#What loads pay the most in trucking? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ghostandsoap · 1 year

Text

Beyond the Mask

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem! “Gecko” Reader

Tags: Minor injuries. Brief references of child abuse. Maskless Ghost.

Word Count: 5.5k

“You’re special to me.”

It wasn’t the first time that you had asked.

Every once in a while, you would make the same request to Ghost. It was a request that he always took with ease and understanding of your curiosity. It was a seemingly simple ask, but mutually understood that it was much more important than it seemed.

“Can you please take off the mask?”

But it was a request that he politely declined every time.

“No, love.”

You weren’t the only one who had poked at Ghost to show his face (and been turned down). Just about everyone that Ghost interacted with on a regular basis had asked at one point or another. Soap was the most persistent of the bunch, and he seemed to try harder each time.

So, it wasn’t lost on Ghost that it was a lingering mystery just asking to be solved. He was aware of the fact that it was maddening, which is why he was so patient whenever people asked.

Ghost would admit that as time went on, he felt more and more guilty for turning down something that you wanted. If you wanted something, Ghost would do everything in his power to get it or do it for you. You were deserving of that, and he never wanted you to forget it. But taking off the mask was one thing that he just couldn’t bring himself to do.

He knew that it couldn’t last forever. If he wanted to go steady with you and move into the long term future (which he most certainly did want to do), then the mask was going to have to come off at some point. He wouldn’t want you to commit to something like that without even knowing what he looked like. It was inevitably going to come up time and time again, and eventually he would have to give in.

“Easy, Gecko. Take a load off.” Ghost said, ushering you into the lone bedroom of the safe house.

The stifled groans and muffled whimpers were a sure sign of the discomfort you were in. Each little noise stung Ghost’s heart more and more each time.

“I look and feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.” You coughed, hobbling into the room quite pathetically.

“That’s because you were hit by a truck.” Ghost said, dropping all of your gear in the corner of the room that he had carried in for you.

“Good point.” You laughed, carefully lowering yourself onto the edge of the bed.

You found humor in the situation, but Ghost hardly found it amusing at all.

It felt like more of a…firm bump rather than an actual hard, physical collision. The truck hadn’t been going nearly as fast as it could’ve been, and the front bumper had really only grazed one side of your body. Still, getting hit by a moving vehicle was bound to cause some damage, and the ever growing bruise on your side was proving that to you.

Despite the aching soreness and the discomfort, you had been checked and cleared thoroughly of any broken bones or other injuries. You were expected to be moving slow for the next few days, but it was a small price to pay considering that it could’ve been much worse.

Ghost was livid when it happened.

It was a rookie mistake – quite literally because it was a rookie who had made the mistake of almost running you over. Ghost had no idea who had the bright idea of letting a newbie tag along for this mission. This mission was predicted to take a couple weeks, and he couldn’t fathom how it was a good idea to let fresh blood in on such an important job.

It had completely been an accident. The team was waiting around for a bit before making the next move of the day when it happened. He had been extremely apologetic (once he actually had the chance to apologize) and nearly came to tears over it.

Nonetheless, you literally almost became roadkill because the amateur soldier wasn’t paying attention.

Ghost nearly lost his mind. You had barely enough time to even comprehend what had even happened before the soldier in question had been yanked from the driver’s seat and dragged by his collar for the chewing out of a lifetime. Soap had rushed over to help you to your feet, letting Ghost do all the scolding.

You weren’t sure what choice words Ghost had used with the rookie, but you could only imagine that he was close to seeing the light of the beyond by the time Ghost had said his piece.

You managed to make it through the rest of the day without any major issues, although you were much slower and it took the remainder of the day to completely regain your composure.

Ghost didn’t leave your side after that. He was half convinced that you were going to keel over and die instantly from some unforeseen complication. The rookie definitely kept his distance in the event that Ghost changed his mind about not killing him.

Ghost felt a little bit better when you finally were able to call it a day. He felt relief knowing that you had the opportunity to get some rest and give your recently rattled body a break.

“I should’ve choked him out.” Ghost growled, standing over you like the giant that he was.

He knelt on the floor to untie each of your boots, sliding them off of your fatigued feet. He stood back up, one of his massive hands came to the zipper on your jacket, sliding it down the length of your torso until it separated the outer layer completely.

“Ghost, he didn’t mean to do it,” You said, but smirked when you realized what he was doing. “I can undress myself, you know.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. He manually moved each of your arms one at a time to slip the jacket off of your frame.

“I know, but I don’t want you moving around too much. I also want to get a look at your side where you were hit.” He explained, motioning for you to carefully raise your arms above your head.

“Why?” You asked, wincing at the sting in your side when you raised your arms.

“Because you’ll lie and say that it’s ‘not that bad’.” He tossed your shirt aside once it was off, revealing your chest and torso.

He took a glance at your affected side that had already served as a canvas for a painting of nasty red, black, and purple. All the way from underneath your armpit down to the top of your hip was visibly roughed up.

“Just don’t want you to worry.” You squeaked when Ghost ran his hand along the area to check for any broken ribs once more.

“I know, baby.” He sighed, giving you the green-light once again for no major issues.

His nerves were settled once again, and he was suddenly aware of how peaceful the room was, and that he had a moment alone with you. The bedroom was cozy and didn’t have much to it. It was tucked away in the back of the safe house, away from the main living space where everyone else was camping out. The moon was shining through the window, casting beams of gentle light all through the room – just enough to be able to see you clearly. His hand cupped the side of your face, your head instinctively cradling into his palm as you made eye contact with him.

“You’re still my pretty girl.” His thumb dragged across your cheek.

“Even when I’m all beat up?” You giggled.

“Absolutely,” He remarked. “You’re still feeling okay, yeah?”

“Yeah, honey. Just tired.”

“Poor baby.” He purred, taking a seat next to you on the bed.

He raised the bottom of his balaclava just enough to where he could kiss you. His skull mask had been stashed away a while ago when he was tired of wearing it. His kisses were so much slower and tender when he was feeling worried about you…which was most of the time. When it came to you, Ghost tended to sweat the small stuff.

His grin matched yours when he felt it on the kiss. He had to admit, it was so easy to make you smile. He shifted on the mattress to get situated, leaning his tall frame against the back wall at the head of the bed.

“Easy, baby. Careful.” He jumped in surprise when you pounced on him, straddling him with a blinding grin on your face.

You hardly even noticed the pain in your side at all now. This was way more important to you.

“Kiss me again.” You whispered playfully, and he laughed.

“I’m trying, but I can’t have you roughing yourself up for a couple of kisses.” He said, his hands running over your breasts through the material of your bra that was still on.

“A couple of your kisses. Not just any.” You corrected.

“Mm. I might give some other places some attention.” He teased.

“Is that a promise?” You gasped.

“Only if you’re good.” He kissed you again, groaning into your mouth when your hips shifted on top of his lap.

He loved moments like this. When you were on a mission (particularly the long ones), it could be a challenge to get to be with you alone. When you had a team around all the time (and Soap’s constant need to know what you and Ghost were up to), finding privacy could be nearly impossible.

A bedroom with a door that actually locked was like a lottery win for Ghost.

He was loving every second of this. It made him think about the next time that the two of you were going to be on leave and you could stay tangled up in his bed for as long as you wanted, wearing nothing but clean bed sheets and each other’s presence.

He kept a firm, yet cautious grip on your hips to keep you from going anywhere. Ghost loved it when you were this close to him because he could savor every part of you. He never took you for granted, but he surely cared enough to use these moments wisely.

But it didn’t take long for a recurring problem to come to the surface – making out with Simon could be difficult. There was a major barrier that always, without fail, got in the way.

You huffed when his balaclava slipped back down his face, denying you access from his lips. It was annoying to have to hold the fabric up with one hand and try to roam his chest with the other. This was usually the process: kiss, move the mask, kiss again, repeat.

Ghost often found it funny how irritated you would get with it, but tonight it felt more like a nuisance to him rather than you. Eventually you stopped, pulling away and letting the balaclava fall back down. Ghost looked at you, his eyes shining with knowingness of what was coming next.

“Can you please take the mask off?”

The famous question. Ghost’s most popular request.

“No, love.”

Usually, you left it at that. If Ghost flat out said no, then you normally wouldn’t push it. Tonight was different though. There was a stronger determination than normal. The circumstances couldn’t have been more perfect. No one else was around to see, and Ghost knew that you would take the mystery of Ghost’s face to your grave.

“Please?” You tried again.

He chuckled, although it was more of a nervous laugh.

“I’m nothing special, doll. I’m just like everybody else.” He shrugged.

“You’re special to me.” You corrected him.

He released a heavy exhale that he didn’t even realize he was holding in. Ghost knew that your intentions weren’t anything malicious, and that they were based solely on pure curiosity. He didn’t blame you in the slightest. If he were in your shoes, he knew he would be the exact same way. The two of you spent so much time together, and the two of you shared many precious moments together. If he never got to see your face, then he would be itching to know what was underneath too.

Ghost was thankful that you hadn’t ever pushed him to show you his face. Upon meeting him, you knew the importance of the mask and the purpose that it served.

“You have seen my face before,” He grumbled. “If you so recall, you walked in on me.”

“That was an accident!” You wailed. “And it was literally for half a second because I turned away so fast. I don’t even remember what you look like.”

“Gecko…” He sighed, a hint of desperation in his tone. “You know I don’t show my face.”

“Ghosty.” You whined, using his nickname that always made his knees go weak.

“You’re really not missing anything.” He bantered, trying to hold his composure.

“Actually…” You hesitated for a moment, because you debated continuing. “I feel like I’m missing a lot.”

Making him feel guilty was never your intention. There was no excuse or good reason to make him feel bad about something that you knew was important to him. But that didn’t stop his stomach from rolling over inside of him the way that it did whenever he felt like he had done something to make you unhappy.

And he knew that you weren’t upset in the slightest, but he still couldn’t help but feel so, so terrible.

“I want to hold your face…I want to kiss you without the mask,” You went on, hoping that he would understand that you weren’t attacking him. “I want to see you.”

That tone in your voice. The whisper of someone that he adored so much was like hearing the song of the soul. He wouldn’t say no to that. How could he say no to that?

“Okay.” He gave a slow nod.

You withheld from making a shocked expression, but that didn’t stop your heart from hitting your shoes and recoiling into your throat.

“Okay…” You echoed, unsure of what he meant exactly.

“The mask can come off.”

Instant fireworks exploded in your nervous system. It was a premature celebration, but it was definitely a step in the right direction.

You had to admit – you were nervous. Certainly not as nervous as he was. You knew how important this was to him, and how strict he was about never, ever revealing his face to anybody. It was an urban legend in a way. The mysterious wonder of what the esteemed lieutenant looked like beneath the skull and the stone cold demeanor.

It was important for you to be conscious of the fact that your reaction was going to be critical. He was perfect to you already, and whatever he looked like certainly wouldn’t change that. But you knew how sensitive he was about this. Any kind of accidental twitch, blink, or show of a potentially sour expression would freak him out big time. You knew you needed to be as neutral as possible and be sure to be even more encouraging.

“Would you be more comfortable if I turn around while you take it off? Or do you want me to do it?” You asked, being absolutely sure that this went the way that he was most comfortable with.

He paused for a moment, his voice sounding even deeper than usual when he answered.

“You can do it.”

Chills rushed down your spine, translating into a physical shudder. This felt like you were about to discover the solution to world hunger. It felt surreal, as if this were breaking some foundational law of the universe.

Every motion felt overly voluntary. You tried your best to hide the slight tremble in your hands when you brought your hands to the area just below his chin. Your fingertips were nimble and careful when you slipped them underneath the fabric. Both sides of his lower jaw touched the pads of your fingers – it was a foreign feeling altogether.

This was the moment of truth. Should you whip it off quickly? Should you ease it off of him to give him some extra time to prepare? You didn’t want to ruin this for him because then he’d never show his face ever again. His hands didn’t dare move from your waist,

Slowly and carefully, you removed the mask from his face. Bit by bit was revealed to you – his lips, his nose, his cheeks. Each new feature that was shown was the next piece of putting the puzzle together. The rate of your heart grew quicker and quicker with each passing millisecond.

This wouldn’t change the way you felt about him. You had fallen for Ghost because of who he was, not what he looked like. In all honesty, you wanted Ghost to do this for himself rather than for you. You understood that Ghost didn’t quite see it this way, but this was your way of letting him know that he was safe with you. He didn’t need the mask to protect him from you.

When you made it to the space just below his eyes, you decided to do it like a band-aid. Get it off quick and lose the anticipation of it all. In a flash of a second, the mask was off and there was no turning back.

And there he was.

If it hadn’t been for your ribcage holding it in, you were sure that your heart would’ve exploded right out of your body.

He was looking at you with a fixed stare, terrified to look away or say a single word. He was reading and interpreting every minor, barely noticeable movement in your expression. His skin was glowing in the soft light casted from the moon outside. There was an anxious shine in his eyes, his dark irises were saying everything that his mouth couldn’t articulate. He was scared to death.

His balaclava was clutched in your hands as if it would disintegrate if you let go. His lifeline was in your hold, at your complete mercy. There wasn’t a thing that he could do. He couldn’t take this moment back even if he wanted to.

He needed you to say something. He couldn’t stand the feeling of all the focus being on him, and he couldn’t tell if he was correctly guessing at what you were thinking.

You were at a loss for words. This felt like a complete shift in the universe, like everything was different when it really wasn’t different at all. You were stuck trying to comprehend the fact that you were really looking at him – the real him.

And he was beautiful.

You weren’t surprised in the slightest. Even if you had no real way to know what he looked like, you knew from the moment you met him that he was good looking. Ghost himself had even made comments here and there that he considered himself to be rather attractive.

You didn’t understand it. How could someone so brave, strong, and (again) handsome want to shield himself away from the world? If there was anyone that could take on life with stride, it was Ghost. But there was a simple answer to that. It seemed to be the reason for all of the “odd” things and traits about him.

He wasn’t always like that.

He had to protect himself. There had never been anyone in his life at any point to do it for him. He never had the chance to be a kid. He had to grow up before he even had the chance to be excited about growing up.

His upbringing had everything to do with the mask and the reason that he wore it. It was his version of a security blanket. It was his protection from the evil of the outside world. Because he had learned at a young age that sometimes the worst evil that the world had to offer came from the ones right in front of you, and the ones that were supposed to love you the most.

“Simon…”

His name – his real name fell from your lips as a tender whisper. The words were laced with appreciation of his trust and absolute adoration for the revealed man standing in front of you. Of course you had said his name before. He had heard you say it plenty of times.

But he’d never heard you say it in this context, and he surely had never heard you say it when you were looking at the real him.

There was a moment of panic and discomfort for him. He was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was completely exposed. His most prized security measure had been stripped away – now useless due to its absence from his face. The air of the room felt cold on his skin, another reminder that he had given up his primary line of defense.

There were a million things that were running through his mind, but every single word was caught in his throat and released out into the air with each of his shaky exhales. There wasn’t a single thing that he knew to say. All he could do was watch you stare at him, raking over him and studying every aspect of his face.

“You’re so handsome, my love.” You spoke again, and the blood in his lower extremities ran boiling hot.

His heartbeat stalled for a beat or so when your hand came to his hair. The balaclava had rustled his hair when it brushed against it, but he hadn’t even noticed. Your fingers ran through his dark hair that was (admittedly) not as clean as it could’ve been. His hands were trembling against your hips, his fingertips drumming lightly against the waistband of your pants.

You seemed content to him, which eased his anxious nausea a little bit. The gentle, yet genuine smile on your face brought some comfort. Every sense of the feeling of you touching him felt heightened to the highest degree. He was aware of every strand of hair that ran through your fingers, every feather-like drag across his cheekbone with your knuckle.

It felt different for sure. He wasn’t used to someone touching that zone of his body. He definitely wasn’t accustomed to sharing it with someone, but he was thankful that you were being so considerate to how he was feeling.

“I…I don’t know what to say.” He finally spoke, his words coming out in a quavery way.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” You replied with a voice like silk, pressing a kiss to his forehead that sent a wave of electricity through his core. “I’m just looking at you.”

He almost laughed. That’s what made him so nervous.

This was definitely not something that he had counted on happening today. He always knew the moment would come, but he hadn’t expected it to happen quite like this. It was a weird feeling that he was having. Even though he was seeing you as the same as he always did, it still felt different. It felt more intimate, more authentic. The mask was resting in your lap, a place that he never expected his mask to end up.

“Pretty boy…” You drawled, cupping his face the same way that he had held yours just a few moments before.

His cheeks burned at that comment. A flush of hot crimson red infiltrated his face to the point where he was sure that you could feel it on your hand. He was exploding on the inside with a million emotions that he couldn’t pinpoint to save his life.

He was so beyond grateful for you. This was something that he had feared and dreaded for a long time, terrified that you would see him as something other than the image that he had worked so hard to create and maintain for himself. But he was beginning to realize the reality of the situation.

The truth was, you had always been able to see who he really was. That was something that was special about you. The mask only hid him from you in a physical way. There was never a time where you hadn’t seen the person inside of him, and never once had you held an ounce of resentment for who he really was.

He had always been Simon Riley to you.

So in reality, this wasn’t the first time that you were seeing him. This was just the first time that you were seeing the face that went with it.

“You think so?” He asked, his hands beginning to move from their cemented positions.

“Absolutely I do,” You answered, kissing the tip of his nose. “You’re gorgeous.”

“You’re just buttering me up.” Simon cracked a smile, and your eyes brightened immediately.

“Oh! Look at that smile,” The intensity of your grin matched his. “Happiness looks beautiful on you.”

The words rang in his head and echoed out through his ears. Happiness felt even better than it looked. His most consistent and worthwhile source of that happiness was right in front of him, loving on him as if she thought he was the most perfect person in the world.

He couldn’t fathom how anyone could feel that way about him. He tried his best not to question it, and instead tried to appreciate it and reflect it back to you. He was grateful for you, and he did everything he could to remind you of that.

“I’m glad you think I’m ‘pretty’ and all,” He tucked his fingertips into the front of your waistband. “But I’ll never be as pretty as you.”

“Now you’re buttering me up,” You giggled.

You kissed him then. The first real kiss with nothing in the way. Oh, it was a wonderful kiss – and Simon made a mental note that, yeah, kissing without the mask was so, so much better. He wrapped his arms completely around you, smothering your frame against his. His nose brushed against yours with every head movement, and every little happy whimper from you swelled his heart more and more.

Simon pushed you onto your back, keeping you pinned between the mattress and his body. He kissed all over your neck and face to the point where you were breathless from all the giggles and squeaks that he was bringing out of you. When you were close to getting lightheaded, he pulled his head back to give you a break.

He couldn’t get over how you were looking at him. That look of adoration and care was healing his soul in ways he never thought he’d be able to achieve. There were certain things in life that Simon had accepted long ago that he would never get to experience…being cared for in the way that you cared for him was one of them. This was a dream come true and something he never would’ve counted on in a million years.

“I know that wasn’t easy for you. I’m proud of you,” You brushed a stray hair from his forehead. “Thank you for sharing this moment with me.”

He felt a twinge of guilt. He really hadn’t done anything at all. You shouldn’t have to thank him for showing his face. The absolute bare minimum of existing as a human. But he knew that you understood why this was important, and that this really was something huge.

“I wouldn’t want to share it with anybody else.” He admitted.

He was so crazy about you. He wasn’t sure what he had done in his life to deserve you, but he would do it a million times over if it meant spending forever with you. If there was anyone in the world that he trusted enough to share this much of himself with, it was you.

