned.

It felt like a suffocating gut punch and it was most likely your mothers doing. If there was anything she loved more it was demigod love - the trials and tribulations - and of course the unfortunate ends. It quite literally made you sick. But why did Luke have to be roped in it and moreover - why did you care? You smiled and nodded - trying to pay attention and not let the thoughts take over.

“Get these goddamn things off of me!,” a familiar voice yelled in annoyance.

So wrapped up in thought - you failed to care - assuming it was a practical Hephaestus joke with an Ares kid. Selina quickly nudged you pointing towards the Hermes table - for quite an interesting scene. Luke being attacked by a merciless army of doves.

“Hey Castellan, let them shit on your head - heard it was good luck!,” the words reflected from just a few hours prior.

You couldn’t help but giggle - it was nice not being the receiver of dove aggravated assault (as Beckendorf had termed it). It was also nice not to be the joke for once - everyone laughing at someone else for a change was different.

“Call the damn things off,” he struggled - yelling your name in the process.

“Why do you automatically assume I am the one who set them off? They just do what they want!” you retorted.

Silena looked at you - questioning your motives. He struggled even more as the doves thrashed him around - seemling gaining confidence in their blows. They seemed - deadly - more than before. Silena muttered your name.

“You have to try,” Silena persuaded. Reluctantly you obeyed - knowing she was being more serious than she was putting on.

“Stop!” you yelled sternly to the winged creatures.

Like usual - they did not obey. Unfortunately, they keep going - tearing Luke’s shirt in the process. He held himself quite well against dove assassins - a fact you did not want to admit to yourself.

“παύω!” You spoke - pleading that it would end.

It was all your mothers fault. She wanted you to be miserable. She wanted to ruin your night, humiliate you - and to hurt Luke. You weren’t sure why that last part bothered you so much.

“Φεύγω!” you screamed once more in an earthshaking tone.

The doves dissipated automatically. Like literally - poof - into dust. Again - the entire camp had its eyes on you - what else was new?

“What is wrong with you,” Luke questioned - still astonished at the sheer power of your voice - that very voice that made doves disintegrate. You slowly looked up at his disheveled appearance - he looked worse.

Beautiful.

You wish that voice in your head would go suck a dick!

“Shows over, enjoy your dessert,” you said bitterly to the crowd taking a bow.

Silena yelled your name but you had already darted towards the woods. You could hear the muttering of the crowd questioning the evening entertainment. You could not seem to care.

You took a seat in the sand on the beach overlooking the shore. The moonlight seemed to make the water sparkle like diamonds. You felt almost calm here - no one to distract you from your thoughts. Why did his words strike you like a knife? He might as well plant backbiter into your back, it would hurt less. It all led to the proper question - why? Why would the doves attack him anyway? They had never done anything quite so ruthless before - nevertheless to another sole person.

Then again - it was always about Luke - ever since you got to the infernal camp. He was probably celebrated for his brave victory in the battle of the doves - hoisted up by other campers. You suppose a feast in his honor was in order.

“You think such unhappy thoughts,” an angelic voice sang from the sea.

Your attention turned towards a bundle of sea foam. The foam began to sparkle and mangle to take the shape of a woman the closer it got to shore. Soon after your mother - Aphrodite stood before you - in all her glory.

“I thought seafoam was just whale jizz,” you spoke casually. You chucked at yourself that was a good one!

Of - fucking - course. Your mother was behind the entire dove fiasco - you called it. You should start placing bets at this point.

“Most would be labeled impertinent with that attitude - especially with a God.”

“I am impertinent.” You shrugged, pulling your knees to your chest. Maybe if you really ignored her she would disappear.

“I will not disappear yet - we have much to discuss.”

“Get out of my head.”

“I heard what occurred tonight at dinner. Shame, doves are very gentle creatures.”

A dove magically appeared in her hands, letting out a soft coo. You cringed. If you saw another dove tonight - you might just roast it and eat it.

“So that was you?” You asked venomously.

“Well thanks mom! Now the entire camp thinks I tried to kill the golden boy with a league of killer doves. They all think I am absolutely crazy.”

“I did nothing, my child.” You gawked at her - she paused to collect her thoughts.

“However, you might want to look within yourself before you spit accusations that are not true. I merely gave you a gift - how you use it is at your own expense.” She finished.

“But I don’t control those horrid things - they just show up and do whatever. Why would I even attack Luke with a bunch of wimpy doves?”

That was your mother, having the audacity to say you caused the incident. That it was all your fault.

“Love, perhaps?” Her eyes seemed to glitter at the thought.

“No.” Ugh, not this again, you thought.

“Doves are a mere - personification of one’s inner love. That is why I gave you the gift - so your innermost feelings can never be bottled. That does horrid things to one’s complexion.”

“Well thanks for the shitty gift, mother. Next time maybe a pair of socks will do the trick.”

“Why do you insist on denying who you are? Denying what you are destined to become? Denying yourself the love of the century?”

“Why love someone if they eventually will die.” It was true. Your father had died when you were young - leaving you an orphan. Your demigod friends you made throughout the years died horrible unspeakable deaths.

“Isn’t that all the more fun?”

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you? You just love to see me suffer?”

“You’re being rash.” She fired back.

“Rash? Where have you been?” You scoffed at your godly mother.

“Child, I do not write destiny - I only enforce it. I know you more than you would like to admit, sweet dove. And you - are in love with the child of Hermes.”

Apollo could’ve shot you through the chest - it would have felt better.

“Mother, you have it mixed up - I do not have any feelings for Luke. You’re just making things up because you are bored and need some excitement. Please go back to Olympus and meddle with someone else’s life,” you stated. You staggered to your feet dusting the sand off.

Before you could walk away a bolt of pure energy hit you in your spine. You flew to your feet hitting the ground with a hard thud. In a blur your mother was standing proud above your feet - surrounded in a pink aura.

“Luke Castellan, he will keep you safe - and you will keep him steady.”

You might have thought to curse at her - but you couldn’t speak - let alone move. She had disappeared from vision leaving only a dove in her wake. The pain - was excruciating - like being electrocuted a million times. Your ears rang terrible tunes as you tried to level yourself - only to fall back down. The world was spinning at an unmeasurable pace. You could hear shrill screaming - or was it yours? You weren’t even sure who you were? Only images of dark curls, broad shoulders, and crooked smiles flashed through your vision.

A quake of footsteps running towards the shore were felt as you thrashed in the sand. Voices - yelling a name - whose name? You couldn’t recall. All you knew was darkness.

“Y/N?!” a feminine voice called. You could feel her hands shake your shoulder violently - it felt like knives.

You heard screams - this time knowing it was your shrill cry. You pushed her away with force. You backed away, crawling backwards in desperation.

Once your vision returned you focused to see a swarm of kids all in orange shirts - staring at you in shock. The girl who touched you - you could only assume was kneeling in the sand in front of you. She seemed to be pleading.

“Stay away, please,” you pleaded with tears streaming from your eyes. You weren’t sure what had happened but you knew you had never felt pain so deeply.

“Y/N, please you were screaming. We only want to make sure you are okay. We can go to the infirmary and figure it out,” the girl reached out only for you to retreat more. You hyperventilate on your own words.

“What’s going on?” another voice asked with urgency from beyond the crowd.

Every child seemed to turn their attention to focus on the male figure. Pushing his way through the crowd - he became shocked at the scene before him.

However, you felt as if all the oxygen had left your body - leaving you limp. You felt as if a hand had grabbed your heart and ripped it in two. He was the one - the one you had seen in your visions.

“Y/N?” he questioned - half concerned, half annoyed. His chocolate eyes seemed to lock ever so easily with yours. He was indeed the most beautiful man you had ever seen - like a carving of marble. Your soul ached. Without a thought - on instinct alone - you ran. He was engulfed in a desperate hug - his shoulder muffled your pitiful cries.

“Please, you’re the only one who can help.” You could feel the eyes on the two of you - the gasps were hard to ignore. He went stiff in his posture - not sure how to react. Silence fell over the entire shore, only the crashing of waves in the background.

“Y/N what is going on? Is this some sort of prank?” he asked in disbelief.

He had never seen you like this - so scared. Some small part of him wanted to scoop you up, hold you tight, and tell you everything would be okay. He wanted to tell you how he would fix all your problems - just so he would never see you cry again. Although these feelings were so suppressed he restrained.

Gods you were beautiful.

“I- I don’t know who Y/N is. I don’t know anyone. I don’t know me.”

#luke castellan x reader #percy jackson x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan #percy jackson #percy jackson fanfiction #luke castellan x aphrodite!reader #pjo fanfic #pjo #Spotify

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pinkzier · 6 months

Note

i can request Meangirl!lottie? I think she would be sooo mean, I think she would love overstimulation! I love your posts!!!

Lottie Matthews x F!reader

Warnings: oral, desagration kink, strap referred to as dick, DUBCON, no aftercare, corruption kink? lottie blackmails you about your videos! recorded sex

A/n:I wrote this while eating a whole oreo egg, and I was listening gee , sorry anon I forgot about overstimulation:((( this has been rotting for months...

Lottie didn't know what it was about you...but you were different from the others, she doesn't know if it was because your eyes didn't shine when she passed in the hallway or if it was because you looked hotter than she would like to admit

at first it was just a "revolt" because when she "accidentally" dropped her food during break time and she got suspended, it was the first time that a stupid, nerdy person wasn't intimidated by the rich, intelligent queen bee of the school.