“I think you need to get some sleep,” He remarked. “Need to rest that side.”

“I could stay right here all night.” You returned.

“I know,” He sat up, pulling you up with him. “But you need some sleep.”

Despite your protests, he arranged the bed to be most comfortable for you, encouraging you to properly get settled to get some shut eye. He grabbed his removed balaclava from the bed, keeping it ready to go when he returned to the front of the house where the rest of the team was.

“Are you comfortable?” He asked, sitting on the edge of the bed once you were all snuggled in.

“Yeah,” You yawned. “I’m good.”

“Alright, love. I’ll see you in the morning.” He kissed your forehead, standing to leave you be.

Just as he raised his hand to put the balaclava back on, he felt a force stop him in his tracks.

“No. Wait,” You grabbed his free hand, stopping him from walking away. “Please stay.”

The balaclava in his hand suddenly felt heavy, like an intuitive feeling telling him it wasn’t time to hide away again.

“Might I remind you that I’m nearly a giant,” He chuckled, referring to the bed that was just barely big enough. “You need rest, darling.”

“Please?”

That face. Those puppy eyes that he could never resist. In your defense, you did genuinely tend to sleep better when he was around — you felt more protected that way, and that was something he would never say no to.

So he obliged, setting the balaclava on the bedside table next to you, removing his boots and just his outer layers to make it at least semi-possible to fall asleep. He never really slept on missions (or at all), but if there was even the slightest chance that he could catch a few winks, then he would surely take it.

He was careful with his movements as he lowered into bed, being sure not to come down too hard with his giant frame and break something. The bed wasn’t the newest or the sturdiest in the world, and he already had reservations about how it would hold him. He chuckled when you snuggled up to him immediately, barely even giving him time to convince himself that the bed wouldn’t collapse underneath him.

As he had predicted, it was a bit of a squeeze, but that only gave you more reason to be all over him. He hadn’t realized how rundown he was until he was sunken into the mattress, his muscles and bones screaming with celebration when they were finally at rest. He was relaxed, he had you next to him, you were safe — he was all set. There were a few passing minutes of silence, but neither of you were trying to fall asleep just yet. You were still looking at him, admiring his features and paying attention to every little detail.

He was admiring you for admiring him, and even though he already knew every inch of you to perfection, he still loved to look at you.

“If you want to put it back on…” You reached for the balaclava that he had placed on the end table next to you. “I understand if you do.”

He stared at the black and stained white fabric covering. It was the idol of his personality, the foundation of what everyone knew about himself. It was a shield that he kept at all times, his highest form of protection and self-preservation.

But tonight? He could do without it.

“I don’t need it.” He answered.

A pause. Then a beat of disbelief. You weren’t sure if he meant it or if he was trying to satisfy what he thought that you wanted him to do. You never wanted him to do something he didn’t want to do on your behalf.

“Are you sure?” You clarified.

“I’m sure.” He gave a soft grin.

“Positive?” You made sure.

“Positive.”

He pulled you back into his chest once you had set the mask aside. He kissed the crown of your head, dragging his fingertips along the skin of your back. He listened to your breathing, paying attention to how it slowed to a consistent rhythm as you fell deeper and deeper into a slumber. He was still processing everything. He had taken his mask off with no preparation or planning. He couldn’t believe what was happening to him. He was beginning to turn into the man he never thought he’d be able to become.

For the longest time he had feared that he was too scarred and too frozen over to ever be anything other than a hardened man with nothing but distaste for the world. But he never knew there was a flame hot enough and bright enough to melt that frozen heart of his.

He was thankful for you.

You were the perfect combination of everything he ever needed and wanted. He was thankful for your kindness, patience, and support. He was thankful that you were strong enough to believe in him, yet soft enough to be sweet on him. He was thankful that you cared for him and showed him more love than anyone else had ever shown him before.

And he was always thankful that you had always been able to see beyond the mask.

1K notes · View notes

gentlyweeps-world · 6 months

Text

The Cheesy Stuff

summary: You and Logan get into the Christmas mood, getting a tree, decorating and even watching a Christmas movie with hot chocolate and cookies

pairing: logan sargeant x fem!reader

warnings: none, just fluff/romance

LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO

“Logan I dont think it's going to fit…” You say knowing he wont listen to you anyway. “No…no it will” He says, not admitting it himself, but you were right.

“Do we really need a real Christmas tree? We could always just get a fake one, it would fit in the apartment better” You suggest, looking up at the tree Logan wants to take back to your apartment.

“Yes we need a real one..” He says with a huff, wrapping his arm around your waist. For context Logan wanted to go out to a tree farm and buy a tree for Christmas, but he severely underestimated how much space you have in your apartment.

“I just don't know if we have enough room” You say softly, leaning into him. “We will baby, don't worry” He says with a smile, squeezing you into his side. You let out a soft sigh, if only he wasn't so stubborn.

“Baby, I want to put up this tree…” He says, trying to convince you as he puts on his best puppy dog face. “C’mon, don’t be a party pooper. This tree is beautiful, we have to get it!” He says, holding a tight grip on you.

“Why do you never listen to me when I say no, I never get what I want” You say, rolling your eyes at him. “Baby, I always get what I want, you should know this by now.” He says with a smirk, squeezing you closer into him.

“You’re paying for it..” You say with a defeated sigh, “And you’re going to help decorate!” You add on.

“Pshh, I’m gonna make you pay for half…” He says in a teasing manner. “Of course, I’ll even help decorate it” He says with a wink.

“Now…let’s go get it loaded onto the truck!” He says, grabbing your hand and quickly heading towards his truck.

After Logan pays for the tree, and you help him get it loaded into his truck you head back to your apartment, which is thankfully only one story so you got it in no problem.

Once you get the tree inside, Logan quickly begins to set it up. “Aww, I forgot how much work it was to put a Christmas tree up…” He says with a big sigh.

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad!” You tell him, getting out the ornaments and other decorations. “You’re right, we should have gotten a fake one…” He says, looking up at the tree. “It’s too late now though, we might as well make the most of it!”

“I told you so..” You muse with a smirk, watching him put the lights on the tree.

He laughs as he strings the lights around the tree. “I know baby, I know…” He says with a smirk of his own.

“Hmm let me put on some Christmas music!” You say, getting onto your TV and clicking onto Spotify you play the first Christmas playlist that shows up.

Logan smiles softly while he continues decorating the tree. The Christmas music starts to play and he turns to you with a smirk. “Is this going to be one of those cheesy Christmas movie nights, where we cuddle and watch a movie while we have hot chocolate?” He asks.

“Do you want it to be?" You ask with a grin, helping him place ornaments on the tree.

“Hell yeah I do” He says as he hangs more ornaments. “Do I get extra cuddles if I go out and get your favorite cookies?” He asks with a smirk.

“I think so..” You reply with a smile, “If you go now I’ll finish decorating and even make something to eat” You add on, knowing he would have gotten the cookies anyway.

Logan places a quick kiss to your lips. “I’m gonna hold you to that!” He says before grabbing his coat and heading out to the nearby grocery store.

Quietly humming along to Last Christmas by Wham, you finish decorating the tree, and even decorate the main area of your apartment a bit.

You walk over to the fridge, grabbing a frozen pizza from the freezer and putting it in the oven.

Soon the pizza is done, you cut it up and place it on the coffee table in front of your couch, and place two mugs of hot chocolate next to it too.

Logan comes back, bringing the cookies with him as well as some of your favorite candy/snacks. “Here you are honey, I went ahead and picked up a couple of extrast” He says.

He looks at the food, then at you and smiles. “This is all really nice, did you make the hot chocolate?” He asks as he sits down on the couch, setting out the stuff he got you.

“I did make the hot chocolate..” You say with a giggle, picking up the Williams racing mug you were gifted by Lily and drink some of the hot chocolate as you sit next to Logan on the couch.

Logan smiles a bit bigger, and he scoots a bit closer to you so he can put his arm around your shoulders. He takes a slice of the pizza and eats it. “So…..I was thinking we could watch your favorite Christmas movie” He says, looking at you.

“I thought you hated that movie though?” You ask surprised that he would suggest watching your favorite Christmas movie.

“I don’t like it, but it’s your favorite” He says, squeezing your hand, and placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “Plus, if I don’t let you watch it now, you’re just gonna make me watch it again later aren’t you?” He says with a smirk.

“Hmm well you aren’t wrong” You say with a giggle, moving to set down your mug, and grab the remote, turning on your favorite movie as you snuggle up into Logan, eating a few slices of pizza and cookies.

Logan wraps his arms around your body, kissing the top of your head every so often as you snuggle together and eat the pizza.

Soon the movie ends, with only a few slices of pizza left and most of the cookies gone, mugs of hot chocolate empty.

You’re laying right on top of Logan, too tired to move or get up to clean.

Logan smiles at you as he lays on the couch with you. He looks at the pizza, and the cookies, and back at you. “I’ll take care of it later” He says, grabbing your hand and squeezing it as he nuzzles his head into your shoulder.

“Thank you baby..” You mumble out with a smile, taking in his warmth. Logan smiles at you with half asleep eyes, his breath warm against your shoulder, “I love you Y/n…” He mumbles.

“I love you too Log” You mumble back, tracing your fingers along his chest.

Instagram

youruser

Liked by logansargeant and others

y/n 🍪🍪🍪

View all 693 comments

logansargeant love you 🤍

y/n love you too 🩵

williamsracing We have the best couples 💙

y/n 🥹💙

alex_albon Did he help you

y/n yes he did, he even cleaned up after

logansargeant thank you for the support Alex

alex_albon Of course mate

lilymhe WE NEED TO DO A DOUBLE DATE

y/n YES YES YES YES!!!!!!

lilymhe I love you 🫶🫶

y/n I love you more 🫶

oscarpiastri Why didn’t you put in the picture of him CHUCKING a snowball at you

y/n he made it up to me (he threatened me)

logansargeant I got her cookies!!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

radio 🪩: Loved this Logan Christmas fic! Probably one of my favorites. I should have one more out for a different driver! 💙

303 notes · View notes

the-bottom-of-the-abyss · 2 years

Text

siren song - chapter 1

previous chapter: prologue

next chapter: chapter 2

A/N: First, thank you so so so much for all your kind words!! I did not expect for this to get as many notes as it did! I'm so happy you guys are excited bc I am too! That being said, this is a long one! Also I changed it to a reader insert bc I think it fits better. If you haven't played the campaign, this mission is straight from it with most dialogue being the same. I really wanted this to feel like you were there the whole time. A lot of it is that mission but there's a small gift at the end ;) Our MC's femme fatale ways will return in full force next chapter!

----

Ghost

27 August 2022

2330, Classified location, Al Mazrah

Ghost approached the helicopter, listening to General Shepard.

"You're wheels up in five."

"Roger."

"Marines are loading in now. You'll be leading with two Sergeants."

"Two?"

"Soap MacTavish and Siren."

Ghost scoffed under his breath. "No last name?"

"It's classified."

Before he could make a smart remark, one of the many soldiers coming off a truck approached him. "Let's get ourselves a win, yeah, Lt.?" The man addressed him causally, causing Ghost to assume this was "Soap".

Soap lightly punched his shoulder. "Save ya a seat sir."

Just his chipper attitude was enough to make Ghost brace for a long mission. As he was about to go board the helicopter as well, a black SUV stopped close to him, and the backdoor opened to reveal a woman in tactical gear, helmet in her hands, and a rifle on her back. She quickly walked towards him and he took in her appearance; hair pulled back into a ponytail, an objectively beautiful face, and piercing eyes. It was her expression that made him pause. She didn't sport any particular expression, almost as if her own skin was the mask, hiding all underneath.

Almost as if he couldn't help himself, his gaze wavered. He silently scolded himself as he looked her up and down, his steady pulse feeling more fleeting than normal. Once reaching him, she stuck out her hand and looked him straight in the eyes, not even acknowledging his skull. "Siren, sir. Nice to meet you."

Logically, Ghost knew there was another Sergeant, he was told so. But for some reason, he was taken aback at the beautiful and seemingly fairly young woman in front of him. It was clear she was an American, the only one on their current team.

He shook her hand, noting that her hands were much smaller, but her grip was just as strong as his. "Ghost," he replied. "Board the heli, we're leaving in a few."

There was something about her. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but she was hypnotizing, and by the look in her eyes, dangerous too.

"Fucking hell."

----

Siren

27 August 2022

2345, In helicopter en route to Al Mazrah

You sat in between two marines who kept glancing at you, not that you payed any mind. No, you were more intrigued by the man in front of you. The man with the deep, British accent: the Liutenant. He wore a skull mask on top of a balaclava, the only thing truly visible was his eyes. Those same eyes gave you a thorough look over earlier, not bothering to hide the action. Unlike most men he didn't shy away from sustained eye contact.

In fact, his gaze was on you right now and intense; it made you feel a flicker of something you hadn't felt in a very long time.

You cocked your eyebrow, asking what he was looking at.

His eyes then narrowed as if to say: Indeed, what am I looking at?

It felt like a contest, seeing which would break first; the tension felt like—

“So what’s your name?”

Soap, the Sergeant with a Scottish accent, interrupted the intense moment, bringing everyone’s attention to you.

“Siren.” You replied, not bothering to elaborate.

There was a pause, Soap looking at you expectantly. And while he wasn’t looking anymore, you could sense that the Lieutenant’s curiosity was also peaked.

“Why?” The Sergeant asked.

You took a breath. It was always…. odd to explain your name. It’s not like you chose it. And for those who were stupid enough, would comment about your “tactics.” You didn’t know these men, and they didn’t know you; it was probably better that way.

“I suppose if we’re working together,” you started, “you’ll find out eventually.”

And with that, you didn’t say anything else. Instead, you chose to examine your rifle, the SP-X 80; reliable, and quick— two of your favorite things in a weapon. You did like getting up close and personal, the adrenaline, the satisfaction at successful fooling others into believing you were some innocent but seductive woman instead of a cold-hearted killer. However, if you couldn’t do it close, you liked being far.

Eventually Ghost stood up and began his brief.

“Bravo team offloads here. Alpha team stays onboard to land downrange. Both teams meet in the middle. Remember, we want Hassan alive, but this is capture or kill.”

The marines singalled their affirmative, whether by nods or a “Yes sir.” You and Soap both got up to follow Ghost as he went to exit the helicopter.

“Keep up Soap, Siren,” he threw over his shoulder as he stepped out.

You put on your helmet, slung both the rifle and an M4 over your back, and put on your night vision goggles, everything appearing in shades of blue.

“Razor-1, all Bravo deployed. Moving to secondary HLZ.”

The helicopter flew on ahead while you and the others with you moved forward through the destroyed cobblestone.

All of sudden, shots were being fired ahead, followed by a panicked pilot on comms. “All stations- Razor-1 is bracketed, we’re getting lit!”

“Incoming-Flares! Flares!” flares erupted from the helicopter, narrowly avoiding being taken out by a missile. “Shit that was close!”

Before anyone could echo their relief, you saw something out of the corner of your eye, something headed straight towards the heli.

“Second missile!” you yelled into the comms. Unfortuantely it was too quick for them to react and you and the rest of the Bravo team watched the missile collide with the helicopter, sending it spiraling downwards.

“Razor-1 going down! We’re going down!”

It crashed into the ground, landing in the middle of some buildings and erupting into flames prompting Ghost to try to hail the other team. “Alpha, what’s your status?”

Gunshots began to ring out, aimed at the downed aircraft. There was still no response from the comms and you watched the Liteunant attempt to contact them again. “Alpha, how copy?”

Finally, the channel crackled to life. “Bravo—Alpha is immobile. Multiple critical!”

“Oh shit! We’re taking effective fire!”

All you could do was watch in dismay as gunfire rained down on the heli, with only a few shots being returned.

“Alpha,” Ghost radioed, “we’re moving to building 1. Hold tight.”

At that, Soap swung his head towards the Liteunant, “Ghost, we need to secure that crash site now.”

Ghost shook his head, “First we clear for Hassan, that takes the heat off Alpha. Then we secure the crash site. Clear?”

“Roger that.” Soap said.

“Roger,” you echoed.

The team crept closer, guns sweeping in all directions as you moved through the farm plots and up to the building. As you reached the top of the hill where the backdoor was, you began to here Al-Qatala forces talking, yelling to keep firing at the helicopter, anticipating more of us would show up to aid the Alpha team. While it may have seemed cold, Ghost was right; you could admire that: making those hard decisions, ones that seemed heartless to everyone else.

You swapped out your sniper rifle for your M4 and aimed at the door. Ghost pulled out a sledgehammer, “Breacher up!” and smashed the door down, seemingly taking very little effort on his part. Two people were inside, immediately taken out by five people simoltanelously firing.

“Sweep through,” he ordered. Both floors were clear of both AQ and Hassan, as announced by two marines.

Almost immediately, though, one of them shouted into their comms, “Contact! Building two!”

“They know we’re here!” Ghost shouted. You switched back to your sniper and aimed for the opposite building. You took out two while Soap, also sporting a sniper rifle, took out the others.

“All stations, crash site is taking rocket fire from building two, second deck!”

“Alpha,” Ghost responded, “taking building two now, hold fast!” He gestured for the team to follow him towards the back of building two and instructed Soap to enter through the window. You followed Ghost in, and watched as he threw a knife and hit an AQ member dead center in the face. While you didn’t have time to think too hard about it now, you noted to file that memory for later. He kneeled, pulling the knife out of the man’s face before gesturing to go upstairs. Before you could move forward too much, the soldier infront of you was shot from a room attached to the hallway. “I’m hit!”

You quickly shot his attacker and he mumbled, “Someone in the next hallway.”

You moved forward with your M4, taking out the person aiming at the heli with a rocket launcher. Soap appeared before and spoke into the comms, “Ghost, Siren took out the enemy rocket.”

“Roger. Time to hit the crash site,” Ghost responded. “Siren, how are you with that rifle?” At some point he removed his night vision googles, revealing his eyes, visible through his mask. Maybe others shied away from his gaze, but you never were one to back down.

You looked him straight in the eye and replied, “Deadly, sir.”

You could have swore his eyes widened a fraction, suprised by your answer.

“Stay here on the balcony for cover fire, rest of Bravo, circle up outside.”

The rest of the team left, talking to your team member who was shot in the chest plate in the hall.

You made your way out to the balcony and laid down, propping up your rifle and watched as Ghost and Soap made their way to the helicopter, everyone else fanning out in front of building two for cover.

The comms crackled with Ghost’s gravely voice, “Expect contact. AQ’s waitin’ for us.”

Both of them were only in the heli for a few seconds before you spotted enemy combatants approaching from the tree line.

“Engage!”

As soon you heard his order, you found your first target. You emptied your mind of all concerns, wrestled control of any errant thoughts of this or that. You took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.

—-

Ghost

28 August 2022

0030, Al Mazrah, U.R.A.

‘Deadly, sir’ she says, he thought to himself. He can hear himself calling out directions of enemies to the others, his firing on autopilot. But everytime a target becomes to close for comfort, they fall, bullet to the head. And he knows Soap is firing in another direction, leaving only one person to be taking them out at a rapid speed.

Something about her prickled his senses. Maybe it was her demeanor, her confidence. Maybe it was that she looked like she knew what everyone else was thinking. Maybe it was that she seemed to challange him with her eyes whenever he looked. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

For now, he didn’t have time to entertain those thoughts, busy on trying to prevent being pinned down by AQ.

After the first wave was over, he ordered for Bravo 7-6 to call in air support, not wanting to get overrun by any reinforcements that were surely on their way.

Before air support could arrive, smoke rolled into the treeline.

“Siren, do you have a visual behind the treeline?” he questioned into the comms.

“Take cover—They have grenade launchers! I’ll take them out!” she responded in an urgent tone.

He heard one shot….two… three… four… five…

“Ghost, launchers gone. More AQ on the field.”

Both he and Soap worked on clearing out the rest of the field, eventually all movement ceasing.

In the stillness, he radioed back to his other Sergeant, “Siren, I need you down here right now.”

“Roger. Moving.”

Soap approached his side, “Ghost, we should fall back to the house.”

“Negative,” Ghost said, “We clear this position and push. If Hassan’s still here, he’s out ahead. 7-6, patch us through to air support.”

“7 Actual, Kilo 0-1. Fire is one mike.”

“Kile 0-1, you’re cleared hot on anything forward of our position. Danger close approved.” As he was talking, Siren joined them in the heli, nodding at him and Soap.

“You’re a damn good shot, lass,” the Scott declared, earning him a small smile from her.

Before he could say anything, Bravo 7-2 interuptted, “Lieutenant, we got armored vehicles incoming. Four of them.”

Ghost was not suprised, but it wasn’t ideal for a downed helicopter to be the only cover you have against APCs.

“Standby for engage!” he ordered. “Get ready….!”

The vehicles made their way onto the field in front of them. “Cut ‘em down!”

They rained gunfire on the vehicles; the air support pilot’s voice broke through: “All Bravo, Kilo 0-1 is inbound hot, danger close.”

“Engaging secondaries.”

The vehicles were taken down in quick fashion, any stragglers also meeting the same fate.

“We clear?” Soap asked.

“Fuckin’ hope so,” Siren replied, still aiming her rifle through the helicopter windows.

After ordering for a bird to be ready for exfiltration he addressed the team in front of him. “Get yourselves sorted. Hassan is still the target.”

“Aye,” Soap approved. “Let’s go get this fucker.”

They quickly moved away from the helicopter site and made for the compound in front of them.

“They used the helicopter as bait,” Siren observed, taking a position on his left.

“They’re well supplied and fighting smart. Thanks to Hassan,” Ghost replied.

The team made their way through a grassy field, frames of various structures littering the area.

Not even a second after the compound came into view, a green laser also appeared. The soldier to the left of Siren was shot, prompting her to yell out and move closer to Ghost. “Fuck! Man down!”

“AQ sniper on the roof!” he called out, “Get down!”

Ghost knew just by her rank that she has seen combat before; hell, she was a sniper herself, she didn’t need his aid. But for some reason, he found himself roughly grabbing her arm and dragging her down to the ground with him. She landed pressed against his side, caught offguard by the force of his pull.

A second passed and she quickly went prone on the ground and both her and Soap aimed for the roof.

“Sniper down!” Soap exclaimed after firing a shot.

“More snipers on the roof, take them out!” Ghost ordered.

Siren fired two shots, one right after the other, and he saw to bodies fall instantly. If nothing else, she was a damn good sharpshooter.

Despite their best efforts, 7-5 was shot.

“They’ve got fucking nightvision,” Siren said as she fired off another shot, “we’re sitting ducks out here.”

She was right, and he knew it. “Soap, Siren! Keep us covered, we’re moving up!”

As he crouched and moved up, he kept hearing the two snipers firing but it wasn’t enough to keep all the heat off of them.

“7-6!” Ghost yelled, “I want air support fire on that building now!”

“Ghost,” Siren said, sounding slightly dumbfounded, “we don’t fucking know if Hassan’s in there!”

He gritted his teeth, annoynace flaring up at the pushback. “They’re forcing our hand! 7-6, hit that building, but don’t level it.”

“Kilo 0-1 to Bravo team, copy that, making our run.”

As soon as he saw the helicopter, he yelled out to the remaining team members, “Force up to that wall! Move!”

Building 3 was lit in a fire, tinted yellow by the nightvision googles, shots coming from every which way.

“That’s a glorious sight,” Ghost said, crouching behind a half crumbled wall.

“Thank Christ for air support,” Soap commented.

“Yeah,” Siren said, swiveling her head towards Ghost, “hope Hassan’s still in one piece…”

“Several pieces will do,” he replied with a smirk hidden behind his balaclava at the way she shook her head in disdain. “Easier to find that way.”

He continued, not waiting for her reply, “All Bravo, move up. I want this building locked down. Lead us in Soap. Siren, behind me. Let’s find Hassan. Dead or alive.”

Siren took a staggered position behind him, an M4 aimed at the opened door.

Soap, barely two steps in, fired at an assailant running for him. Seemingly clear, Ghost entered, followed by Siren.

“Check the bodies,” he ordered. “We need positive ID on Hassan.”

None of the bodies nor any of the alive hostiles Soap encountered were ID’d as Hassan, prompting Ghost to order the team to the second deck.

Soap fell behind while Ghost and Siren lead the others up the stair. A closed door was on the right; Ghost looked at Siren and nodded his head towards it. She took position, aiming at the hallway in front while Ghost approached the door from the side. Ghost didn’t need to open the door as the door began to open, a rifle aimed at Siren.

Ghost opened the door the rest of the way and grabbed the solder by his rifle and slammed him into the wall and quickly shot him in the heart and the head before letting the body hit the ground.

Ghost continued into the room, feeling Siren at his back. “Got two X-rays,” he informed her at the site of the two wounded AQ soldiers in the room. “Dump ‘em.”

Two single shots were fired and they dropped to the ground.

“Clear,” she said.

“Hassan’s everywhere,” Ghost commented to no one in particular. Three screens were playing speeches by him, denouncing the West for taking out Ghorbani.

“Everywhere but here,” Soap retorted.

Soap pushed forward first, follwed by the rest. Several people jumped out but were promptly eliminated.

The room they entered looked well used but had blueprints. Combined with the previous room that had a dozen computers, Ghost called out, “He was here. This is a bloody ops-center. Poke around, Soap.”

Ghost watched Soap move towards the desk after checking the balcony and move around several papers. Then he moved on to the jacket draped over the chair.

“Look,” Soap called out, “Hassan’s uniform.”

“So he was here,” Siren concluded.

Ghost nodded. “Lost him when we secured the crash site.”

Soap looked at him incrediously, “Are you sayin’ we shouln’t have helped?” Interestingly Siren did not seem put off by his statement like Soap was.

“Choices have consequences,” was all Ghost said in reply, not willing to discuss the ethics of prioritizing team or target.

“All Bravo-we got movement out here.”

“On the way,” Ghost said into his radio, locking eyes with Siren on his way out. “All Bravo, circle up outside.”

As they moved out of the building, Soap voiced some of his thoughts out lout. “If Hassan’s gone, then what the hell are they still protecting?”

“Good fucking question,” Ghost heard Siren say somewhere behind him.

The night air fully greeted them once more along with the rest of the Bravo team.

“What do we got?” Ghost questioned.

“A warehouse,” Bravo 7-6 replied. “Roll up door’s open. Heard somethin’ inside.”

“Copy, let’s clear it.”

After entering, the lights suddenly flipped on, forcing them to remove the night vision goggles. Bullets were aimed their way, hitting the shelves they took cover behind. Ghost reached around to fire at the soldiers, being mirrored by Soap and Siren.

“Fuck!” he heard Siren yell loudly. “Grazed me!”

Ghost whipped his head around to see her pull a bloody hand away from her upper thigh

He watched her eyes narrow in fury and continued shooting, not caring about having to lean on her good leg for better support.

Ghost didn’t bother telling her to fall back; the inferno present in her expression told him that it wouldn’t be well recieved or listened to.

Soon enough, all the threats were taken care of, leaving them to finally be able to locate what the hell AQ was so desperate on protecting.

“Search the warehouse. Let’s find what they were hiding….”

Serious weaponry was found along crates of ammunition. Ghost shook his head in slight disbelief at all the hardware present. “This warehouse wasn’t on the intel.”

“Guys, come look at this,” he heard Siren yell.

She stood in front a blue shipping container, gun trained on the doors.

Ghost walked to her side, glancing at her leg, blood visible through her gear.

“It was just a graze,” she said, eyes still on the container. “I’m fine.” Before he could say anything else, Soap approached the doors of the crate and opened it, revealing a server and a control console.

“What the fuck is this?” he asked.

“It’s in English,” Siren observed.

Ghost and the two Sergeants backed up to look above the container.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Soap breathed out.

“Ballistic missiles,” Ghost said, not quite believing his eyes.

“It’s a mobile laucher,” Siren added, “These’ll go 1,000 miles.”

“At least…” Ghost trailed off.

Soap was the first to break out of their stupor, walking around to the side and climbing the crate for a closer look. “How the hell did Iran get their hands on this?”

Siren walked with a slight limp around to the side as well while Ghost hailed Laswell.

“This is Watcher-1, send traffic.”

“Laswell, this is Ghost,” he said as he walked to stand beside Siren. “We got something.”

“Tell me you found Hassan…”

Before he could reply, Soap interupted, “Guys take a look at this…”

Siren let out a quiet gasp and muttered in disbelief, “What the fuck…”

Ghost finally could see what she was suprised at. The missile launcher had an American flag on the side.

“Ghost, do you have Hassan?”

“Negative,” he told Laswell. “We found a weapons cache. Hassan’s got missiles… they’re American.”

General Shepard’s voice broke through. “0-7- this is Gold Eagle Actual, repeat your last…”

“I say again—Hassan has American missiles.”

——

Siren

28 August 2022

0300, Safehouse, somewhere in Al Mazrah

After the missile was found, they were ordered to exfil, with the marines returning to the nearest base while Ghost, Soap, and you stayed in a safehouse for further instructions. The drive was a quiet one, the three of you stuck in your own thoughts about the missile situation.

The safehouse was low-profile, surrounded by nothing but trees. It had three bedrooms, a bathroom and a kitchen you noted as the three of you entered.

“I call first shower!” Soap exclaimed, brushing past you and Ghost, making a beeline for the bathroom. You sat your bag with your weapons and clothing down in the living room before looking in the kitchen for a first aid kit, sporting a slight limp. As you looked around, you heard Ghost venture down the hallway, likely picking a room.

You finally found one under the kitchen sink and took a seat on the couch, rag and kit next to you. You looked at blood from the wound; you could feel it wasn’t very deep, but definitely noticable and painful. As you threaded a needle in preperation, you heard light footsteps behind you. You looked over your shoulder and saw Ghost, mask still present, looking at you. His gaze fell from your face to your thigh. You drew in a steady breath and returned your attention to the needle. Once it was tied off, you wet a rag with rubbing alcohol and set it aside as well.

Before you could do anything else, he walked up to you and spoke for the first time since arriving.

“I’ll stitch you up.”

You nodded, not feeling like arguing, and it was at a weird angle for you to do yourself.

“Stand up and take off your pants,” he said in that deep tone of his, looking at you with piercing brown eyes.

You scoffed quietly and unbuttoned the top before gently stepping out of your pants.

“No dinner first?” you teased, standing before him in only your long sleeved shirt and black underwear.

“I usually skip straight to desert,” he said as he kneeled in front of you, eye level with your wound. You sucked in a breath at the sight; it had been a long time since a man kneeled in front of you other than to beg for his life.

He grabbed your injured leg with one hand, while the other grabbed the cloth and began to clean the wound. You hissed at the stinging sensation but otherwise stayed still. Maybe you should have been making some small talk but you found it hard to focus between the pain and the hand wrapped around your thigh to keep it still.

“Good work on the mission,” Ghost said, placing the cloth aside to instead pick up the needle and thread. His knuckles double tapped your inner uninjured leg, motioning for you to spread them apart. You did and quietly sucked in a breath when he leaned closer to get a better look.

“You are a deadly shot.”

“Thanks,” you said, wincing when the needle first went in. “Though I prefer up close and personal.” His hand twitched slightly, tightening by a fraction. His focus was on stitching up the graze on the side of your leg but you were focused on his hand that held the inner part of your thigh. He moved his hand up as he worked, index finger nearly grazing the edge of your underwear. His closeness was awakening desire in you; you could feel your underwear getting more damp and just hoped he couldn’t smell your arousal. Part of you wanted him to move his hand to spare you from getting so worked up. But the other, much louder part of you wanted him to slide his hand up, hook two fingers into your panties, pull them aside and—

You closed your eyes, willing your face not to redden; you have men constantly touching you for a job, for God’s sake!

You weren’t so naive to think he was the same as all those other men, though. No, this one was different.

“Finished,” Ghost said, “make sure not to pull them.” You looked down at him and found his eyes already on yours.

You could see that he was likely wearing a neutral expression, but his eyes revealed a split second of heat before being schooled into indifference.

Not looking away, he gave your inner thigh a squeeze and let his hand travel down the inside of your leg, finally dropping when he reached your knee.

He stood up, and for a second, you could have swore you saw him glance in between your thighs.

Again, the two of you stared at each other, a tension building and building, one of you having to break first; he took a small step towards you and—

“Am I interrupting something?”

Soap walked into the living room, hair still wet from the shower. Of course, from his view, it was odd, seeing his fellow Sergeant in her underwear with his Lieutenant.

“No,” Ghost said, moving towards the hall. “We were just finished.”

You pulled your pants back on and went back to your room, replaying whatever the fuck just happened.

Taglist:

@nobody-000 @theyounglingslayer @untoldshortsofthefandoms @memeorydotcom @kuutski @your-highnessmarvel

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader

1K notes · View notes

cottoncandyswisherz · 4 days

Text

1-800-CHOKE-DAT-HOE

this is long for no fucking reason im sorry.

chris x dealer!oc

warnings: putting a stereotyping bitch in her place, swearing.

this day fucking sucks.

its no secret that tasia hated both of her jobs. but amazon was in a special place in her brain that held hatred that she specifically reserved for her father, rapists, and dentists.

but it paid the bills and kept the police off her ass. selling drugs was helping as well, but most of that income went to her college fund.

yes, she was 20 years old, and in college, and still adding to her college fund.

but it wasn't her fault. her parents didn't exactly do their job in the education department but she made good grades in high school and she got into college. she wanted to be able to say that everything that happened all meant something. that it was worth it.

that she was worth it.

so for now, she slaved away at amazon. slinging boxed into trucks with the dumbest species on the planet.

men.

"bro, earth is FLAT! why do you think the water from the ocean doesnt fall of the earth?"

she stopped listening right there. put in her airpods and blasted her "real nigga" playlist. everything was going smooth for about an hour. tasia was vibing to "catch a b" by maf teeski when the bitch from the front desk came up and tapped her on the shoulder with her bony ass finger.

"ms. edmond. you have a few boys waiting for you up at the front."

boys? who the fuck is at my-

tasia couldnt even finish her though when fake blondie started her usual shit. "i usually dont allow visitors during employees working hours. i told the gentlemen that your shift ends 5 minutes and to come back, but they were very... persistent about speaking to you immediately."

shawty is really tweaking over 5 minutes?

tasia rolled her eyes and began trudging to the front of the large building. because she was loading boxes in the back, her shift would end by the time she got up there anyway.

when she arrived, she was relieved to see chris, matt and nick literally twiddling their thumbs. when they saw the lanky girl walking up they got off the wall, almost in sync.

nick picked up a box the size of jupiter while chris fixed his hair and rolled up the sleeves of his blue hoodie.

seeing the box, made tasia remember her conversation with nick last night. he had to return some furniture.

"hellooo" nick said with a smile. the two had been texting a little bit for the week that had passed since the party.

"hey bookie." she gave a genuine smile, which surprised her, which is why it didnt last long. she looked at matt and chris gaving them a quick "hey".

"he gets a 'bookie' AND a smile and all we get is a 'hey'?" chris feigned hurt and pointed at his brothers with his jaw dropped,

this made tasia snort before replying with "i dont know you two bozos." followed by "but let me try again, for your benefit." she pretended to get into character, slapping a huge fake smile on her face. "O. M. G. hi guys! im just so happy to see you!" with that, her face fell and she asked if that was better.

"i think i like the 'hey' better..." matt muttered, with a face of confusion.

"i thought so." the girl chuckled and turned back to nick. "okay let me take this and meet you at the desk.

when they got to the desk she put in the information she needed to identify the purchase. "okay you have the card you used to pay for it right?"

"uuuh yes. hold on." nick search his wallet, eventually finding his card and handing it to his new friend.

when the transaction was finished, and nick got the confirmation text that his money had returned to his account he asked tasia when she was getting off.

"im actually off now. and i gotta hurry and get my stuff before i miss the next bus."

"bus?" nick questioned.

"yes, bus. yknow the big purple thing you get on to get from point a to point b?"

"i know what a fucking bus is. i just dont know why you're taking the bus when we have a car." nick rebuttled.

"because i live in compton and yall live 5 minutes from the hills?" what tasia was saying was a fact, but she said more like a question, mainly because she thought this was obvious.

"well come with us to do a few things and then we'll take you home." now anyone else would have jumped at the opportunity to get a free ride across town.

tasia was not like anyone else.

"why would you do that?"

"because i dont fuck with these two and i need someone else in the back seat with me."

"fair enough."

instagram pictures had been taken, happy ice had been eaten and legos had been bought.

now it was time for tasia to go back home.

"okay give me your phone so i can put my address in."

"okay but i have to stop by the house so i can get jaiyahs earrings." matt said, passing her his phone.

"...why are her earrings at your house?" tasia questioned with a quizzical look on her face.

"because she was hammered the other night and asked me to pick her up and take her home. she took her earrings off in the car and i kept them in my room." matt answered bluntly.

"its true. he asked me to come with him because he was nervous." chris cosigned.

"whatever. but if we're stopping i need to pee."

"thats fine." matt said.

"i know its fine. im just letting you know im gonna be using your bathroom."

when they arrived at the triplets house, tasia wasnt even surprised by the size of it. she knew they made good money. she didnt say anything other than ask where the bathroom was, which chris was happy to answer.

she did her business and found her way to the living room, where chris was going through a big box.

"whats that?" tasia asked.

"theyre hoodies for my brand." chris answer, handing her the sweatshirt.

she admired the blue hoodie, with white letting. it was soft. she could tell it was comfortable. so she did the first thing that came to her mind.

she put it on.

and chris damn near lost his fucking mind.

tasia, the girl who'd been haunting his frontal lobe to point of needing a lobotomy, was in his living room, in biker shorts and the hoodie that he designed. he wanted to have this moment forever.

he needed to have this moment forever.

"oh you have to let me take some pictures of you in it." he chuckled.

"absolutely not." tasia shook her head.

"come one pleeeaaase?" chris begged.

"i dont even have social media." she argued.

"then i dont have to tag you. even better."

"fine."

"YES!" chris shouted and pulled out his phone, placing her against the white wall and telling her to smile.

"do i look like the smiling type?" tasia asked.

"well at least pose." he rolled his eyes.

"how the fuck am i supposed to pose." she urged. "i dont know how to model."

"youre not modelling. youre taking pictures in a fire ass hoodie." he laughed and moved to position her in a way that would look good to show off his brand.

they continued this for about 5 minutes, him, positioning her body and taking pictures, her keeping the same neutral expression on her face.

in these 5 minutes the two individuals had realized some very important things.

tasia realized that if anyone was this close to her besides jaiye that she's try her best to remove a limb from their body. but not chris. she was allowing him into her bubble and she didnt even feel nervous about it. it felt natural. like he was supposed to be there.

chris realized that he never paid attention to the was a woman smelled until tasia. he realized she smelled like coco butter. not coco butter lotion but real coco butter. the kind that are in matts candles. he also realized that he'd shoot layla in the face for a chance to see tasia wear his brand again.

speak of the devil and she shall come.