I mean, not that smart, otherwise she wouldn't need to be talking to the director for the 10th time, and this time it wasn't because she was caught intimidating the newbies

" Charlotte, you know that your father pays a lot for this tuition, I'm going to give you extra classes, But that's not enough, you'll have help from someone in your class. and I know the right person for that."

when lottie saw you she could feel all her blood boiling, she didn't know, you were too stupid and you were a bitch to her, she could shut you up with anything, if it would make you stop talking back to her criticisms

and she knew what she was going to do when she called you to her house on the weekend, apologizing via text about all the unrepentant threats (she didn't regret it )and saying she was going to make it a girls' night, when her parents were working all week and you even brought pajamas in your backpack, the stupid one was you who really thought that jackie and natalie were going to a slumber party, you were automatically forgiven when lottie saw how your breasts showed and she knew the water with medicine had worked , she saw how your face turned red, how you rubbed your thighs together as you tried to focus on duty

lottie comes close to you and places a hand on your thigh and leaves it there, she can feel yours eyes narrow, she feels you look visibly tense while look at the notebook, but you continues trying to speak "so you divide what m-multiplied...and"

"you seem tense darling...are you a virgin or something?." she says in a visibly mocking tone and continues "sorry, it must be embarrassing" lottie can feel you visibly trying to leave as your body say you to continue.

lottie lowers her hand to your clothed pussy and feels you moving away "w-what are you doing!"

" Shut your fucking mouth and enjoy, I know you want this.." she murmurs without looking into your eyes and rubs her pussy while putting her face on your neck and bites " you are very ungrateful, i know your nerdy friends want this...that's why you were staring at my ass while I was training, right?" she asks a rhetorical question

and you weren't looking at her ass...god you have respect! "w-what?...n-no...never" you let out a shaky sentence as you feel her roll her eyes "liar" she drops her hand down your panties "jesus...you're really wet" she lets out a loud laugh as she feels you squeeze the nothing "fucking whore" she growls without pity at you as she collects your wetness from your entrance to your clit

she feels you moving away and bites your neck "if you leave..I'll tell everyone that you're a pervert" Your friends will love seeing this...you know.." Tears well up in your eyes, wide with fear as you feel Lottie try to stick a finger inside you. she raises an eyebrow "oh...you're a virgin!" she laughs as she sticks her finger faster than she should, in your little hole "stop...lottie...i-im..." you stumble over your words as you feel your damn legs shake unconsciously with pleasure..betraying your mind “I’m s-sorry...Sorry" You mutter pleas of pain as you try to move away from her and she simply ignores while sinking her fingers deeper inside your sticky walls

You like this right? to be used...who knew" then as if gods had heard you she finally removes her fingers with the excuse that it was her turn to gain pleasure and I put her fingers with your excitement in your mouth and make you suck

she looks at you and forces you to kneel in front of her, while she not-so-subtly points her phone camera at you " you know what to do, little bitch" and without waiting her put your face in her pussy, god her smell was so good and in a minute you were smearing yourself, alternating between sucking her clit and her entrance, You didn't know why you were doing this, your mind was hazy with pleasure without your permission and she was more vocal than you thought, she puts her hand on the back of your neck, you couldn't breathe as she smothered you with her pussy "oh shit..yes..." she moans as she raises her hips to your mouth, trying impossibly to have more pleasure

You could feel tears welling up in your eyes as you struggled to breathe, and you could feel the burning in the back of your neck, from Lottie's nails.

how much more you alternated between sucking on her entrance and her clit you could feel her body getting tense and her moans getting louder with each movement of her hips and then you are trapped between her thighs, your ears ringing with the force that She squeezes your head and you can taste her on your tongue, pulling away from her you feel filthy when you see the phone still recording you, and Lottie with messy hair, panting and looking at you

she licks the drool that was dripping and an arrogant smile drips on her lips "I've never seen a virgin like you..." she murmurs then realizes that she was too kind "you're a whore" she stands up and looks at You "take off your clothes" and you can feel the shame rising in your veins, would this really be your first time? what a shame, you think when you say it before you think "no" you blurt it out accidentally

Lottie's eyes narrow, her smile fading. "Don't push me," she warns, her voice low and dangerous. "You know what will happen if you do." She steps closer, her breath hot against your face. "I'm not a woman you want to make an enemy of."

She grabs your chin, forcing you to look into her eyes. "You have two choices," she says coldly. "You can either do what I say and keep your mouth shut, or I can make your life a living hell. It's really up to you."

You feel a lump forming in your throat, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You don't want to do this, but you also don't want to face the consequences of defying her. Lottie releases your chin, stepping back. "Make up your mind," she says, her voice hard. "The clock is ticking."

You swallow hard, looking away. You know what you have to do. You can't afford to make her angry.

With a heavy heart, you nod reluctantly. There's no other choice. And so, you allow Lottie to take control once more, submitting to her demands in fear and desperation. She smiles wickedly, her eyes gleaming with victory. She pulls you into her arms, kissing you fiercely

she undresses you, her touch rough and demanding. You try to pull away, but she only grips tighter, reminding you of her threats. The guilt and shame consume you, but her promises of revenge hang over you

lottie tilts her head forward and sees how transparent your panties are with excitement

Lottie chuckles, her fingers teasing the damp fabric before slowly pulling it aside. Her gaze lingers on your wet slit, a satisfied hum escaping her lips. "You're already ready for me," she says, letting her fingertips trace along your folds gently, causing you to tremble underneath her touch. "But I want more than just that." She reaches down and grabs a bottle of lube from the nightstand, squirting some onto her fingers before guiding them inside you.