"chrissy?" he heard her dreadful voice call out the nickname that only his mother and grandmothers were allowed to call him.

while chris was trying not to vomit, tasia was holding back a laugh at the sound of his nickname. "chrissy?" she asked.

"dont even think about it." he put a finger in her face and turned to the entrance of the living room, where layla was walking in.

emphasis on was.

she stopped dead in her tracks when she saw a girl she didnt recognize so close to chris.

"whos this?" layla asked, pointing at tasia.

"oh thats tasia. shes nicks friend. i was just show-" he was cut off by layla asking

"she cant talk or something?"

tasias eyebrows rose to the tippy-top of her head as she whipped her head in chris' direction, giving him the chance to check her before she does.

"shut up layla. she doesnt owe you a response because you asked me who she was."

"shut up?" layla feigned hurt. "you shut told me to shut up in from of whoever she is?"

taking a step towards 'layla' tasia started with "girl-" but was cut off by chris grabbing her elbow.

"tasia. please." he pleaded with her.

it was at this time that nick and matt returned from upstairs and froze at the situation before them. they had two options.

help defuse the situation and take tasia home as quckly as possible, leaving chris to deal with layla.

2. sit back and watch this funny ass shit unfold.

obviously they chose option 2 and skirted around the three. this shit looked like a standoff from a western movie.

only more anticipating.

"layla i just told you her name. i told you to come at 6. its 4:30. why the fuck are you in my house, and how'd you get in?" chris asked, trying to distract her from tasia, who didnt do a single thing wrong.

"i was coming to make you dinner. i wanted to surprise you. but i was the one surprised when i come in here and see you all up on inmate 23-" layla was cut off by tasia slapping the fuck out of her then grabbing her neck in both hands, restricting laylas airflow.

"oh shit!" nick and matt said at the same time.

"now because im cool with your dude, im not gonna fuck you up. but imma let you know right fucking now that if you ever address me as anything other than my fucking name, i wont let it slide." tasia said, then released laylas throat.

layla coughed and caught her breath, then proceeded to do what she does best. annoy the fuck out people. "who the fuck do you think you are bi-"

another slap. "you're not a quick learner are you?" tasia teased and punched layla in the jaw so hard that she fell over, still clutching her face.

"chris, get your lap dog under control before i catch a case." she motioned towards the girl on the floor. "nick, get me something frozen for my hand. and matt, did you get jaiyes earrings?" tasia asked, turning to where the two boys had been sitting on the couch.

they were zoned in on chris, trying to console and scold layla, who was starting to get hysterical on the floor. their jaws were an inch away from the ground and their eyes were bugging out of their head.

"HELLO?" tasia yelled, snapping them back into reality. nick got up and scurried to the freezer, while matt got up and retrieved the previously mentioned earrings from his pocket showing her that he had competed the task they'd come here for in the first place.

"great. now take me back to the fucking hood." tasia ordered.

tasia was now in bed, having showered, wrapped up her hair, and cleaned her piercings.

she was reading her book in a state of peace, not even thinking about the events that took place earlier.

shit like that didn't even phase her anymore. she was black with a face tat and multiple piercings and she went to a pwi. she dealt with judgment every day of her life.

she didnt hit chris' girlfriend because she was the first person to ever disrespect her. she hit her because she couldn't hit the white boys who laughed when she walked into her ethical law class. or any class that she walked into on her college campus.

the situation may have been small but the principle was big as shit.

tasia was pulled out of her blissful book when she heard her phone ring. it was a facetime from number she didn't recognize.

nonetheless, she knew jaiye was out and wasnt declining any phone calls until her bestie was home. so she answered.

only to be met with chris' face.

"chris? how'd you get my number?"

"nick." chris' eyes were focused on her and she hated that she like it.

"oh."

"yeah." chris said, awkwardly scratching his chin. "look i dont mean to bother you. its just i wanted to say sorry for layla and that i put you in that position."

"its chill." tasia shrugged, closing her book and setting it to the side. "you wanted your pictures. did you at least get any good ones?"

"yeah theyre great." chris replied with a goofy smile..

"you sure? i wouldn't wanna fuck up your hoodie."

"tasia. trust me when i say that you could make a burlap sack look good." chris replied. the smile was gone and he was now dead serious. "but i gotta go, nick wants to watch drag race. but im gonna send you some of the pictured okay?" he said, getting up.

"okay." tasia smiled, which shocked her, causing her to hang up without saying bye, something she hated doing.

not even 20 seconds later she phone dinged again, showing that chris has sent the pictured to her, like he said he would.

to say tasia was shocked by what she saw on the screen would be an understatement.

(pretend its the lue fresh love hoodie pls and thx, management)

chris had made her look so pretty. and the way she wasn't even trying made her even more surprised.

that night, she fell asleep thinking about those pictures.

how much she enjoyed taking them, despite her hatred for pictures of herself. how much she enjoyed chris being so close. how beautiful she looked while in her resting face.

ho. lee. fuck.

she like chris.

niyah speaks💗

okay last one! im boutta knock tf out because its 4 am. comment if you wanna be on the taglist.

remember that if no one loves you, mommy loves you (and my mommy i mean me.)

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo fanfic

127 notes · View notes

goodstuffhappenedtoday · 6 months

Text

Millions of U.S. apples were almost left to rot. Now, they'll go to hungry families

NOVEMBER 27, 2023 By Alan Jinich

It's getting late in the harvest season in Berkeley County, West Virginia and Carla Kitchen's team is in the process of hand-picking nearly half a million pounds of apples. In a normal year, Kitchen would sell to processors like Andros that make applesauce, concentrate, and other products. But this year they turned her away. ... Across the country, growers were left without a market. Due to an oversupply carried over from last year's harvest, growers were faced with a game-time economic decision: Should they pay the labor to harvest, crossing their fingers for a buyer to come along, or simply leave the apples to rot?

Bumper crops, export declines and the weather have contributed to the apple crisis

... While many growers in neighboring states like Maryland and Virginia left their apples to drop. Sen. Joe Manchin of West Virginia was able to convince the United States Department of Agriculture (USDA) to pay for the apples produced by growers in his state, which only makes up 1% of the national market.

A relief program in West Virginia donated its surplus apples to hunger-fighting charities

This apple relief program, covered under Section 32 of the Agricultural Adjustment Act of 1935, purchased $10 million worth of apples from a dozen West Virginia growers. Those apples were then donated to hunger-fighting charities across the country from South Carolina and Michigan all the way out to The Navajo Nation.

Mike Meyer, head of advocacy at The Farmlink Project, says it's the largest food rescue they've ever done and they hope it can serve as a model for their future missions. "There's over 100 billion pounds of produce waste in this country every year; we only need seven billion to drive food insecurity to zero," Meyer says. "We're very happy to have this opportunity. We get to support farmers, we get to fight hunger with an apple. It's one of the most nutritional items we can get into the hands of the food insecure."

At Timber Ridge Fruit Farm in Virginia, owners Cordell and Kim Watt watch a truck from The Farmlink Project load up on their apples before driving out to a food pantry in Bethesda, Md. Despite being headquartered in Virginia, Timber Ridge was able to participate in the apple rescue since they own orchards in West Virginia as well. Cordell is a third-generation grower here and he says they've never had to deal with a surplus this large.

At the So What Else food pantry in Bethesda, Md., apple pallets from Timber Ridge fill the warehouse up to the ceiling. Emanuel Ibanez and other volunteers are picking through the crates, bagging fresh apples into family-sized loads. "I'm just bewildered," Ibanez says. "We have a warehouse full of apples and I can barely walk through it." "People in need got nutritious food out of this program. And that's the most important thing" Executive director Megan Joe says this is the largest shipment of produce they've ever distributed – 10 truckloads over the span of three weeks. The food pantry typically serves 6,000 families, but this shipment has reached a much wider circle. "My coworkers are like, 'Megan, do we really need this many?' And I'm like, yes!" Joe says. "The growing prices in the grocery stores are really tough for a lot of families. And it's honestly gotten worse since COVID."

"It's the first time we've done this type of program, but we believe it can set the stage for the region," Kent Leonhardt, West Virginia's commissioner of agriculture says. "People in need got nutritious food out of this program. And that's the most important thing." Following West Virginia's rescue program, the USDA announced an additional $100 million purchase to relieve the apple surplus in other states around the country. This is the largest government buy of apples and apple products to date. But with the harvest window coming to an end, many growers have already left their apples to drop and rot.

#good stuff #food #apples #agriculture

191 notes · View notes

the-soliloquies-of-sadists · 2 years

Text

#331

“Well, well, well. Lookie here. When I heard that there was a faggot in the woods behind the rest area shithouse taking load after load in the early morning, I didn’t give it a second thought. I figured it was one of those San Francisco flag waving faggots passing through. It wasn’t until my truck driving buddy sent me a video of you getting plowed by this farmer looking guy and you were begging him to breed you right after you took my buddy’s load in your cunt and he pissed in your face. I had to see for myself. And here you are….

“You are handcuffed, naked, on your knees, head bowed, and crying like a total bitch. You know something’s up when I didn’t bring you in to the station, but rather took you here. You have been kneeling in that position for twenty minutes processing what’s going to happen to you. Well, let me tell you.

“Normally, had you been one of those faggots from the city, your ass would have been hauled in. But you are local, granted from the other side of the mountain pass. Yeah, I grabbed your clothes including your ID after I handcuffed you and placed you naked in the back of my squad car. After a quick search through my systems and then some independent internet searches I see you are a 52-year-old divorced father of four, three of which are on their own and the fourth lives with your ex-wife across the state. Being 6’ 4”, it’s obvious from the pile of hairy beef kneeling in front of me that your 320-pounds mostly comes from a long history of working as foreman at Hilbert construction after twelve years as a Sargent in the Marine Corps. Your ID says your name is Doyle Allen Delong, but I see you like to go by Allen or even more informally your initials, DAD to your crew.

“I did find that twenty years ago you were arrested for public sexual indecency at a public bathroom outside San Diego, but that charge got dropped. Interesting.

“Now I bet due to the torrential rain last night and the rain forecasted for this afternoon, construction has come to a halt today. That gave you the opportunity to be a cumdump for truck drivers beginning their day, and you made a bee line here. Now did I get any of that wrong?...

“Your silence speaks volumes. And I am assuming you are invoking your right to remain silent. Well let me address your rights here. You have none. You ain’t being arrested….

“Well that changed your demeanor. Look up. Look at me. Yeah, I figured as much. You are still hungry for cock, and you are salivating staring at my cock. Well bitch, you are going to get it. This isn’t some random spot I pulled you out of my cruiser. This is the backside of my property. Behind you and over the hill is my stable, and then another hill to my home. Since your work day went to shit, you have the entire day to spend buck naked in my stable like a beast that needs to be broken.

“I don’t need to ask your permission; your hard on tells me everything I need to know. Damn! That is one giant pecker you have there. Too bad it’s going to be ignored for the rest of the day. When I approached you spread over that fallen tree, I saw you had your cock and balls tucked under your belly so no one can see. I bet you did that so that no one would pay attention to it. I don’t think you can fit into my biggest cock cage. Fuck, you are leaking.

“Damn, this is some slimy leak. So you like being naked on your knees, hands cuffed behind you, your dick betraying an idea of you being any type of alpha male. I bet it kills you to be a foreman, bossing your men around knowing they are more of a man than you. I bet you fantasize about them pulling a train on you. I was a First Lieutenant in the Army. I know that you Marines are all alike. Either you are a sadistic bastard or the most depraved cumdump animal. Either you want to control, or you want to be controlled. There’s hardly a middle ground.

“You haven’t said one damned thing yet. You know it’s true. You know you want to be under the control of a natural superior, one who will put you in your place and expect you to remain there.

“I assume you have no plans for this weekend. If you do, you will be canceling them. You are going to be my beast, my animal. I’ll lock a hood on you, and a remote-controlled shock collar made explicitly to control animals. I have about 8 to 10 guys that I will invite over to use you. Your cunt and toilet mouth will be used continually throughout the weekend.

“So will your cock. I think I'm changing what I said earlier. There is no way that baseball bat is going to be ignored. I’m in control of it. There will probably be slaves over; their owners will want to see them get fucked by a beast like you. The thing is beasts don’t show mercy when they fuck, neither will you. The more savage the better.

“What you say, you want to be my beast, my animal for the weekend?

“…Are you cumming? Jesus Christ! You are. Fuck! Let it go. Damn! I've never seen a no handed eruption like that. That’s an impressive load. I hope you can remain hard throughout this weekend, if not, there are injections to keep you hard.

“I don’t care if you lose interest. You will be expected to perform continually. As you can tell, I am horned up. My dick needs attention, and you ass is going to provide it.

“Jesus! Now that is a fuckable ass if ever I saw one. Here lean forward, let me guide you down. Get that cunt up in the air. My driver friend said you were a sloppy fuck.

“And he was right. How many loads are up here?... Shut up! Animals don’t fucking speak. Grunt your answer. Four? It feels like a lot more. Fuck! After I dump my load in you, I’ll plug you up. Then tonight, I’ll have you dump the cum stew on the concrete in front of everybody. Then I will have you lick it up so they can see what kind of disgusting animal you are.

“Oh fuck, I’m getting close here. Clamp down. Jesus! You aren’t all stretched out. Here it comes. Uh! Uh! Ahhhhh! Ah! Fuck!

“Fucking hell. Clamp down further; I’m pulling out. There. You made a fucking mess on my trousers. I’m going to have to change them. Let me get you over on your back.

“You’re a fucking mess. You are probably thirsty. Open up that toilet mouth, and drink what you can. Ahh….

“Damn, you are one beefy beast. Normally I shave my slaves, but there is no way in hell I am going to touch one hair on you. Your chest is perfect. Your nips look a bit soft. Titty clamps will be in your future, angry ones.

“Close your mouth. We need to get you collared, hooded, plugged, chained up, and installed in the stable to start this weekend. Is there anyone we need to notify? I need to call a guy to get your work truck here.

“If you work out this weekend, you may be spending a lot more time here than you did at that rest stop.

“Grunt me your ‘Thank you SIR’… Atta cunt!”

1K notes · View notes

yaut-jaknowit · 6 months

Text

The Moon Will Shine On Us Again

Pairing: Gawtin (Female Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 3512

Warning: slight gore, gun shots, blood, reader is injured.

Summary: There's a knock on your door. No one should be here, let alone at your door and wanting entrance. The mother and her knew born needed to be protected. You weren't going to let them be fed to the wolves. You grab your gun and face whoever is at your door. Deadly force is needed.

Author Note: From high demand. Glad you guys are loving it! Don't worry all! Here's the second part. I might also write a third part as well. Thank you for the support as well! Greatly appreciate it.

Masterlist

Ao3

Part 1 | Part 2 (you're here)

This had quickly become a life or death situation. On the outskirts, you didn’t know why you were willing to stick your neck out. Someone wanted the mother, wanted her either dead or alive. They had tracked her through the forest of your property and all the way up your cabin. A place deep in the forest. Not somewhere a person would just stumble across.

In its bony cage, your heart pounded, on the verge of escaping and flopping around on the ground. To steel your nerves, you clenched your teeth together and tip-toed out of the room. The door was closed behind you, to seal away what evidence you could. Anything to give the mother more time to escape… if it came down to that.

What were you doing?! You barely know how to use a gun, let alone the one in your hand! And if those people were able to down a creature of her size and threatening nature, you shuttered. What would they do to you?

Here goes your life. You pushed off of the bedroom door and walked over to the door. Every creaky floorboard you knew in the place was missed in each step. You didn’t want them to know you were coming towards them, just in case; nor let them know someone was inside. Despite your truck parked out front, maybe they’ll believe either the creature killed you or you’re off on the property.

A few steps from the door, on the edge of the living, you stood with your loaded gun. The weapon shaking in your hand.

“Open the door!” a male voice demanded from the outside and pounded on the door. A lump instantly formed in your throat. “We know its in there.” Your eyes widen, breath catching. Everything changed at the man’s words. If they knew… they also knew someone, a person, was inside too, harboring her. You forcefully swallowed the lump and flicked off the safety. Then, you readied yourself for whatever action they take next.

A muffled of exchanged words came from two people. The door groaned and rattled from a powerful strike. You stumbled back, legs hitting a chair in the living room. Another bash against the door.

Unfortunately for you, the wood that made up the door was twice as old as you. It’s seen better days, been through horrid winters and soaking summer. The third hit caused the wood to splinter and give, leaving a mess on your once clean floors. You bristled and aimed the weapon in hand at the first figure you saw through the broken door. “Leave!” you shouted at the top of your lungs, voice, thankfully, not cracking from the force.

Yet, the weapon wasn’t true in its aim. The barrel twitching from the nerves controlling your hands. “Get the fuck off of my property!” You probably weren’t the most scariest thing on the block. Just a lone person who draws for most of their free time, holding a pistol but shaking too much.

Two people stood on your red porch, each holding a rifle of their own. Other weapons that you didn’t pay attention to adorn their body. One was wearing a ski mask of sorts, reasonable for the weather. Said man raised a brow and chuckle, shaking his head. “What are you going do? Shoot us?” he scoffed, brushing off the threat of you pointing a gun at them.

The other figure, dress similar but only had a cloth covering hi nose and below laughed with his partner. Then, they stopped at the same time, becoming stern. Ski mask guy took a step into the house, head scanning around. “Nice place you have here-“ his gaze fell back onto you “-shame if anything happened to it.” You swallowed thickly at the threat.

“Now, let’s stop this boring banter. Where is it? You give it up, you’ll get a fat paycheck to stay quiet, and you won’t get a bullet to the head. Fair deal?” the man with the neck gaiter offered, voice honeyed but uncaring. It felt like it didn’t matter the option, they’ll happily put you down.

Your chest start to hurt from how hard it pounded. Is this where you died? For an unknown creature who is a mother? What has your life become? You shook your head and steeled your grasp on the weapon. “Last warning: get out of my house!” you voice nearly wavered, about to show your true emotions. Though, you could bet a hundred dollars they already knew.

One of them snorted, the other shrugged his shoulders then raised his rifle. Before he had a chance, knowing they would kill you if you didn’t shoot first, you pulled the trigger. Despite being a pistol, you weren’t prepared for any knockback it gave. Your aim definitely wasn’t true.

That didn’t stop you. Both of them ducked down, not expecting you to fire first, but you didn’t stop. Bullets flew violently through the sky, possibly hitting their marks or not. In all honesty, you shot blindly at the two.

Once the ringing in your ears stopped and the trigger just clicked, empty, you dropped your arms. Each man was collapsed on the ground. One had a large pool of blood around him, body lifeless on the stained wood floor. His other partner was shakily breathing, gasping for air.

The pistol was promptly dropped. Your hands covered your mouth as you stumbled away from the murder scene you had created. Sobs raked your fragile body. What had you just done?! Your back met some soft. The couch. You rested heavily against, blankly staring at the two men on the floor. Blood. From bullet hole you caused from shooting them, killing them. You… oh my god.

Tears poured down your face. You couldn’t believe what you had just did to two people. Yeah… they weren’t nice people, they wanted to hurt a mother… whatever she is. They had hurt her already. And they wanted to hurt you, kill you. Silence you about this situation.

Why?

The question of the year: why?