Her movements are slow and deliberate, stretching you open as she adds another finger, then another. Your breath hitches with each thrust, your body responding eagerly to her command " I thought you didn't want this..." she murmurs teasingly, while inevitably groan when see how much you squeeze her fingers " I think that shouldn't be enough for a greedy little slut like you"

Lottie smirks, spreading her fingers wide within you. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through your core, your hips rocking up into her hand. "That's right, let me have you." She whispers, increasing her pace until you're moaning softly, your nails digging into her shoulders.

As she continues to finger you, she pulls out her strap-on, slicking it generously with lube. "Are you ready for this?" She asks, her voice thick with desire as she positions herself above you."w-wait.." you mumble when you see it was bigger than you thought, it wouldn't fit. With one smooth motion, she slides into you, filling you completely. You cry out, your legs wrapping around her waist as she begins to move, setting a steady rhythm.

The camera captures every moan, every thrust, every moment of pure bliss. "Look at yourself, so perfect and wet for me." Lottie murmurs, reaching up to pinch your nipples, you could feel yourself squeezing her without your will, your stomach was burning and you felt so full it was strange, you shouldn't be enjoying this, it was wrong, you raise both your arms and try to pull her away from you

No, don't hold back," Lottie growls, her pace picking up as she feels your inner walls gripping her cock. "Let go, bitch. Let me hear you scream my name." Each thrust is harder now, your cries becoming louder and more desperate. The camera captures every twitch, every shiver that races through your body.

And then, just as you're about to reach your breaking point, Lottie changes tactics. She pulls out abruptly, causing you to whine in protest. But there's no time to complain as she quickly flips you onto your knees, guiding you onto her cock once again. "Come on," she orders, slapping your ass gently. "Show them what they came for."

You obey, bouncing on her cock while still gasping for air. The new angle hits nerves you didn't know existed "f-fuck...s-shit!" you murmur shakily feeling your walls burning.

Yeah, that's it, scream for me, babe!" Lottie encourages, thrusting deeper into you. "Let everyone know how fucked I've made you, how hard I'm stretching that tight little pussy of yours." She grips your hips tightly, fucking you relentlessly. Each thrust causes your body to rock on the bed as she takes full control. "You're mine now, aren't you? My virgin whore who loves nothing more than my big cock shoved inside her."

She takes a look at your red and swollen clit "There we go," she coos, rubbing circles around your sensitive nub. Your hips buck wildly beneath her, your moans muffled by their kiss. She picks up the pace, keeping one eye on the camera even as she focuses on pleasuring you.

"Oh fuck! Stop...stop stop..." You cry out, your climax crashin over you like a tidal wave. Lottie continues to play with your clit, milking every last drop of pleasure from your bod, You close your legs unconsciously when it becomes too sensitive and she immediately moves away, slapping your thigh for you to open it again.

"Keep those legs spread," she instructs, rubbing the head of her toy against your entrance. "We're not quite done yet." You nod, trying to catch your breath as she enters you once more, this time at a slower pace. Her free hand finds its way to your clit, rubbing it slowly at first, then picking up speed as you beg for more.

Every movement is captured on camera, the sound of your gasps echoing in the room. Lottie thrusts harder

Lottie's breath catches at your enthusiasm, her cock twitching within you. "Like that, baby?" She says, thrusting harder, faster. "You love being taken like this, don't you? Wanting more of my cock?"

The sound of flesh hitting flesh fills the room as she pounds into you, her body moving in perfect synchronization with yours. She can feel you getting closer to climax, and it spurs her on.

"Cry for me, baby," She hisses, her voice thick with lust. "Tell me you love my cock, that you can't live without it inside you."

Soon enough, your entire body is shaking under her, your cries growing louder. She knows your climax is near; she can feel it in the way you grip the sheets, your inner muscles clenching around her cock. And then, just as she predicted, you explode, crying out her name.

Lottie feels her own release building up, her clit slapping with just the right pressure against the strap, and her old orgasm only helping her more

your walls milking her cock mercilessly. "God, you're tight," She moans, burying herself deeper inside you. "Take it, take all of it!"

Your hips jerk wildly, your back arching off the bed as you reach your climax. Lottie keeps up the pace, drawing out every last drop of pleasure from you. The room is filled with the sounds of your moans and the clicking of the camera, capturing every twitch and spasm.

lottie walks away from you, panting and you feel an emptiness inside you, you hear another click from the camera then she stops the video and throws her phone on the floor, taking off her strap and placing it anywhere in the room, leaving you destroyed on the bed

"I'm already done with you, I hope you don't tell anyone this or you already know"

#yellowjackets #lottie yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #anon・ω・#lottie mathews #lottie matthews x reader #lottie matthews #lottie Matthew smut #lottie matthews smut #lottie mathews x reader #lottie matthews x you #yellowjackets fic #yellowjackets smut

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the-ace-with-spades · 7 months

Text

(I adore fics where Johnny’s family loves Ghost from day one, but, you know…angst)

Soap and Ghost had been together for almost two years. They never name the relationship, really, but it's serious and they both know it.

Thing is, Johnny's seen Ghost's face a total of four times, counting Las Almas.

Well, he sees parts of it regularly, more than others. Ghost will either roll the balaclava up when they're reading together in bed or when they're eating. Sometimes, when Soap wants to go out and Ghost indulges him, he goes in public in just either a face mask or a gaiter and Soap can see his short wavy blonde hair sticking all over the place and

The four times he had seen Simon’s face in it’s whole — obviously, Las Almas; one time when he was unconscious and bleeding from a head wound and Johnny had to check; one time when they took a shower together, Simon stayed with his back toward him through most of it, but when they finished, he let Johnny dry off his hair; one time, when Johnny asked him to see him for his birthday presents, a few minutes after midnight.

Johnny wasn’t sure why exactly Simon didn’t want to show him his face. It wasn’t a trust thing — he trusted Johnny with more than his own life — and it wasn’t like he was ugly — he was downright sinful. He never drilled the topic because he didn’t care, if SImon wasn’t ready, then he wasn’t ready, but if he had to guess, it was all to do with identity and being seen. No one knew his face — people could know his name, Simon “Ghost” Riley, but they wouldn’t know the man behind the mask. Wouldn’t know the people behind Simon “Ghost” Riley.

(Johnny wasn’t completely off on the assumption — Simon didn’t want anyone to know his face because faceless people weren’t missed. Faceless graves — like his own — didn’t have people to leave behind, and faceless soldiers didn’t have loved ones to find and he was both. No one could get hurt if he remained faceless. Or at least that’s what he’d been telling himself.)

And Johnny is okay with that — if Simon never showe him his face again, he’d still love him all the same. Johnny’s family? Not so much.

They’re supposed to be in Glasgow for five days total, leaving after Boxing Day. Johnny gives them all a warning, that Ghost is a bit shy and doesn’t like showing his face, he’ll most likely stay covered the whole time, he might be wearing a balaclava, or a mask, he probably won't eat at the table.

When they arrive at his parents house, it almost seems like everyone forgot. Like everyone thought it'd be more mild or that Johnny was exaggerating.

There are looks. There is silence. People can't stop staring.

His mam takes one look at Simon’s balaclava once they enter the living room and looks funny at them. “Ah thooght Ah tauld ye boays tae strip doon.”

“Mam, lea him alane,” he tries but he can tell that Simon is getting tense and his mam is getting tense.

His mam, who is usually the sweetest person ever, is uncharacteristically quiet and curt whenever Simon is around. Simon doesn't really know how to make it better — Johnny's never seen him so silent outside of stealth missions, he just stands there like a sore thumb, not making anything less awkward. He didn't expect him to — Simon's social skills are lacking and he loves him that way — but he expected his own family to not make such a big deal out of that mask.

His da is stern and silent, which is as disapproving as he gets. His sisters are a bit weirded out, but mostly focused on teasing Johnny, even making fun of the mask. With a stupid grin, his older sister asks, “Does he keep it oan in bed?”

Johnny doesn't say anything to that, even though his face feels red. His sisters stop laughing.

“He does?” When Johnny tries to step out of the room and avoid the conversation, his sister’s tone changes. “Hae ye e’en seen his face?”

“O’ coorse Ah hae,” he spits out. He doesn’t specify it was only four times — he doesn’t think it’d help. “And ‘s a bonnie ane, alricht.”

It doesn’t save the situation and his sisters are also weirded out and wary from then on.

The kids do not care — they ask maybe two questions, tilts their head as Simon explains and that’s it — and Johnny breathes a little easier as soon as his nieces push Simon outside to help them build a snowman.

The judgment doesn’t stop. Johnny’s blood boils any time it shows and even though Simon says it’s all fine, he can’t stop feeling angry about this. They just can’t get past the mask.

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day are difficult to Simon and Johnny knows it. He’s given him the option to omit the family dinner on both those days if he’s not feeling alright enough to spend those days in crowdy house filled with a flock of loud and cheery people of all ages.

Simon knows this. He also knows that if he says he wants to stay at Johnny’s flat for the time being, Johnny is going to insist he doesn’t have to go either, that he’d prefer to stay in with him and not go for the Christmas dinner. Which he also knows is bullshit — Johnny loves Christmas, loves spenidng time with his family, that was basically why he kept on insisting Simon couldn’t stay alone at the base for Christmas another year in a row. It was the main reason why he agreed to go with Johnny in the first place, he was pretty sure if he didn’t go with him, Johnny would insist he stays, too.

So Simon stays in for Christmas Eve — or rather goes to a pub while Soap spends the day with his parents — but insists they go to Christmas dinner.

His family is disappointed to see him there, to the point the usual manuevering around politeness and disapproving go onto a backburner.

“John said yer nae a fan o’ Christmas,” Johnny’s mum says to him pointedly.

“That’s right.”

“And yet ye’r ’ere,” she notes.

Johnny is far away from the earshot and he doesn’t want to lie to her so he admits, “If I didn’t come, Johnny would insist on keepin’ me company.”

“How come ye dinnae try to hae a bit mair cheer fur th' holidays then? Put a bit mair effort in for ma baby.”