In the haze of you distraught, you held onto what sanity you had left. Your body was shaking worse than leaf in the aftermath. Either from the adrenaline… or something else.

As the powerful chemical waned, you hissed at the pain in your thigh and glanced down. A dark patch stained your pants. Blood. Your legs nearly gave out at the sight. They shot you! “Fuck!” you cursed and clutched onto the couch tighter. Your thoughts were far too wild to comprehend. What do you even do?! You sobbed harder, on the verge of a total breakdown.

Through the fog and craziness of your thoughts that drowned out nearly everything, you heard the tall tale sign of the floorboards. You spun around, ready to face your attacker. But it was just the humanoid creature. She moved softly, not as if she was scared, but mindful of her steps and movements. Or like she knew what she was doing.

All you could do was watch as she, without the green, sticky blob, stepped up to your trembling form. Her piercing, purple gaze scanned over you, from head to toe. From there, she stops on the blood coming from your thigh. The wound hurting worse over time. The mother peered past you and observed the scene behind you.

She must have deemed it safe and turned her gaze on you. As the seconds ticked by, you couldn’t handle the weight on your injured leg. The couch became your crutch. A motion she easily notice.

A hand wrapped around your wrist, easily engulfing the limb, nothing more than her holding a stick. The mother tugged you towards her before dragging you along, back towards the bedroom. Unable to think straight, you aimlessly let her take you back to the room and had you sat down on the bed. The bed, a usual comfort, did nothing to sooth you.

You began to curl up, closing yourself off, legs drawing up to your chest despite the pain. Your hands gripped at your hair and tugged on the strands. “I killed someone… I killed,” you murmured to no one in particular.

“Oh my god!” Your head whipped up and found the mother’s eyes on you. “I killed them! I-I… what have I done!” Then, you tried to get off of the bed and pace. But a sturdy hand held you back down. She grunted and squeezed your shoulder. ‘Stay.’ How could you stay?! You fought against her.

“No! No-no-no-no-no! I killed them. They’re dead. I shot them. Oh my god, oh my god.” The grip tightened but you brushed off the touch mentally. Everything in your body itched to be on your feet, moving, pacing, doing something. You had to do something. You killed people! How could you?!

A short snarl barely caught your attention long enough to shatter your world. “Quiet!” a deep, guttural voice demanded silence. Your lips sealed shut. She just spoke. This humanoid figure that wasn’t from here… spoke.

Pain raged in your leg, the first thing you noticed. You gasped and sat up too quickly. Stars danced along your vision, everything disoriented now. A groan sounded low in your throat as you tried to figure out what was what. Yet, the throbbing in your leg made it hard to think. Why was it… You gazed at your exposed legs and the white bandage snuggly secured on your thigh.

Okay, why are you not wearing pants? Why is there gauze on-you killed two people! You gasped harshly enough to make you start to cough.

A glass of water was passed to you. You mumbled your thanks and sipped from the cup. Wait! Your head snapped to gaze at the green figure standing next to you. She towered over you. More than usual. You were on the bed. You groaned and clutch at your head as all this information was far too overwhelming. That didn’t stop you from downing the water, body dehydrated.

You take a chance to glance up at the mother. In her arm was cradling the little child she had birthed earlier. Its cries have been soothed, possibly sleeping after such a harrowing event for itself today. Honestly, you were shocked she hadn’t slept after birth. From what you’ve heard, it takes a lot out of you. Makes sense when you bring new life into the world.

Nervously, you scratched the back of your neck. “Thanks… for the water,” you spoke your gratitude, knowing she wouldn’t respond. It hit you right then and there. You had no pants on, nothing! Even as it pulled at your aching leg, you snatched a blanket and covered your exposed bits to her. Thankfully, she decided to leave alone your underwear.

Everything started to come back to you in small bits before the puzzle was put back together. The two men killed by you; the bullet hole in your leg, the fact she spoke. She spoke!

The mother dipped her head minutely. “You are welcome,” she said in a low voice with a lot of timbre. It sounded like she struggled to get the words out. A person who didn’t have the vocal cords to speak the language. A short thought of what her language sounded like came mind, but you brushed it off.

Despite already hearing her speak before, your brain short circuited again. It took you a moment to shake off the shock and look the mother in the eye. “Y-you speak?” Instantly, you cringed. That sounded horrible. “Sorry,” was your next word to save your hide from her. All she did was raised the one brow with five gems studded into her skin.

“I do speak. Learning ooman is not a rarity.” The more she spoke, the more you learned her different speech pattern. It was more formal, slow and a little unclear, but like a queen talking with her subjects. Who or what was she?

But ‘ooman’? That didn’t slip past your attention. It dawned you on. Human. Strange way of saying it but you weren’t going to bring that up.

The child in her arms gave a tiny squeak and lightly shivered in her hold. Before you realized what you were doing, you were offering the nearest blanket to the mother. Said cloth had been covering your exposed legs. She looked at the fabric for a moment before taking it. Carefully but skillfully, she wrapped her newborn in the blanket and kept the child cradled close.

While she did that, you used another blanket to cover up your legs. Once the three of you were settled, you stared at one another. For what reason, you couldn’t figure out. But, deep down, you were intrigued, despite all that has happened.

What now? What happens now? You killed two people. What made the guilt inside of you twist like a rusted blade was the idea of how to get rid of the evidence. How to make it look like these men never came here, never came after her? With all the bullet holes and blood probably stain not only your wood floors but the carpet too… what are you going to do?

A might palm captured your shoulder and gave your torso a shake. “I give you gratitude, ooman. You are unlike the rest of your race.” Past experience hung heavy in her words. A chapter that didn’t need to be opened. Not now. Her hand slipped off of your shoulder.

Her words made you think. Race. That solidified the idea she wasn’t human, not at all. “What… are you?” you muttered and bowed your head. You desperately hoped your words wouldn’t offend her in anyway. A chaste chitter that reminded you of a laugh sounded from her. You took that as a good sigh and raised your head.

“I was waiting for that… question.” She paused there and slowly blinked, eyes looking down at you. She was thinking of something in her mind then relaxed slightly. You saw the slight twitch when the move pulled at her own wounds. “I cannot say much but you did protect me and my suckling. You have earned my respect. I am a Yautja. An alien.”

For some reason, your heart swelled at the knowledge of knowing you had her respect. To know that a dangerous looking alien-alien! Oh my god! An alien! You, what… Your jaw dropped but not a sound came from you. This meant, aliens were real. Completely real. And you had just helped one not only give birth but protected them. You covered your mouth and tried to reel in this new information. An earthshattering discovery.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat and took a deep, stuttering breath. “W-what’s your name?” She tilts her head, a little to the side, to look down at you with an inspecting eye. Said gaze flickered to the bundle in her arms. Her expression softened at the sight then she looked back at you, eyes narrowing slightly.

“I am called Gawtin.” You hummed thoughtfully and lightly bobbed your head. To be polite, you returned the gesture which she acted indifferently. Not that it bothered you.

Silence engulfed the two of you. Yet, the throbbing in your leg didn’t wane. It burned. You worried at your bottom lip until blood spilt. She huffed, like she could taste the blood in the air… Wait, could she? She was alien. Her physical make-up could be completely different. You just shook your head side to side and rid of those thoughts.

There were more pressing matters at hand.

Your gaze looked back up at the massive… Yautja, Gawtin before you. “What happens now?” It was a necessary question that needed to be answered or some closure. Look at where you were! Two dead people in your cabin in the middle of nowhere with an alien and her baby. There was a bullet hole in your thigh as well, an injured gained from defending not only your property but the mother.

She took a moment to carefully plan her next words. “Endless possibilities. Due to the honor code, I am bound to you until my debt is paid, but I must return to my home world with my child. I must gather all of my armor and weapons stolen from me by your ooman government.”

This was a lot of information that made your brain fuzzy to think of all the possibilities. Honor code? Home world? Retrieving her items? Your government? What does this all mean?!

“You are not safe here. You will come with me. Your ooman government will send more. I cannot allow you to get… injured-“

“What are you saying?” you interrupted her without meaning any harm. All you needed was a dumbed down version.

The Yautja gaze a shortened growl. Your lips tightened against one another. Lesson learned. “You will come with me. I must protect you until the debt is paid,” she stated gruffly, as if it a chore to keep you alive. She had mentioned an honor code, meaning she has to follow rules. Maybe that’s why she hasn’t chosen to just kill you and be on her way.

Your brows furrowed. “Go with you? But why?” you sputtered and tried to turn onto your knees and face her. But the wound on your thigh wouldn’t allow you. Shit. You weren’t in good shape.

Gawtin leaned down to get close to your face, making sure her point finally struck you. “Your society frowns upon murder, does it not? Those two s’yuit-de are dead because of you.” Your face paled at her efficient words.

Prison. Murder. She was completely right. No matter how you spun it. You had killed two people. All the evidence would show you as murderer then sent straight to prison, locked up for life.

Now, you had two choices: prison or Gawtin. Prison was a lifetime of four concrete walls and survival. Gawtin… she was an unknown but couldn’t hurt you. Wouldn’t? She couldn’t due to her ‘honor code’ but what about wouldn’t. If the debt was paid, would she slaughter you where you stood. Was that better than prison?

As you gazed upon the muscular alien who waited for you to speak next, the choice was obvious. Timidly, you nodded your head. Gawtin scoffed. “Glad you agreed willingly. I am not above dragging you though.” Just something freely she stated, as if it was normal.

She stood back up to her full height, reminding you on how big was compared to your smaller form. “Gather what you deem necessary. We need to move,” she spoke and left the bedside to exit through the door. A door she had to lean down to get through.

You listened to her words and slide off of the bed. Pain shot up your leg and almost sent you to your knees but locked a knee helped. Through the aching, you limped around the room and place clothes in a small duffle bag.

At the entrance of the bedroom door, you stopped. Off to the left was your sketchbook and pencil. An item you couldn’t leave behind. It too was placed into the duffle bag. Now, you were prepared for wherever the mother was going to take you. You walked out of the room but paused at the overwhelming smell and sight slapped you right in the face.

It took every ounce and more of your being not to bend over and puke out what was in your stomach. She, Gawtin nonchalantly stepped over the bodies and left through the front door. To save yourself the trouble, you spun on your heel and escaped through the back entrance. Anything not to come close to the… mess you created.

At the front, Gawtin waited with her child still wrapped in the blankets from before. A chill was powering over the forest air as the sun was already falling again. Damn the mountains and winter. Thankfully, a jacket was wrapped around your torso to fend off the chill.

The alien looked down at you, eyes scanning over your body before giving a minute dip of her massive head. “We shall head towards the base. I must gather my supplies back before we find my ship and leave this c’jit planet,” she snarled towards the end. You couldn’t help but feel hurt and a need to defend your planet. But with one look at her stopped you.

All you could do was nod. Even though many questions were stuck to the tip of you tongue, never leaving, never asked. In good time, they’ll be answered. With the way she spoke, like it was complete fact and part of her fate, you weren’t going to argue with that.

One last look down at you, she turned and began the trek. Her strides long, powerful. Every one was nearly three for your own. With the pain in your leg, you didn’t how long you were going to last. This was your choice to live with now.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader #Gawtin #birth of Qui'oky

128 notes · View notes

therealvalkyrie · 9 months

Text

the morning, the evening

Pairing/setting: Farmer!Ushijima Wakatoshi x Fem!Reader Word Count: 2.6k Warnings: very fluffy, implied sex, reader wants a baby AN: I've been working on this sporadically for *checks watch* 2.5 years so I hope y'all fucking like it lmao. I really struggled with tying up the ending, so if it feels abrupt that's why! also was too intimidated to try and write baby-making smut, so feel free to imagine those particular shenanigans in your own huge and wrinkly brainsicle. love you all! ~valkyrie

It’s on mornings like this that you feel most unlike yourself. When you slip out of bed before your husband and tug on one of his huge flannels, the sun just peeking into your window. It’s too early. Too early to think, too early for food, too early to do anything but slip out onto the porch in bare feet and curl up on the porch swing. The birds are just waking up with you -- chickadees singing a greeting and the chickens clucking softly in reply. The dewy air sends goosebumps up your bare legs and settles in your lungs as mist clings to the ground. It makes you feel a little lost, a little out of place; mornings have never been meant for you.

When your husband wakes up with the rooster, he joins you on the porch swing, the screen door creaking shut behind him, and hands you a cup of coffee. You lean into his sturdy side and clutch your third favorite mug with both hands (the handle broke last year when you dropped it on the kitchen tile). He doesn’t say anything, just presses his lips to your temple and looks out to the mountains with you. He knows you’ve never been meant for mornings.

When his yellow mug is empty, he rubs your bent knee with a huge hand and leaves you to start farm chores. You may be entitled to a slow start, but the horses expect breakfast before 7 or they’ll be ornery all day.

The sun burns enough dew away for the farmhand’s truck to kick up dust as he drives up your long driveway -- your cue to go put on pants. Back in the bedroom, the stained glass ornaments hanging in the windows are casting shifting rainbows on the wall. This is what lifts your lips for the first time today and prompts the first sip of tepid coffee. You sprawl out on your unmade bed, stretching like a cat in a sunspot made just for you.

By the time you pad downstairs in jeans and an airy blouse, the morning has begrudgingly made a space for you in between its sense of purpose and quiet watchfulness. You set about making breakfast and more coffee, nudging the kitchen awake. You say good morning to the toaster and the butter bell and the kettle on the stove and purposely ignore the dishwasher, which has been giving attitude since the weekend.

You’re murmuring quietly to a pancake when Wakatoshi clomps back in, hanging his hat on the hook by the door.

“Good morning,” you greet, offering up your cheek, which he kisses along with a heavy hand on your hip.

“Does the pancake ever talk back?” he wonders aloud, looking over your shoulder into your cast iron pan.

“Not yet,” you reach for your spatula and grin up at him, “which is what makes it such a good listener.”

He hums thoughtfully and squeezes your waist with his big hand before turning away to reach for plates from the cupboard.

Breakfast passes in conversation about the farrier visiting in the afternoon -- some horses are due for new shoes -- between bites of food. Toshi disappears out the back door to start the rest of his day and you load dishes into the dishwasher. It grumbles to life after a swift kick to the bottom left corner. You’ll have to call the plumber before the weekend.

You’re feeling halfway back to yourself again when you settle into your creaky wooden office chair. It’s nearly the end of the month, which means today is for paying bills and making calls. It’s not nearly as much of a task as it was when you first took over the business side of the farm. Then, you’d had to wade through fifty years of an unintelligible filing system and re-negotiate deals that Wakatoshi’s grandparents had made just as long ago. You’ve always had a way with numbers and a sense for business; it’s the local politics that gave you trouble. People this far into farming country simply don’t trust outsiders, no matter if they’re married to the local golden boy.

Wakatoshi says it had been the same for his father, coming in as an outsider and marrying the beloved daughter of a beloved family. That’s why he’d left, when Toshi was just a kid, never having managed to really feel at home in the community or on the farm.

“But he didn’t have the advantage of your smile,” he’d joked, poking the corner of your mouth gently as you lay in bed late one night a couple of weeks after your wedding.

You’d giggled, swatting his hand away and burying your face into his broad chest. “Do you really think they’ll like me?” you asked in a small voice after a quiet moment.

“They’ll love you. Just like I do.”

You wouldn’t quite say they love you, but the town has at least grown to tolerate you after you’d asserted yourself into their daily lives. Miss Betty at the feed store still doesn’t give you a discount on grain like she had your mother-in-law, and Mary Fletcher still calls you a gold digger behind your back. But at least you’ve made good enough friends with her cousin Amber, who boards her horse in your stables and comes by almost every weekend, to hear about it.

You begin to sweat as the summer announces that it’s still here in the late morning and turn on the rotating fan in an effort to stay cool. The dial of the old rotary phone whirs under your fingertips as you call up the bank, one bare foot bouncing in the air where your leg dangles over the armrest of your chair and receiver cradled to your ear.

It’s a tedious conversation with Laurie, the one and only bank teller, whose daughter is going off to college in just a couple of weeks, that carries you over into lunchtime. You eventually manage to steer her in the direction of the purpose of your call, learning, amidst tidbits about her daughter’s roommate and her son’s soccer tryouts, that your check to the vet had bounced because of an error on the bank’s end. Thank God.

“Shit, that woman can talk,” you breathe when the receiver is safely in its cradle, and Laurie won’t threaten to wash out your mouth with soap for using foul language.

With a deep exhale, you allow your head to fall onto the back of the chair, languishing in the buzzing heat. For the millionth time this summer, you think back to your tiny city apartment, with its shitty water pressure and shitty commute and heavenly air conditioning. What you wouldn’t give….

Well, you wouldn’t give up Wakatoshi, for one.

And you’d had that, with him. You fit him into your tiny shower, washing each other’s bodies and then fucking on the bathroom counter when he couldn’t figure out how to finagle his limbs to fit. He kissed you every morning before work, pressing a packed lunch into your hands.

He proposed under your favorite oak tree in the park at peak foliage, asking you to marry him and move back to his home. You said yes.

You meant it.

But, God. This heat.

The afternoon drags you down, oppressive and lingering, and you find yourself incapable of thinking anymore.

You pass Wakatoshi on your way across the driveway and give him a brief wave, your ring of keys hanging off your middle finger.

“I’ll be back for dinner,” you call as he takes off his hat and runs his fingers through his sweaty hair.

He watches the way your legs propel you up into the elevated cab of his truck, loaded with some buzzing anxiety to move, even through this thick air.

“Okay,” he says.

The first summer you knew Wakatoshi, he invited you to visit home with him for a week. You weren’t together yet, still dancing on the periphery of a relationship with that youthful arrogance of those barely touching adulthood. Halfway through the six-hour drive from the city, he pulled over at a farmstand and bought peaches and lemonade. You ate them in the bed of his truck parked under a maple tree, boughs flush with green and peach juice slipping down your chin.

These grocery store peaches aren’t quite as tender -- you’re just too far North to get them really fresh -- but they’ll do. Still, you worry they’ll bruise as you set the paper grocery bag on the passenger seat next to the bakery box already there. You stand there for a second dumbly, trying to think of a better way to pack them in among your other groceries so they won’t bump around, until the afternoon sun has sunk into the top of your head so it feels like your brain is melting to the inside of your skull. Feeling a little foolish, but otherwise at a loss, you buckle the grocery bag and the box into the seat.

That makes you grin to yourself and snort a giggle as you slam the passenger door and circle around to the other side of the truck. The engine turns and complains for a second before giving in.

Sometimes this is all you need to put yourself back in your body. This little ritual of grocery shopping by yourself -- driving with the music turned up, reading ingredient labels, watching the deli counter guy slice half a pound of provolone. That mundanity, that routine of an adult woman who buys her own groceries, puts everything else in perspective.

You’re here because you want to be. Because you chose to be.

You come to a decision.

Wakatoshi doesn’t pick up the phone when you call on your way out of town, but that’s to be expected. This time of day, he’s most likely out with the horses, and cell reception gives out only a quarter-mile into the pastures. The call goes to voicemail, and you smile to yourself as his recorded voice instructs you to please leave a message. The tone beeps.

“Hey, I’m headed home now. I’ll be there in, uh, about fifteen? Anyway, meet me down at the pond for dinner. Maybe… six-thirty? I thought we’d do something a little special. Okay, I love you!”

The pond is at the East edge of the property, fed by a brook that bubbles out of the foothills. On the side opposite of where the horse pastures end, there is a willow tree that stretches and drapes down to trace the surface of the water. It is under that willow tree that you unpack your picnic basket, pouring white wine into thermos mugs as the low sun streaks through branches.