Johnny notices and soon enough, he’s next to him, their arms brushing, Johnny’s hand on the small of his back. “Lea him alane, mam.”

“It’s fine,” he says even though it’s not fine. They deserve an explanation, even just to know what they son is getting himself into. “My family was murdered on Christmas Eve. I’m—I’m trying.”

The silence falls over the room — Johnny’s mum, dad, his sister, all present, not looking at them. Simon closes his eyes, tries to breathe.

Johnny rubs his back. “Let’s gae home.”

“I’m not ruining Christmas for you, Johnny,” he says. Before Johnny can deny it — and he knows he’d try — he tries to placate, “Let’s just have ourselves a minute to calm down.”

Maybe it’s the way his voice is perfectly levelled or the way his hand trembles as he squeezes Johnny’s, but he lets him leave the room.

He steps outside — to the backyard. Sits down on the step to the garden and lets the snow soak through his jeans and the top o his balaclava.

The kids come outside, tripping over Simon’s legs. They were all oblivious to the trails and errors of Simon’s integration into the family, so they approach him as always

“Whit's wrang?”

There’s just something so innocent in having a six-year-old girl covered from head to toe in pink and glitter worry about you. Simon would never admit it in front of Johnny, but he finds the accent cute.

Simon takes off the mask.

The kids all look at him and look at him, a bit unsure maybe a bit fearful — it can be a scary sight, he admits, the elongated, jagged smile that sticks to him no matter the mood, makes him more crazy than he already is — but only one of Johnny’s niece keeps her eyes on Simon’s face.

Shily, she asks, “Does it hurt?”

“No,” he replies. When she smiles, he smiles back.

Not anymore.

This is Johnny’s family. Simon can deny it all he wants, but Johnny’s seen him as family, as someone he’d leave behind, and it hadn’t been unrequited. He can’t hide behind a mask forever and maybe this was the kick he needed.

He steps back inside when his hands turn numb. He doesn’t put the mask back on.

Johnny’s eyes widen. “Simon?”

Simon just—smiles. He can feel the scars pulling on the corners of his mouth, the stiffer skin, but he’s not faceless. He’s not been faceless for a while.

Edit (29/03/24): This is now a WIP for a minimum 15k fic, titled don't shoot me, santa, that will have 4 chapters and will be posted (hopefully) later in the year

#this is like a very shortened version with some points cropped out #maybe this will be a full-blown fic at some point #who knows? not me for sure #idk maybe closer to christmas or sth if i have inspiration #i headcanon soap speaks scots whenever he's home/speaking freely and softens the accent otherwise #i love glasgowian accents but im not good at writing them so #ghoap #ghostsoap #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #cod #call of duty #q #charlie writes #op

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fluloa · 2 years

Note

BABY DADDY JAKE AND LIKE THEY HAVENT EVEN OFFICIALLY MATED FOR LIFE YET BUT HAVE A WHOLE ASS NEWBORN

why is this idea so cute to me??? i have no idea why but slay

You and Jake weren’t really a couple at the start. Sure, you had your moments. Like sometimes, he’d bring you a cute little bundle of flowers, or a new anklet and shit like that. But it was never serious, never really a relationship.

The first time he met you was during a hunting festival, with crystal beads in your hair and a mischievous glimmer in your eyes that he couldn’t help but be drawn to. He had a bit too much to drink, and it seemed as if you did too.

He walked up to you, trying to hide the intense nerve that shock his system because you were really fucking pretty. You were dancing carelessly, arms flowing out and he taps one of them, immediately cringing at the unplanned move.

You turn, the beads in your hair rattling against the base of your neck as you look up at him with curiosity.

“Hey,” he mumbles, crackling a tiny smirk that covers the immense panic he feels.

You blink, smiling a little as you look him up and down. “Hello.”

“You, uh,” Jake clears his throat. “You’re really pretty, and uh… would you wanna dance?”

God, he seems like a complete douchebag. But you like it, or seem to at least by the way your smile widens. You simply nod, turning yourself completely to him and placing the palms of your hands on his shoulders, and he watches you do it with wide eyes. He notices the way your head gently tilts, before you grab one of his hands, directing it to your hip. “You place here.”

He nods, flicking his gaze quickly to the other dancing pairs to see what they’re doing as he attempts to copy. You find it cute.

“I feel how tense your fingers are.” You comment, and his gaze snaps right back to you. His ears twitch down, airplane mode for a millisecond before they’re back up laying against his black hair.

“You can?”

“Mm,” you hum. “Relax.”

He tries to do what you say, breathing in through his chest and relaxing his hand sat against your hip but it’s hard, because he can’t help but feel the way the perky bone of your hip sticks out to his fingers and how smooth your skin is.

“Relax,” you repeat, letting a breathy giggle fall from your lips at his obvious lack of ability to do such a simple action. When his fingers finally slow and rest lazily on your skin, you smile. “For Toruk Makto, you are quite humble.”

You know completely what to do through the music, starting your hands at the base of his stomach before dragging them up to his neck and making your palms meet. “Take your hand off my hip,” you mumble. You spread your hands out across his chest, following out the length of his arms before finally meeting his hands, threading your fingers through his fingers and bringing them up and above both your heads.