The heat of the day is finally breaking, giving way to a cacophony of peeper frogs that you can normally only hear distantly in the house. Here, it fills your mind and allows you to think of nothing else but watching the distant silhouette of your husband crossing the pasture towards you. He’s backlit, long shadow reaching across the fence long before he does. You watch him walk in an easy, rolling gait through long grass, watch him hop the fence like he was born for it.

And he was, you remind yourself. He was born for these wide spaces and nature smells. Where you must find space for yourself in the uninhabited corners of the farm (the office, the Eastern edge, the kitchen), he fills the rest as naturally as water fills the pond.

He says your name at the edge of the willow tree, ducking under a bough.

“Hello, love,” you say and smile and pat the blanket next to where you’re sitting.

Your husband sits, folding his legs under him like a little kid. It makes your heart feel a little tender as you tuck yourself into his side and explain your meal: sandwiches and fruit, cherry pie and wine for dessert. He thanks you simply, bending down to kiss you in that slow way that caught you like honey in a trap that first night in front of your apartment building, all those years ago. He tastes like vanilla chapstick.

You eat. Wakatoshi tells you about his day. About the farrier's visit and fixing a leak in the chicken coop’s roof.

“Wakatoshi,” you say, leaning forward to pick at the grass as he works the stone out of a peach with his pocket knife. He hums, deft in his work but listening. “What would you say about having a baby?”

He makes a sharp noise of pain and you look over, wide-eyed, to see he’s sliced clean through the peach and into his own palm. The blood wells before your eyes, mixing with peach juice as you gasp and lunge for the paper napkins in the basket.

“You have to be more careful! What if you seriously--” “Yes,” he cuts you off as you’re taking his hand in both of yours, setting the fruit and knife aside, and wadding up the napkins to stop the bleeding.

“What?”

“I’d say yes to having a baby.” He’s looking right at you with those hazel eyes, the expression in them so close to reverence it stuns you.

“Oh,” you breathe, staring straight back.

At that exact moment, the setting sun glows orange at the top of the pasture hill, streaking Wakatoshi’s cheek with gold through the willow branches. All the breath is gone from you, your head gone light from having this question you’ve mulled over for weeks answered so simply.

His uninjured hand finds your cheek, tucks stray hair away from your face.

“Are you asking? Do you want to have a baby?”

“I-- Yes. I’m asking.”

He smiles, soft as the cattails that sway at the opposite edge of the pond, and leans in to meet your lips with his. You let yourself sink into it for a moment, unable to stop smiling against his mouth, but pull away to further inspect the slice across his palm. He lets you, his fingers curled gently inward while you dab away blood and rub a gentle thumb on his wrist, but his gaze never wavers from your face. It’s intense-- almost like how it was when you first knew him, but with an undercurrent of affection that makes your chest warm.

“It doesn’t look too deep,” you conclude, folding up some clean napkins and pressing them to the wound. “But we should clean it--”

“It can wait.”

“But it could still get infected, what if--”

“It can wait,” he interrupts again, insisting with gentle obstinance. The next words are low in his chest. “I can’t.”

You don’t get back to the house until late, August constellations suspended thickly overhead. It’s like you’re kids again and the barn cat is your mother, watching disapprovingly from her perch on the porch railing as you sneak in after curfew, wine-tipsy and elated. Your husband crowds in the door after you, handsy even after you’ve done nothing but touch each other all evening. You pull him into the kitchen and make him wash his wound thoroughly, your thumbs rubbing into the meat of his palm.

“I hope our daughter has your eyes,” he says. He’s close, his own eyes finding yours in the almost-dark.

“A daughter, huh?”

“A daughter. She’ll be just like you.”

“And what am I like?” you ask, coy, looking up at him through your lashes in the starlight streaming in the window.

Wakatoshi leans forward gently, resting his brow on yours. “You are,” he swallows thickly, eyes fluttering closed, “you are the world.”

Your day ends nothing like it began. Your day ends with utter surety of your place in this house, in this town, in Wakatoshi’s arms. The day ends and you feel completely yourself again, cradled in the gently rolling hills of the life you’ve chosen.

#ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima x reader #fluff #reader insert #haikyuu!! reader insert #valkyrie writes #tw babymaking #tw fluff

273 notes · View notes

ewanmitchellconnoisseur · 3 months

Text

Mɪᴛᴄʜᴇʟʟ Esᴛᴀᴛᴇs (Chapter 1) "Mᴏᴠɪɴɢ Iɴ"

EwanMitchell Verse x F!Reader

A/N: Hello! This is the first chapter of my Mitchell Estates Series! This chapter is for introduction so not much going on! //Dividers by@firefly-graphics

Summary: You finally arrive at what will be your new home. You hope this fresh start will be able to bring you some peace and less drama in your life.

Tw: Nothing!

Word Count: 1.8k

Masterlist • Next Chapter → (WIP)

The road feels never-ending. Everything moving outside of the car feels like a blur and you feel as if you're driving in a fishbowl.

Your eyelids feel like they're being weighed down. You've gotten to the point where you've imagined taping them open. Constantly feeling the need to shake your head as you try to stay awake.

You've spent the entire day packing, and loading all your belongings to your new apartment all on 2 hours of sleep. The cost of movers was not an expense you were willing to pay, the truck itself was already putting a dent in your wallet.

"Your destination is on the right."

You turn on your signals and carefully pull into the small building complex.

It wasn't an easy find. A friend of yours luckily knew the person who had just moved out and managed to get in contact with the landlord before they could give the space to anyone else.

It was an old Motel that had been renovated into apartments, though, it still looked like it was a motel.

You pull into a random parking spot near a smaller building that looks to be the office. It feels good to finally put the car in park and unbuckle.

"Fucking finally" You lean your head back on the headrest and close your eyes just for a second. You listen to the sounds of the cars passing by and the music coming from your radio on low. You had work until 2 in the morning, a rare occurrence, they needed help and you needed the money. And it was only natural that when you finally got home at 3 your neighbours were having sex loudly followed by someone being a dick revving their engine outside the building. You ended up falling asleep at 5 but had to be up by 7 to start packing.

As you relax in your car someone comes and knocks on the window. You look out it to see a man standing there with a clipboard. Annoyed, you hold the button to roll down the window.

"Yes?" He eyes you for a moment not saying anything simply looking between his clipboard and you. You notice his eyes go to your chest then your lips.

Fucking creep.

"You're late." He stares at you and then looks down at his watch. "You were supposed to be here 5 minutes ago." He sighs angrily and starts flipping through pages on his clipboard.

"Sorry, there was traffic." You apologize to which he just rolls his eyes.

What the fuck is up his ass?

Technically you were 3 minutes late since you spent 2 minutes taking a breather. Either way, 5 minutes is not that big of a deal.

"Are you going to get out of the car or am I supposed to give you the tour from here?" He chews his gum like one of the cocky guys that come up to you in bars who act as if they're walking around with the biggest dicks on the planet. You sigh and glare at him as you press the button to slowly roll up the window while staring into his soul.

Once it's up you take the keys out of the ignition, grab your bag and step out of your car. It belonged to your dad, it had been all banged up so you had to get it repaired but it was worth it. It was probably the most expensive thing you owned.

You look around now that you're out and fully take in the building. They did a pretty good job at not making it look like a motel the vibrant blue and orange colours of the doors paired with the black finishings as well as the white walls just made it all pop. You could tell the trees were just recently planted and the gardens were actually tended to.

For a moment you had been worried the place your friend found would be a dump considering the side of town it was on and the price of the rent. You were in too much of a desperate situation to come to look at the apartment itself so you had no other choice but

"Any day now..." You look over at the man who is glaring daggers at you. You take in his appearance now that you can see him better. He's wearing a pair of dark blue jeans and a red sweater. You notice that just above the neckline you can catch a glimpse of a tattoo on the side of his neck. He's cute you'd give him that, but the cutest thing about him has to be that nose. Your thoughts grew a little lewd as you thought about riding his face. His nose perfectly nuzzling against your clit.

Why are the hot ones always so fucking rude?

You close your door, locking the car a couple times before following him.

"You're in B3. Thats the second floor, unit 3." He walks over to that office-like building you noticed earlier and leads you inside, holding the door open.

At least he has some fucking manners.

You take a seat across from the desk as he walks around and sits down in front of you while going through the desk drawers. "No loud noises past 11pm, no pets if it's not on your lease, no in-unit laundry machines, no renovations without clearance."

He finally finds what he's looking for. He pulls out a lanyard, attached to it are 2 sets of keys, a laminated pass and a plastic card. The lanyard itself is decorated with the building's name Mitchell Estates and two phone numbers.

"You only get two keys. If you lose them you owe me 30$ for a new one. The pass gets hung up in your car. If I see no pass and no paid ticket I tow the car. The plastic card is your laundry card. The lanyard has my phone number, don't call me, I promise whatever it is I don't care enough to answer. There is also the maintenance number, call him." He speaks with a dead look on his face and no emotion.

He stands up and walks over to the door and holds it open waiting for you to get up and follow him out. You grab your bag stand up and follow him out of the building. He begins leading you over to the actual apartment.

"The spot you're parked in now is empty so you can have it. Over there is the laundry rooms." He points to the left side of the building, you see a boy and a child walk out dragging baskets behind them. "There are garbage shutes on every floor. Recycling is at the back of the buildings. Those vending machines work." You look over to the vending machines and see some guy leaning against it while smoking. He gives you a grin before stomping out his cigarette and walking into his unit. You try to keep up with the Landlord but frankly, he's walking so fast like he's trying to get rid of you.

You follow him upstairs below you see someone walk into the complex and look toward you. He's wearing glasses and a burgundy cardigan paired with cargo pants. He notices you but quickly looks away.

"Over here is yours." He walks you over to a unit. As you get to the door he searches for the keys, a man comes up the stairs and goes into the unit next to you. You notice the cases of beer he's carrying and a tattoo of a horse on his bicep.

He finally finds the right key and unlocks the door. "Over there on the counter is a copy of the rental agreement. Sign it and drop it off by tomorrow. Rent is due on the first of every month. I don't make exceptions and I don't care for sob stories. If you can't pay I call the police. I trust we will have no issues?" He eyes you up and down again.

Isn't he just a ray of sunshine ladies and gentlemen?

"No need to worry. I don't plan on causing any problems." He nods his head and turns to leave. "Wait," you call after him and he turns back around with an annoyed look. You put out your hand and introduce yourself. "Your name is?"

He looks down at your hand and then back up at you.

"Ettore." With that, he's out your door slamming it behind him.

An hour later the moving truck arrived. Your friends hopped out and began helping you unload your stuff. Since you couldn't afford it on your own and they needed a truck too, you split the cost.

One of your friends stops to look around quickly before walking back over to the truck.

"Wow. It's actually nice." Boyse blocks the sun from her eyes as she looks up at the building. "And that man up there is hot."

You look to see who she's looking at. You see the man before who lives next to you leaning on the railing while drinking a beer. He takes another sip before turning around and going back into his apartment.

"How...kind...and I wouldn't call it nice. It's...an improvement." Boyse rolled her eyes at Farleigh's statement. "I guess considering how it looked before...I can see the appeal." He lowered and handed down a box from inside the truck.

"For $900 a month. Im just fine with how it looks." When Farleigh told you the price even you were shocked in this day and age you were looking at about $2k for more apartments. "Now come on and help me get these boxes upstairs. Im not paying a late fee for this truck." You grabbed a box.

The three of you spent the next 2 hours unloading the truck and then unpacking your stuff. You didn't have much since you were only renting a bedroom before but luckily you had good friends who would be bringing by furniture to help fill in your new space.

"Fuck that was rough." Farleigh leaned against the wall and fanned himself with his hand.

"You didn't even do anything." Boyse rolled her eyes as she took a swig from her water before putting back on the cap and sitting on the counter. "You spent the entire time talking about fucking Felix and his new boy toy."

"I'm 100% sure that fucker framed me." Farleigh had been boring you and Boyse about his family drama for the whole day. He only came back to see his mother for a day and tell her what happened. "Which reminds me we have to leave if im going to make my flight. I have a party to crash."

He blew a kiss in the air which you pretended to dodge earning you a dramatic heart clutch from him. Boyse laughed and walked over and hugged you.

"At least you're a bit closer to me now." You followed her over to the door. The next-door neighbour walked by Boyse and watched him walk away before turning to you and winking and running off when Farleigh honked the truck. "Bye, babe! Have fun."

You turn around locking the door before eyeing your plain and empty apartment.

"This is going to take some work..."

A/N: This was SUPER short but it was just meant to introduce the story and set the scene. Hopefully, you guys can figure out who some characters are just by my vague descriptions but if not do not fear! We will meet them all in due time! (Also it is not easy to describe them when they all look alike 🤣) The next chapter will be longer and better and we will also get to meet Will!

General Taglist: @thought--bubble, @valeskafics Series Taglist: @slytherincursebreaker, @watercolorskyy, @dixie-elocin, @venmondiese, @briefcollectivepersona

#ewan mitchell verse #ewan nation #ewanverse #ewan mitchell #Mitchell Estate

73 notes · View notes

wardenparker · 11 months

Text

In the Heights, part 1

Maxwell Lord x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 17.5k Warnings: Cursing. Alcohol/food consumption, single dad Max, mention of divorce and unhappy marriage, probably inaccurate portrayal of being a high school student in the 60s, yearning, mutual pining, friends to lovers, the love is requited they're just idiots, the one that got away, high school crush, poor communication, mistaken sexuality assumptions, people being skeptical about Max, reader is full of sunshine, tipsy behaviours. Summary: A long time ago in a life that seems completely forgotten, you had a crush on your classmate Max Lorenzano. The world has changed a lot since then - but when you discover that your old friend is your new neighbor, it seems like some things have stayed the same after all. (This story contains flashbacks.) Notes: Part 1 of 2! I won't lie to you, guys. I love Max Lord. I love him in a way that is probably not healthy at all, so Keri has once again humored me and allowed for a little One That Got Away story with this sad puppy of a man. Also, I apologize for any errors I may have missed in editing. Cold medicine and being sleepy is a bad combo.

The sight of a moving truck isn't odd in any part of New York City. People come and go from these buildings so quickly that some people never bother to get to know their neighbors at all. The only reason you'd really noticed the one this morning was because it was out front when you were leaving for work and causing a little bit of a commotion with traffic. You'd skirted it and strode across the street to grab your usual cup of coffee and bagel with cream cheese from the bodega across the street before hitting the subway. Midtown doesn't seem far when you get to just sit and read during your commute, and you've never minded. But you tuck away the information about having a new neighbor and consider baking a batch of welcome cookies for them when you get home from the office tonight - it seems like the neighborly thing to do. You can take the girl out of the small town, but you can't take the small town out of the girl.

******

Max sighs as he hauls the last box up the stairs. Alistair has already started unpacking his room, and thank God he managed to pay the moving company to at least get the large items upstairs to the third floor wall up, but then the rest of the boxes had been left on the curb when they had figured out where they knew him from. He’s just lucky they didn’t take what he had with them, but it was again a reminder of how he had fucked up. New York is supposed to be a fresh start, a new beginning, but he doesn’t know if that’s possible for him.

The positive of someplace busy like New York was supposed to be that people would ignore or look past him. They always say New Yorkers are too busy to bother with their neighbors, and that’s something he wanted this time. To just blend into the background if he could so that Alistair could have a fighting chance and not be despised because of what he had done. Alistair, for the most part, remains as optimistic and sweet as ever. He knows that people are upset with his Daddy but his love never wavers. It’s enough to push him through the bad days, thank god, and to remind him that he’s doing this for a good reason. Starting over is for his son. He will find a way - any way - to make this work.

Things are different than D.C., the energy is different. He’s reminded of the days that he was in school, hopeful for the future. Max Lorenzano was teased and bullied in school, made fun of because of his poverty, his weird foods that he ate, the holes in his shoes, and his proclivity for learning. It had been his first life lessons, but the bullying in school was better than the beatings at home. Unsure of why he is thinking about those things, he takes the first load of boxes to the trash chute.

****

It’s sometime after dinner that the batch of chocolate chip cookies you put together are finally cool enough and ready to pack up. Stacking them neatly on a plate, wrapping it in cling film, and tying it up with ribbon, you head across the hall to meet the folks that just moved into Mrs. Cristian’s old place. An empty box marked Toys in the trash chute had clued you in to a child being present, so cookies seems even more appropriate now.

Even though Max is a miserable cook, he’s unpacking the kitchen when he hears the knock at the door. Frowning slightly, he wonders if the pizza he had ordered has already gotten here. He had assumed that it would take longer than fifteen minutes. “Coming!” He dusts his hands on his jeans and walks towards the door. Opening it up as he reaches for his wallet.

“Hi neighbor!” The words - bright and sunny - are out of your mouth before you even look up, having gotten distracted by the Torres’ cat in the hallway. But the second you do, your eyes go wide. “Max?” There’s no questioning it. It’s not like you hadn’t seen him all over the news or that you didn’t remember what had happened. Everyone remembered. Just…most of the billions of people in the world hadn’t known Max Lord since he was Max Lorenzano in Lubbock, Texas.

Instantly on guard, he’s halfway expecting to be attacked, or cussed out. That was the reaction of the majority of people who recognized him. He needed to dye his hair back to his natural brown. When the diatribe doesn’t come, he frowns and takes a closer look at the pretty woman in front of him for a moment before his eyes widen and your name comes off as a whisper like a ghost from his past

****

“Hey Lame-zano!” Max hunches over his books and speeds up, trying to ignore the boys behind him. Knowing that it would do no good to turn around and confront them. It would just speed up the beat down he knows is coming. “Hey weirdo! Fuckin’ stop!”

The boys don’t stop hollering as Max speeds up. They never do. Torture is the specialty of high school jocks, or at least these particular ones, and Max is their favourite target. “Max!” His name is hisses from somewhere off to the side, and an arm shoots out to pull him out of the hallway like he’s a bad Vaudeville comedian. He’s almost yanked off his feet, but for the girl he crashes into in the disused classroom. You hush him immediately, hand over his mouth, and quickly shut the door so the scions of the football team won’t see where he’s disappeared too. “Quiet.” You warn, carefully peaking through the window to make sure they walk by.

He crouches down, grateful that you had pulled him out of the line of fire, face burning in shame at the same time. To be rescued by the prettiest girl he’s ever seen seems to be his luck, knowing you are completely aware of his lack of masculinity. “Thanks.” He murmurs quietly.

“They’re shitheads.” You mutter, shaking your head as the group of boys howls on their way by. “Absolute shitheads.” There’s no real reason for any of the other kids to be so mean to Max, but logic never stopped cruel people from being cruel. Max is different so they’re mean. It’s as simple as that.

“They are still better than I am.” He huffs, terrified they will find him and humiliate him in front of you. It’s a dirty feeling, to know that you are going to be here to witness his utter ruination.

“How?” That doesn’t make any sense to you, and your brow furrows at him as you lean back against the door. You’ll give it another minute or two before you both go out there. Maybe the trio will move on to another target for a while. Sometimes that target is you, but you’d take it every time if it meant they would leave Max alone. “You mean they’re better at playing football than you? Who cares?”

“They are popular.” He reminds you. “Their parents are influential. People respect them.” Respect is what he craves, yearns for.