You’re looking at your conjoined hands, but he’s looking at you. When you bring them down, you catch his gaze, and you’re taken slightly aback by the intensity caught in it. You slow your hands, staring at him as your mouth gently agapes.

Sprawled out on the green grass, Jake leaving open-mouthed kisses on your neck as he enters you with drunken feverishly motions, groans slipping from his throat. Your legs curl around his torso, encouraging him to strive deeper into your cunt and kiss deeper at your skin. Your hands sprawl out across the map of his toned back, blunt nails catching onto his blue skin and creating tiny dinted scratches.

“Oh, my girl,” he breathes out. “Nice and warm. So— holy, so nice and warm.”

You mewl, digging your heels into the lower pinch of his back, “Jake, oh, Jake.” Your voice cracks into a edgy whine when he strengthens the pace of his cock, driving in and out of you fluently.

Breathing ragged and uneasy as you slump together, tangling in each other as you bask in the after moments of sex. Your tails curl together, wrap around each other and you sigh. Jake presses a gentle kiss at your forehead, rubbing his thumb on the fat of your thigh.

It was like that for a long time. Constant banter and flirting until you both gave in and ravaged each other, banging it out like there was no tomorrow. But you weren’t a couple, hadn’t taken it to the next step to connect your tsaheylos because why rush when you both can just be comfortable in an fun, open sex friends-with-benefits sort of deal? You were both fine with it, and there wasn’t anything that could change that.

But then came the random little pains and spikes in your belly, the nausea that sometimes grew when you ate, the increasing aching tender of your breasts.

You chew on your lip hard, praying to Eywa herself that it isn’t what you think it was.

The Tsahik tells you otherwise, and within seconds of her fingers grazing the skin over your belly, she nods. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” you rush.

“Silence, child. If you let me speak, I shall tell you.” Mo’at snaps. You nod violently, lips sealed close as you wait anxiously for her next sentence. “Eywa has blessed you with a gift,” she flats her palm on your stomach, unable to hide the gentle smile that stretches on her wrinkled face. “You are with child.”

You gulp, a mix of emotions running through you all at once. You slide your hand next to hers, feathering at your belly and feeling the soft skin there that’ll probably be decorated with stretch marks.

It’s nerv-wracking when you see Jake next, and he’s already got that giddy grin on his face as he strides to you. “Hey,” he murmurs, scooping an arm around your waist and pulling you into the warmth of his torso. He lands a sly kiss to your jawline, and you’ve got the feeling he wants to get straight into it today.

“Jake,” you say.

“Hm?” he mutters, gliding the hot of his tongue on the area just below your jawline. His fingers snake to your loincloth, toying with the lace that holds it together.

“Jake,” you repeat, voice sterner this time and that’s when he knows to back off, brow twitching up.

“What?”

“I have to tell you something,” you utter. He blinks blindly at you. “It’s serious.”

“Okay,” he returns, not without confusion wrapped in his tone. You breathe in, attempting to calm your nerves before you’re blurting it out all in one go.

“I’m pregnant, Jake. I have your baby,” you blurt. He stares at you, face unreadable and you take it as a sign to keep on rambling, but then he places a palm on your belly with his eyes set on the movement.

He lets a breathy chuckle leave his mouth, lets a grin stretch out onto his wide lips. “You do?”

You’re surprised to say the least to his reaction. “Yes—“ your sentence halts to a stop when Jake kisses you, palming a hand on your warm cheek and you sigh onto his lips.

“That’s…” he laughs again, “That’s amazing.” He looks up at you, pupils dilating. “You’re amazing.”

He grabs your face with both hands and kisses you again, this time harder. You’re being smushed from his grip and you giggle at his hyper, letting yourself melt into his warmth.

The more your belly grew, the more your actual relationship with Jake grew. It just happened. Naturally. The man’s protectiveness grew as well, even though you could never really get him to fully admit it.

Placing a hand on your belly, leaning his head to you as he tsks. “My girl, stay in rest.”

“Jake, just because I am with child does not mean I am helpless. I am still apart of this clan, and I am still able to serve it,” you fight against him, brushing his hand off of your body and reaching for your bow. He snatches the bow just as your fingers gaze the handle, and he hangs it above his head. You try swooping it out from him but he raises it higher, smirking as you huff in frustration.

“Pretty helpless right now.” He quips, unable to fight his shit-eating grin as he watches you try to reach your bow with your waving arm. You end up huffing and puffing, placing a hand on your stomach as you give up. You suddenly groan in pain, and Jake’s smug expression drops, immediately dropping his arm to place a concerned hand on your shoulder.

You snatch the bow from his now lowered arm, rushing it to hide behind you and press at your back as you laugh mischievously. Jake snaps his head to your face, frowning until he can’t help but let a small smirk break past his facade. “Not dumb, though.”

When you’re at the final trimester, you’re big, and heavy. Your feet are puffed up and your back twitches in pain every single time you move a muscle. It’s torture. And to add onto it, your self esteem is at your lowest.