"They're bullies." And it stings, because one of those awful idiots out there is your own cousin. But because you have different last names, most people don't know. You want nothing to do with him and vice versa. "People don't respect them, they're either ass kissers or afraid." Shrugging slightly, you cross your arms over your chest, knowing that you don't exactly sound very ladylike at the moment. You could care less at the moment, though. You would only care if cussing offended Max.

“You don’t understand.” Max shakes his head and stares at you. “Why are you hiding from them? They don’t torment you.” He’s jealous of that, if he’s honest, but he’s also grateful that they don’t. Knowing that you are too good for that, for him to even talk to.

"Sure they do." It might not be as loud or as often, but they still pick on you. "Yesterday Lewis Sinclair practically pulled up my skirt in chemistry class because I answered too many questions correctly." You shake your head again, scowling this time. "They're all awful. You shouldn't listen to what they say."

“They are right, I am a loser.” Max snorts, standing up when they have passed by and don’t seem to be doubling back. “Everyone knows it.” He’s learned that he will have to reinvent himself, become someone people want to know. It’s how he will become important and successful.

"You're not." At least, you've never thought so. But maybe that doesn't count for much in his view of things. It's not like the boy you've had a quiet crush on since seventh grade has ever looked at you more than a few times - and even then it was to ask you for help in class. This might be the longest conversation you've ever had with him. "They're mean because you're different from them. That doesn't mean you're a loser."

“I guess it doesn’t matter.” He sighs and looks down at his feet. “Are you going home after this? I think we’ve missed the bus.” That means he will get home late to do his chores. Which means he will get yelled at if his father comes home early.

"We could walk?" Neither of you lives too far from the school despite most of the town being spread out to small farms or ranches, or even just decent-size patches of land. You know for a fact that the Lorenzanos live pretty close because you moved closer to them just last summer. The implosion of your family's happily little bubble wasn't public knowledge, thank goodness.

“Okay.” He bites his lip and wonders why you want to walk with him. If it’s some sort of trick. He nods and decides that walking with you is better than being alone. “Do you need anything from your locker?”

"Yeah." Nodding, you hold up the books in your arms. "I need to swap these and grab my jacket. It will only take a second, I promise." It shouldn't make you feel so warm and pleased that a boy - this boy - wants to walk home with you, but he's sweet. He's always been sweet. Ever since he moved here when you were kids. It was a shame when he came to school one day with no trace of his accent left, but it hadn't made him any less cute.

“Hopefully they won’t double back, so you can take your time.” He doesn’t want to rush you, even though every second counts. It’s the most he’s ever talked to you and he likes it. You are nice. It doesn’t hurt that he has been harboring a crush on you.

Opening the classroom door carefully, you poke your head into the hallway to see it mostly cleared and swallow a sigh. "I think they're gone," you murmur, reaching back to wave for him to follow you. "C'mon. We'll be on our way home in no time."

“Hopefully I beat my father home.” Max huffs as he follows you out of the classroom and both of you hustle down the hall.

"Will you be in trouble if you don't?" That idea bothers you, but not knowing anything about his father, you're not sure if it's realistic or not. He wouldn't be the first kid to get yelled at or even hit for not following a rule.

“It- it’s best if we hurry.” Max admits, biting his lip. “I don’t know if he planned to stop by the bar before coming home and he doesn’t like it when my chores are not done.”

"I can help." You promise instantly, tugging your locker open to exchange your books and shove them into your bag to go home. Your mother is still working and will be for hours. As long as you're home and have dinner ready for her when she gets there, she doesn't keep track of what else you do.

“You-“ he’s momentarily lost for words at your offer. No one has ever offered to help him. With anything. “You don’t have to do that.” He promises.

"It's okay." The smile you give him at the opportunity to be helpful and spend a little more time with him, is brilliant. "Come on, we should hightail it and between the two of us we'll have everything done in no time."

“Are you sure?” He frowns, not wanting to take advantage of your kindness.

“Absolutely.” Slamming your locker closed, you grab his hand and head for the exit, feeling positively brave. Your crush on Max might be unrequited, but at least you can be his friend. Everyone deserves a friend.

“My house.” He grimaces and swallows slightly. “It’s not….fancy.” He feels his face get hot and he’s a little defensive. “But it’s clean. My mother says that being poor is no excuse for being dirty.”

“My house isn’t fancy, either.” When he doesn’t pull his hand away you just keep it, wondering why it’s taken you all the way to senior year to even do this much. You’ve never been particularly brave, but this is just…it’s just talking to someone. Right? “It’s okay. Fancy doesn’t automatically equal better.”

“Yes it does.” Max argues, looking at you like you are crazy. “Fancy is always better. It means that you can have the best.” He sighs. “One day I will have the best of everything.”

****

“You remember me?” As much as you remember him - every detail, down to the curve of his nose that he hates and the hair that he had dyed and apparently dyed back again - you didn’t expect him to remember you. It’s been years since the last time you saw him face to face. A whole ten years or more. He stopped coming back to Lubbock after a while and you didn’t exactly blame him. There was never anything exciting going on there.

“Of course I remember you.” You were one of the few good memories he had from Lubbock. “What are you doing here?” Of all the people in New York, he had never anticipated seeing you. And apparently his neighbor. He had expected you to be married and have kids, although that could still be true. His eyes drop down to your left hand and he can’t see it because it’s holding a plate of cookies.

“I—I live across the hall.” As startled as you are, you’re still standing in the hallway of your apartment building and you shift your weight nervously from foot to foot. “I saw a box in the chute marked for toys, so I thought I’d bring cookies and introduce myself.” Now that you know it’s Max, though, your cheeks are burning hotter than the early July heatwave. “Just…wanted to be friendly, that’s all.”

“It’s- it’s good to see you.” Max opens the door wider, motioning for you to come in. “How long has it been?” He knows exactly how long it has been since he’s seen you. Twelve years, two months and six days since he’s last seen you.

“Twelve years.” You answer far too quickly, but you step inside his apartment anyway. It’s identical to yours except being flipped - a mirror image that lets you know where everything is with only minimal thought. “It’s good to see you too. You’ve…well, it’s been a long time. I’m sure you’ve been up to a lot. You always had big dreams.”

He frowns, certain that you must have known about the dream stone incident. Been affected by it. “Yes, I did. That is over now.” He looks back at the closed bedroom door at the end of the hall. “All I want is to be a good dad.”

“Who says that’s not a big dream?” Carefully setting the plate down on the corner of his kitchen counter, you wipe your hands nervously and shove them in your pockets. “If you ask me, that's about the biggest dream there is. Parenthood is a big deal.”

“Yes.” He nods seriously. “I let Alistair down once, but I will not let him down again.” He sighs and looks up at you guiltily. “Do you have kids?”

“I was never lucky enough.” Something that your mother considers the ultimate failing. She considers your choice to be a career woman to be a betrayal of her plan for you. The fact that you wouldn’t just settle for any guy who would have you was a tragedy in her book. “I have a job I love, and a cat to keep me company.”

“I like cats.” Max offers nervously, looking around the apartment and wondering what you think of the mess he has accumulated. “Sorry I’m not unpacked.” He offers, eyes finding you again and finding you just as pretty as he remembered. Maybe more so.”

“I didn't expect you would be.” A smile quirks up the corners of your mouth and you can’t help being glad to see his hair back to its natural brown. You had seen the blonde in his tv commercials and on the news — it didn’t suit him. “Hell, I think it took me a month to unpack and it was just me and Dantes.” You fluster slightly, finding his eyes on you. “That’s…that’s my cat.

“Dantes huh?” His lips quirk up in a grin, something that hasn’t happened in a long time. “Like the Inferno?” He jokes.

"I named him after the Count of Monte Cristo, but he's as temperamental as a volcano." He still has the most beautiful smile, it twists your stomach exactly the way it did when you were teenagers. "You can come over and say hi anytime you like. I'm just across the hall...and even if I'm at work Dantes loves company."

“Alistair would love that. He has always wanted a pet, but….” He frowns, remembering that he had always said that he would get him one later and later never came. Another failing. “He would love it.” He finishes lamely.

"Come over anytime," you repeat, smiling a little brighter when that old, familiar crease notches in Max's forehead. "I'm sure Alistair and Dantes will get along famously." It will have the added benefit of getting to see him sometimes, and despite feeling ridiculous for still nursing your schoolgirl crush, you won't deny yourself a small, private pleasure. "It's nice to have an old friend around again."

You had been a friend to him, one of the few. The bittersweet pang of regret thumps inside him and he nods. “That would be good.” He agrees. “My- my ex-wife had animals and he- he misses them.” He admits.

“No problem.” Instinctively your hand goes out to him, touching him gently on the arm. “But I’m…I’m sorry to hear that. The ex part…”

Max can only blame himself. He had spent too much time chasing his dreams and Genji had grown tired of waiting for him to pay attention to her. He was lucky she let Alistair live with him, although it left her able to travel with her new husband. He shrugs. “She is happier and I am grateful for our son.”

“Sounds like you got the winning end of the deal to me.” You offer him a smile, knowing that transitions can be difficult. And divorces are never easy either.

“Only after almost losing him.” Max acknowledges, frowning as he remembers how frightened Alistair was, and how he had to run away because of Max’s mistakes. “But that is now the past. We are here for a fresh start.”

“New York is a great place for a fresh start.” He’s probably more than sick of talking about what happened, and you have no desire to sully this unexpected little reunion, so you don’t say a thing about it. “Definitely more to do than in Lubbock,” you joke instead.

“What brought you here?” Max asks, interested in your life since he last saw you.

“The intense desire to get away from my mother.” It’s only half a joke, and you chuckle when the corners of his lips turn up in understanding. “I work for a publishing house in Midtown. It’s good work and decent pay. And it’s a hell of a lot more interesting than editing articles for the Lubbock Avalanche-Journal and sitting through tedious dinners with whatever men my mother was trying to set me up with.”

“You never married?” He frowns slightly, unable to believe that someone would not have snatched you up.

“I was engaged once. It…didn’t work out.” Finding out he’d been cheating on you for half your relationship doomed that marriage before it could even start. You’re just glad that you had found out about it before walking down that aisle. You’re almost grateful that that girl out in St. Louis had decided to call you up and cuss you out. “What they say about airline pilots might not be true of all, but it’s certainly true of some.”

“I’m sorry.” He winces and shakes his head. “He must have been an idiot to let you slip away.” You had been his dream girl for a long time until he had met Genji.

"He wanted the world on a string." It was what he always said. It just wasn't until later that you had realized what he meant by it. "Sounds like we both had idiots in our lives. Otherwise she wouldn't have let you get away, either."

“I was never there.” Max admits. “Even when I was. I was too focused on becoming someone.”

"You'll be there for him now." You can hear him playing in the back bedroom, crowing happily over a spaceman toy. "And he's lucky to have you."

“I hope so.” Failure is one of Max’s greatest fears and he’s already done that.

"You never could see how special you are." It slips out before you can stop it, a slight shrug of your shoulders is the best you can do in pseudo-self-defense. He never did think much of himself, but the more you had gotten to know Max, the more obvious it was to you that that was a result of how his father treated him.

“You don’t know the things that I’ve done.” It’s selfish but he hopes you never find out. “I better finish unpacking the kitchen before the pizza gets here.” He knows you wouldn’t want to stay and he doesn’t want to be rejected so he doesn’t invite you for the pepperoni pizza.

"I, uh--I'll get out of your hair." The way he shuts down breaks your heart a little, but you nod your understanding. You've overstayed your welcome and he has never felt as strongly about your friendship as you did. That's just...well, it's just life. "It's...it's really good to see you, Max."

“It’s good to see you again too.” He promises, smiling slightly. “I’m sure we will run into you again. We are neighbors.”

"Yes. It's good to see you, too." With your heart in your throat, you nod and make yourself smile as you step back to go out the door. "I'll see you around, neighbor."

****

“So prom is coming up.” Max frowns slightly as he walks with you. He’s nervous because you haven’t said anything about prom and you talk about everything. He wonders if you have a date that you don’t want to tell him about. “Are you going?”

"I don't think so." Walking home together has become a ritual. Today you wrap your jacket a little tighter as you walk to block out the early spring chill and try not to get excited about the question he's just asked. No one else had asked you to prom, that's true. But you would have turned them down anyway -- you've been holding your breath hoping that Max would ask. "Can't go to prom without a date."

“We should go.” Max argues. “It’s Senior Prom. We can’t miss out on memories like that.” He’s been working on the weekends with his dad to save up for a tuxedo rental and a corsage. “The theme is ‘Enchantment Under the Sea’.” He reminds you.

"You...want to take me to prom?" You know the smile on your face is far too wide, but this is exactly what you've been dreaming of. These walks home, spending a little time at his house before his dad gets home from work, even starting to chat a little with his mother sometimes. You may not be Max's girlfriend, but you want to be, and you've made every effort possible to show him that.

“If you want to.” Max bites his lip. “I know you will probably have someone else ask you, and it’s okay if you’d rather go with them, but I’ve been saving up to buy a corsage and take you out to eat.” He admits. “I’ve been working with my dad.”

"I want to." It's too quick of a reply to be ladylike, but you don't much care about that. Not when you're actually being asked by the right boy. "With you. I want to go to prom with you. Yes."

“Yeah?” He’s surprised, but grins happily. “Then let’s go to prom together.” He nods, beaming and his posture straightens proudly. “You and me, we will have fun.” He promises.

"Yes, we will." Already convinced of it, you don't care a single second for anything or anyone else in the world right now. Max asked you to prom. That's all you've wanted for ages. "I'm going to make my dress," you announce, smiling up at him as you walk down the sidewalk. "My mother has some extra fabric from a wedding that she made dresses for. It's the most beautiful shade of blue you've ever seen."

“That will be good.” He nods. “Do you want me to match your dress?”

"If you want to." The idea is a little thrilling - looking like you belong together - and you nod. "I think you'd look very handsome in blue."

“Then that will be the tuxedo that I order.” He promises, looking forward to the idea of going with you and seeing you dressed up. For him.

It doesn't seem real that he would actually want to go with you, but as you walk alongside him toward his house it feels like the very best kind of dream. He isn't shy about wanting the best of everything, and you always encourage him, but it isn't like you're the prettiest or most popular girl in school. There are other, arguably better choices. But he still asked you. "I can't wait."

He smiles, amazed that you had said yes. He doesn’t know why, but you seem to like being around him. “We will have a good time. Dance and see what the fuss is about.”

"I don't think I've ever seen you dance." There's no reason you would have, all things considered, but the thought spreads your smile a little further.

“I can dance.” He huffs, almost insulted by the idea that he couldn’t. The fact that he’s been practicing in his bedroom by himself is irrelevant.

"I never said you couldn't!" When he pouts like that it makes you want to find out if his lips are as soft as they look but you would never try to kiss him out of the blue. Only fast girls kiss boys they aren't going steady with - and your mother warned you what happens to fast girls. Well...she's said 'And you know what happens to fast girls, don't you?', but you were always too scared to admit that you didn't have any clue what she was talking about.

“Good, because I can.” Just to prove his point, he stops walking and grabs your hand to pull you into his arms to dance a small little circle around right there on the sidewalk.

It's like a movie scene when he reaches for you, his hand on your back burning through you despite the chilly weather. You could just melt right into the pavement on the spot. "Well, look at you," you hum, feeling breathless with your heart beating so fast. "A real dancer."

“All gentlemen know how to dance.” He informs you, grinning widely as he lets go and steps back to bow gracefully.

"Then I'll have to work on becoming a little more ladylike for you before prom." A soft giggle escapes you when he bows, and you shift your bookbag on your shoulder.

“Don’t change a thing about yourself.” He protests, shaking his head. “You are just right as you are.”

"You're very sweet." As the two of you turn to start walking together again, your hand itches to reach for his so you shove it in your pocket. "The sweetest boy in the whole world is taking me to prom."

There’s nothing that he can say to that, his mind going completely blank except to repeat that you think he’s sweet over and over again. He bites his lip and tries not to look too happy about your comment.

"Have you heard back from any colleges yet?" He has talked about wanting to go. You've talked about it together, and he has so many ideas for what his business degree could turn into that it makes your head spin. But he hasn't said yet if he has had any acceptance letters so it's made you wonder.

“A few.” He sighs and wishes that he were rich or his family was rich. “I can’t go though.”

"You have to have been offered scholarships." You know what trouble he would have with being able to go. It's the same one you have which is exactly why your own mother told you to stop being stupid and forget about it. Colleges, apparently, aren't for girls.

“Not enough for Harvard.” He had already done the math, several times and just couldn’t afford it. “I have to turn down an Ivy League school because I’m too poor.” It stings and he hates it.

"I'm so sorry, Max..." His dreams mean the world to him, and you know it. But there are some things that are beyond even his grasp. If you could find a way to make the world perfect for him you would do it instantly, but that dream is still out of your grasp.

“It’s not your fault.” He swallows. “Have you been hearing from colleges?”

"No." You shake your head, staring down at your shoes as you walk. "All that work you helped me put into the applications and my mother took them out of the mailbox and threw them away." The words ring in your mind, her voice echoing in your head. "College isn't for girls."

“College is for everyone.” He argues, immediately upset for you. You had worked hard on those applications and they were really good. You would have gotten three of your choices for sure. “We can redo them, hope they accept them late?” He offers quickly.

"She wouldn't help me with tuition." And unfortunately, he knows that you would need financial help to go to school, too. "I would have to get a full scholarship somewhere, and even with good grades I just don't know if it would happen."

“If you don’t try, you won’t ever find out.” He reminds you. “Great rewards sometimes require great risks.”

He has no idea that he sounds wise when he says things like that, and when you tilt your head to peek up at him again he's looking at you so earnestly that you sigh quietly. It makes your heart ache to know how special he is to you and that he couldn't ever feel that way about you, but you'll soak up every ounce of his attention while you can possibly get it. Before he goes off and conquers the world or something. "You really think so?"

“I do.” He nods seriously and frowns as he thinks. “After- after my parents are asleep, I could sneak over and help you.” He murmurs quietly. “Apply to your top three and I’ll mail them off from my house. That way she can’t throw them away.”

"Tonight." You decide, ready to believe anything is possible if he has that kind of faith in you. "Do you really think you can manage to sneak out? I don't want you to get in trouble on my account." His father could lose his temper over almost anything, and the last thing you wanted was for Max to suffer any extra. Not for you.

“I can.” He smirks slightly and straightens proudly. “We will make sure you go to college.” He knows you want to be an editor, maybe even a writer one day and he knows that a good college will make that happen.

Overwhelmed with the idea that it could be possible, you surge forward and grab his arm, planting a grateful kiss on his cheek before you pull away again just as fast. Your own face is burning, but just in this moment you find that you don't actually care that much. "Thank you," you murmur, beaming at him with gratitude and excitement. "I don't know what I ever did to deserve such a good friend. Thank you, Max."

“Thank you.” He murmurs quietly. “You are the one who befriended me.” He reminds you. You had pulled him into that classroom and saved him for another beating.

"I should have done it a long time ago." The embarrassment of not being braver stings, but there's nothing you can do besides swallow it down.

“No.” Max shakes his head. “You did nothing wrong. We all do what we have to. You were just trying to protect yourself.”

"Still." There isn't any point in wishing to change the past. You know that and he's right that you were trying to protect yourself. "You deserve the world, Max. Really."

“One day I will have the world.” He vows, grinning at you. “And so will you.”