Crying on Jake’s shoulder as he rubs your back with his big fingers, nose sniffly as you weep. “Ijustdon’tunderstandwhyyyy— huAp,” a loud hiccup slips from you. “IfeelsosoarallofthetiiiiiimemybreastshurtconstantlyweirdstuffcomesoutofmewhydoesEywahatemesooo…”

He gives reassuring kisses to your forehead, eyes closed with a faint, tired smile tugged on his lips as he coos, “It’s alright, my yuey.”

You certainly do not feel beautiful.

“Got that babymama glow.” Jake adds, mumbling as he gives another smooch to your forehead. He receives a defeated whimper in response, your body curling in his form as his arm wrapped around your form tightens around you.

When the baby comes, it fucking comes. You’re screaming at the top of your lungs as you clench at Jake’s hand with a bone-crushing grip. Healers swarm around you like bees, holding your legs, stomach, and every patch of your body except for your head, which Jake holds with his second hand.

Jake licks at his lips. “You’re doing great, sweetie—”

“Shut the fuck up, Jake!”

“Yep, ok.”

With one final push, the baby’s out. One of the healer’s holds the baby in her arms, a hint of a smile on her face as she hands your child into your arms. Warm tears rim around your eyes as you hold your new born baby, leaning against Jake’s body as he rubs at your back. You’re able to feel his chest tremble, and when you look up to him, there’s a tear striding down his cheek. With what energy you have, you scoop your arm around his neck, bringing his head down with your head as you give him a kiss to the cheek.

He returns it with a kiss to your forehead, yet unable to take his eyes off of his baby in your arms. “My Syaté,” you whisper lovingly. Syay meaning fate, a definition tied faintly in with blessing. Her nose sniffles and twitches, tiny eyebrows crinkling before she begins to cry. Jake can’t even seem to get care, as he holds the chubby cheek of his new babygirl and he can’t help but feel a new spring of fresh tears corrupt his face.

Jake barely leaves you and the baby. He says that he must protect his family, that it’s a bigger priority than doing anything else. But you’re not sure if that’s just a big fat excuse for him to hold her for hours. Laying in his lap, as he swipes a hand over her little head and feeling the thin, small fuzz of hair on it. With you at his side, singing to her as you stroke her cheek with a soft thumb.

The fire in front of you crackles, as the night’s cool air breezes on your backs. She coos out a gurgled giggle in reply.

Sometimes, Jake’ll just have Syaté in his arms as you fall in a much needed sleep, just staring at her face because he’s still stunned at the fact that in his arms, this is his child. It boggles him. He didn’t even think he’d ever find someone to love him, let alone carry his baby. But here you are, sleeping beside his leg peacefully and your face just looks so pretty and calm that it makes him want to cry.

Holding up his baby as the people surround him in circles, swaying side to side as you watch in awe. The new child of the people’s Olo’eyktan. Jake gently holds her up, the light from the sky shining on her small body and her legs squirming a little. “Syaté!”

“Syaté,” they repeat, echoing amongst the forest and you smile, teeth shining through your lips.

Connecting her tsaheylu to the many branches of the Tree Of Souls, connecting her to Eywa. Jake can see the way her eyes light up, can see the way her lips widen in a giggly manner.

The first time taking Syaté to have a bath in the river. Jake insists that he holds her on the way, and you grin, dashing through the forest because it’s the most freedom you’ve had in a long time.

Once getting there, you both gently get into the river, as Jake cradles Syaté in his arms. He holds her above the water until you give him the signal to lower her. The water swims at her feet, goes in between her little toes and she makes a noise at the feeling of it. He shifts his hand in a cup-like form, ripping it over his baby’s head gently. Slowly, he lowers her down into the river. You laugh gently at the way she screws up her face. “I know, babygirl. It’s a bit cold,” Jake chuckles.

She awkwardly blinks away the water that drops into her eyes, dripping at her black eyelashes and Jake wipes it away with his thumb before she could whine about it. Jake then shifts his eyes to you whisking through the stream, hair wet and following you as it flows weightless amongst the water. You end your swim in front of him, sneakily dipping your head over and blowing raspberries on Syaté’s chubby belly. She giggles immediately, the sound pure music to Jake’s ears.

Jake goes to give a million kisses to her cheek, nuzzling his nose in her skin as she ropes out rounds of uncontainable laughter. You start to laugh as well, and Jake can’t help but laugh, too.

Once back from the river, you sit in the open gap between Jake’s legs, Syaté a sleepy mess in warm your arms. She sucks at your breast with a new born baby hunger, even going as far to push a tiny hand on it to give her more. You rub at her tummy with the soft of your palm, mumbling your songcord. The fire in front of you is warm and orange, illuminating against the blue of your skin and creating a glowy atmosphere. Jake sighs through his nose, sliding a hand up and down your thigh as his legs fold under yours.

The heart beating in his chest is full, and he can’t name anywhere he would rather be. He rakes a few fingers through your hair, landing a gentle kiss to the back of your neck as contentment fills in his body, his mind brewing with the sense to protect. To protect his new-found family.

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