****

It's a random, seemingly unimportant Saturday morning when a small knock sounds on your door. You had been sitting with a cup of coffee and a muffin trying to convince yourself to work on the draft of the book that you had been chipping away at for years when you heard it. Dantes mewed at the sound like it was rude for interrupting his long morning of staring at the ceiling, and you just laugh. "No, no," you chuckle at your cat. "Don't disturb yourself. I'll get it." The prim Russian Blue doesn't move when you get up from your seat and you peer through the peephole to see no one standing there at all. Opening the door curiously, you find a little boy with impossibly wide eyes standing on your doorstep. "Well, hello." You've seen this little boy before, coming in and out of the building or on the stairs, always hugging tight to Max's side. "You must be Alistair."

“Dad said that you have a cat that I could play with?” He asks, curious to find out the truth of this. “He knows I was coming over. He said he would be just a minute behind me. Is that okay?”

"Of course it is." Stepping back to let him inside, you point through the kitchen to the cat tree. "That's Dantes. Let me get you some of his favorite toys and a few treats you can give him, and you guys can play in the living room, okay?" This is a cat who loves kids, so you're sure everything will go well, but you want Max's son to go into the first meeting armed with all the right tools.

“Okay!” He grins at you and nearly bounces on his toes with glee. “I’m excited to meet him. I’ve wanted a pet for a long time but dad didn’t have time, but I don’t blame him.” He tells you seriously, nodding for emphasis.

“Your dad is doing his very best for you, and that includes making sure you had a neighbor with a cat to visit. You’re welcome to come over any time you like, and your dad is too.” You leave the door cracked open for Max to follow, careful that it isn’t enough for Dante’s to escape, and bring Alistair to get the cat’s favorite things so they can meet.

Max had been washing your plate to bring it over to you again. Alistair had been too eager and had decided that he couldn’t wait to go meet Dantes. Max didn’t have the heart to tell him to wait, so he had sent him over and hoped you would understand.

When he tentatively pushes the door open a few minutes later, Alistair is on the living room rug dangling a toy for Dante’s to bat around with a bowl full of kitty kibble and assorted small treats for the cat and a muffin and glass of juice for himself. You’ve set yourself back up at your little kitchenette table a few feet away, though your manuscript is now pushed aside in favor of the New York Times crossword. “Hey.” When you spy Max’s head peak around the door, you wave him in. “Morning, neighbor.”

“It’s not too early, is it?” He asks, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. “I wrangled him as long as I could.” He grins and shrugs. “But then breakfast was over.”

“It’s never too early.” Not for him is what you want to say, but instead you say, “not for friends.”

He snorts and shakes his head. “Not until coffee for me. I used to take all these supplements and herbs, but now it’s just pure caffeine.”

“Can I pour you a cup? I always make a full pot for some reason and never drink it all.” Up and out of your seat before he can even answer, you’re grabbing a mug out of your cupboard and pulling out the bakery box from your trip down the block this morning. “I also have more muffins than one human can manage. I guess the wind told me to be ready for guests today.”

“I’m sorry we showed up unannounced.” Max winces and looks around. “If you have plans…..” He doesn’t want to intrude on your day if you are busy. It would be easy to get Alistair to leave. He’s been promising to take him to Central Park.

“I was going to sit and curse at my manuscript all day,” you admit with a shrug and pour out his cup. “You saved me from getting frustrated with myself.”

“Oh! A book?” He asks, remembering your dream of writing a book. “Is it your first? Or are you published under a pen name?”

"This would be my first. I've been fighting with it for years and I'm still not satisfied with the second half of the story." Coming back to the table, you set down a mug of coffee and the box of muffins for him with a plate. "Alistair asked for the chocolate chip, I hope it's okay that I said yes."

“Of course.” He can’t help but huff in amusement. “Probably better than the burned eggs and cereal we had for breakfast.”

“Help yourself,” you insist, motioning to the box. Sitting down across from him like this is oddly familiar - like your high school cafeteria should materialize around you any second - but you don’t dislike it.

“I appreciate it.” He’s remembering all the times you had eaten together over the years. Including the one meal he bought you before prom.

“How is the job search going?” The few little talks you had had in the stairwell or while grabbing your mail from the boxes in the lobby had clued you in to how Max’s life is running these days and it’s an unfortunate reality. Since the incident people have been wary of him and even downright rude.

“I will find something soon.” He forces out cheerily. “I am hoping that a few places will call me back.” He doubts it, but all he can do is hope someone gives him a chance.

“I know it isn’t…Your dream or anything, but the publishing house I work for is expanding so they’re hiring all sorts of positions.” It was something you had been discussing ad nauseam in the office and had been meaning to mention to him anyway. Now is as good a time as any. “I can get a complete list from my friend in HR if you like? And I’ll vouch for you if you decide to put in for anything.”

“Are you sure you want to be associated with me?” He asks seriously. Some of the comments you have made lead him to believe that you know what happened last winter. “I don’t want to put your profession or your own job at risk.”

“I’m sure.” You’ve always been sure about him. He might not understand it - hell, sometimes you didn’t always understand it - but that’s just how you feel about him. “I know you, Max. I trust you.”

“You haven’t seen me in twelve years before this week.” He reminds you quietly, looking down at the blueberry muffin in his hands. “I wasn’t a good man.”

“I might not know anything about Maxwell Lord,” you lower your voice, not conspicuously but not wanting to perk Alistair’s ears. “But I know Max Lorenzano. He helped me get into college. Took me to prom. Listened to every story and fear and triumph that I had for years. You were my best friend, Max. Let me repay you for helping me believe in myself.”

Max swallows harshly, overcome with the glowing review of a boy who had been so ashamed of being poor. It sounds like you preferred him. “Thank you.” He replies hoarsely.

“I know it’s been a while.” But you’ve thought about him constantly, and even though you might not admit that to him so that you don’t have to have an awkward conversation with your first love about him actually being your first love, you’re not shy about wanting to help. “I’d like to be friends again. Like we used to be.”

“Like we used to be.” He nods. Friends where a shy and awkward boy had an unrequited crush on you. He had survived it once and he could do it again to have you back in his corner.

“Alistair’s very sweet.” It changes the topic cleanly because you don’t want Max to get a whiff of the fact that your feelings for him have come back nearly full force. Not that he had any idea the first time around. Or if he did, he hadn’t let you know it. Instead you put your focus on his son, the excitable little boy that he has put all his focus in himself.

“He is a good kid.” Max can easily agree with that. “I don’t deserve him, but for some reason he loves me.” His eyes drift to the living room and he smiles when he sees Alistair petting Dantes and cooing happily at the attention loving cat.

If you were bold, you’d promise him that he’s not difficult at all to love, but you’ve never been bold. You hadn’t even been bold enough to kiss him at prom. Instead you smile warmly and pick up your coffee. “You deserve much more than you think.”

“I think we will have to disagree on that.” He murmurs, snorting softly. “I didn’t realize what I was doing until I almost lost him. An angry mob, coming for me, scared him and he was wandering the streets of D.C. by himself.” He stares down at his coffee mug, glad to get this off his chest. “I would have never forgiven myself if he had been hurt.”

“What is life if not making mistakes and learning lessons?” You had been watching right along with the rest of the world while it all happened, but being on the outside must have been a very different experience than being where he was on the inside. “He’s okay. He’s safe, and he has a father who loves him. In time you’ll learn to forgive yourself like he’s already forgiven you.”

“Perhaps.” Max won’t agree with that, but he also won’t count it out. “First I need to prove that I can be useful. Helpful.”

"Sometimes it's okay to just have fun, too." But you won't push. Or press. "I haven't seen you since college," you say instead. "What have you been up to, besides having that angel of a little boy?"

“Married…divorced.” Max sighs and shrugs. “Tried to make Black Gold work. I really did. Convinced I was going to find oil.”

"There are lots of places in the world with oil. It isn't so crazy to think that you would find some." Anytime you had seen his name in the papers, you had tried to follow it. Unfortunately it seemed to be more bad news than good for the last few years.

“Except I never did.” He has made an uneasy peace with his past and shrugs slightly. “Perhaps it was for the best. I certainly learned humility.”

"There must have been bright spots." You can't believe that his entire adult life has been miserable.

“Not as many as there were during our senior year.” He admits with a small chuckle. “I was chasing the dream and didn’t stop to admire the roses.”

"Maybe that's what this is, then." The urge to take it as a compliment to you is there, but it would be conceited to think that he means you were what made it good. "Time to stop and admire the world around you."

“Admire the world around me, huh?” He contemplates it for a moment, wondering where you go so wise, but then he remembers that you have been living your dream for some time. Max just needs to figure out what his new dream is. “I think you are right.”

****

It took a couple of weeks for Max to go through the interview process, and your bosses had pulled you into a conference room with an HR rep for an hour of round table "Are you fucking serious?" about the fact that your name is listed as a personal reference on his resume. In the end they had relented. In eight years with the company you had never had a single mark against you on your file and you're one of the most productive editors on staff. If they're going to take anyone's word at all about a potential new hire, it's going to be yours. Now, two weeks into Max's time as a member of the office's janitorial staff, your coworkers are starting to take notice. They've noticed that you arrive together every morning and leave together every evening, and that sometimes you chat quickly in the hall in passing. Almost all of them have recognized him at this point, of course, and it seems like they've deputized your closest work friend to ask you about him.

Max is eager to please, finding that the work is not beneath him as he might have once imagined. He pushes his cart around the offices with pride and tries to ignore the dirty looks and comments. Especially the prick in editing that purposefully made a mess for him to clean up. Seemingly enjoying watching Max clean up after him. He sees one of your co-works walking up to you so he doesn’t stop, just giving you both a respectful nod and a small smile as he makes his way to the bathrooms for their twice a day cleaning.

It’s good to see him taking pride in what he’s doing now. Tangible results of his work being something that seems to satisfy Max in a way you hadn’t expected but are grateful to see. “Hey Kim.” She’s buzzing directly over to you without being subtle, so you slow down to talk to her.

“Soooooooooo.” She lifts her brows and looks at Max’s retreating back. Instead of the boxy power suits he had been wearing, he was wearing a pair of work chinos and a polo shirt. Perhaps a little more dressy than most janitors but it’s an effort to look professional. “This is interesting.”

“The hallway?” You raise a skeptical eyebrow at her, continuing to walk back toward your desks at the other end of the floor. “I don’t know that I would call it interesting.”

“You know what I’m talking about.” She huffs and jostles your shoulder lightly. “Max Lord.” She clarifies, rolling her eyes. “How do you know him?”

Yes, you knew, but that doesn’t mean you’ve exactly been excited for someone to come asking about it. You know what people still think of him. “We grew up together,” you tell Kim honestly. “Same home town in Texas.”

“You grew up with Max Lord?” Her eyes widen and flutter back towards the hallway where Max’s cart is sitting outside the Men’s restroom.

“Yep.” Trying to not make it seem like a big deal, you shrug. “We were friends. Now he’s my neighbor and we’re friends again.”

“Friends.” She’s skeptical about that, but she can’t deny that Max is far more attractive in person than he was in those horrible television ads. “Uh huh, if you want to keep your cards close…” she eyes you, waiting to see if you say anything else.

“What?” Her face says she doesn’t believe you, and she’s fucking right not to but you do your best to look innocent.

“You haven’t noticed that - despite being Max Lord - your friendly, neighbor janitor is a very good looking man?” She scoffs slightly and sends you a knowing look. “And just your type based on the men you like looking at when we drag you out to happy hour.”

“There isn’t any despite being with Max,” you defend instantly, feeling a little indignant. “He’s a good guy who did wrong and he’s doing everything he can to rebuild his life now.” It’s bad enough he got bullied in school, he doesn’t deserve that bullshit at work, too. “And—” Clearing your throat carefully doesn’t help you sound less guilty at all. “I…don’t have a type.”

Her brows shoot up at the vehemence in your voice and she doesn’t remind you that he almost destroyed the entire world with that wish granting trick he had pulled. She doesn’t think that you would listen and you are a good friend. “If you say so.” She murmurs quietly. “I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

"There's nothing for me to get hurt about." A fact which makes swallowing hard for longer than you're proud of, and you avert your eyes back to watching your shoes tread the carpet like you used to do in the halls of your high school walking side by side with him.

“Do you want to come out with us tonight?” Sensing that you are wanting to change the subject, she obliges. “We are going out for apps and drinks.”

“Sure.” It’s been a while since you had a night out with the girls - since Max appeared in your life - and it sounds like a good idea. Like having fun instead of sitting in your apartment hoping and wondering if he’ll come over to say hello after already being at work together all day. “The usual spot?” There’s a bar not far from the office that does great food, and sometimes there’s single guys from other nearby offices to flirt with. It usually makes for an entertaining Friday night.

“Absolutely.” She nods, shooting you a grin.

“Okay. I’ll just let Max know.” It will be the first time since starting his job that he’s committed home alone, but it’s not a difficult trip. He already knows the connections by heart.

“You…..you should bring him.” Kim says after a moment. “Let him hang out socially. Might help.”

"Are you sure?" The look you give Kim is skeptical, knowing that some of the girls you usually get drinks with might not be so warm about getting to know Max. And usually there aren't many guys that tag along. "Are any of the guys coming tonight?"

“There’s Brad and Dan.” She acknowledges, shrugging slightly. “It could be good for them to see him as a normal man.”

"It would be good for them to see normal human interaction." You roll your eyes, but only playfully. Brad is more than a little bit of a horndog and Dan seems to have learned everything about how to be manly from Brad. It isn't a bad thought. Getting to get to know some people outside of their roles at the office is probably a really good idea, actually. Contemplating it for a second, you nod. "I'll invite him. But if he ends up not being able to come it's probably because his babysitter couldn't stay late on short notice, not because he doesn't want to be social."

“Then I won’t tell anyone that he might come.” She decides, knowing that surprising them might them best thing anyway. You both stop at your desk and she reaches out and touches your arm, “I don’t want you to be cross with me.” She tells you. “I just wanted to see what was going on.”

"I'm not cross." Kim has always been a good friend, and you squeeze her hand back gently. "I just wish it were easier for him to get the clean slate he came here for. But you're right. Socializing will be good."

“It doesn’t help that he broadcasted his mistake.” Kim reminds you quietly. “But I have to admit, he’s been nothing but polite since he’s been working here. And the bathrooms are spotless.”

"He knows he did wrong. And everyone deserves a chance to start fresh." At least, that's what you've always said. And so far you haven't had too many people who made you briefly regret your optimism. "It's nice of you to think of inviting him. He really is a good guy underneath everything that happened."

“He’s attractive.” She has to admit, “especially with the darker hair that looks more natural on him.”

“The blonde didn’t suit him.” A nostalgic smile drifts across your face that you barely even notice but Kim surely does. “He dyed it back to its natural color. The way he looked when we were growing up.”

“And you didn’t date?” She smiles skeptically.

“No.” A thing that makes you glance away and fluster more than you’re proud of. “We went to prom together, but we never went steady or anything.”

“Oh.” She nods and bites her lip. “Well, let me know about tonight, okay?” She doesn’t want you to be upset if it’s a case of unrequited love and that seems to be what it is.

“I will.” Your nod is enough to make her comfortable taking away, and it’s about an hour later that you catch Max moving across the hall to restock the kitchenette that services this floor of the building.

Max reasons that the staff of the publishing house is lucky. The management provides complimentary snacks and drinks beyond packs of peanuts and coffee. It’s really impressive and it makes him think of what he would have offered his own staff if Black Gold had actually become successful. He regrets how he had to tell Raquel that he couldn’t pay her that last paycheck, but he had managed to send it to her three months later when he had sold his house.

“Hey.” Slipping into the kitchen to pour a fresh cup of coffee, you grin seeing Max so diligent and seemingly satisfied with each thing he gets done. Any job is good that can be satisfying. “How’s your day?”

"I do not know how some people can be so disgusting in public." He shudders and shakes his head. "The men are the worst....but," he grimaces and lowers his voice. "I do not know how some could keep their....sanitary products unwrapped when they are used."

"Women are absolutely gross." You tell him sagely, nodding with a solemn expression to keep from giggling. "If Alistair had a sister you'd see it full force, I promise."

"I am not unused to women's monthly issues." He insists. "I was married to Alistair's mom and would often buy her the things she needed." When he remembered, which was less often than he should have. It was another regret he had, but he couldn't make up for it now.

"Speaking of things we do monthly." Waggling your eyebrows at the lame segue to make him laugh, your smile spreads when you get a confused look out of him. "Some of our coworkers are going out for drinks and stuff after work tonight. You're invited, if you'd like to call Señora Ramos and ask her to stay with Alisitair a little later."

His expression is one of shock and then he frowns. "I don't know if I should." He admits, glancing towards the door of the break room. "I don't want to cause you issues." He knows that you have taken some flack since you had convinced your bosses to give him a chance. Even if you deny it, he's caused you problems. The last thing he wants is for you to suffer more when you've been an incredible friend to him.

"You're not." And no matter how many times you need to repeat it, you always will. Max is never going to get his confidence back as long as he thinks of himself as a burden. And to you? He is anything but. "It might be good to spend time with people out of the office. Make some new friends?"

"I doubt that." He scoffs slightly and bites his lip. It would be nice to spend some time with you outside of the apartments and the office. Socially. Like that one dinner that he had managed to pay for all those years ago. "Do you want me to go?"

"Of course I do." There is no possible way you would want anything else, unless going out would truly make him unhappy somehow. "I love spending time with you." Yup. That's how that sentence goes. Absolutely.

He quietly thinks about it for a long moment before he nods. "I will call Señora Ramos and see if she can watch Alistair for a few more hours." He decides and despite his worries, his posture straightens and he looks excited.

"You deserve a night to be an adult," you remind him, but the way he straightens has you hoping that he's looking forward to it now. "I'll see you at the end of the day, okay? We can walk over to the bar together."

"I will see you then." He nods, knowing he will have to call the babysitter right away before he can really start looking forward to the idea of going out with you and your friends.

******

When the end of the work day comes, you're eager to leave your desk behind. Max hadn't come by your desk to tell you that there was a problem with plans for the evening so you're looking forward to being able to just relax with your friends - both old and new.

Max finishes up his work early, busting his ass to make sure he was done and able to put all of his supplies away and be ready for you at the elevators on time. He has gotten the go ahead from Señora Ramos and was looking forward to buying you a drink.

"Ready to go?" Though you beg your mind not to brim with memories of him picking you up for prom, they're at the top of your mind anyway as the elevator opens and Max strides out into the lobby.

"I am." He had to dry his hands on a paper towel on the way down to the lobby and shove it in his pocket. "Are you?" He asks, lifting his brows and giving you a chance to reconsider. He wouldn't blame you.

"Absolutely." You would take his hand under different circumstances. As it is, your fingers twist around the strap of your purse as you nod toward the doors. "Kim and some of the others just went ahead to grab us tables."

“Oh.” He frowns slightly but nods. “Then we should hurry, no?”

"It's not a race." It does make you chuckle, though, and you nod toward the doors before starting to walk. "We're five minutes behind at the absolute most."

"Where do you normally go to do this 'happy hour'?" Max asks as he guides you out of the building and lets you turn him in the right direction.

"There's a place called Pollard's a couple of blocks away that has really good drink deals and small plate stuff. I'm a big fan of filling myself with margaritas and flatbread on a Friday night." In fact it was something of a ritual, and you're glad to share that with him if he's inclined to it. Alistair is a strict cheese-only kind of kind when it comes to pizza but there is a whole world of more adult flavours to get behind.

"It has been a long time since I have had a margarita." He admits, wondering how you act when you have alcohol. Genji used to make fun of him for being too earnest, too eager to please when he was drunk. He had switched to champagne to make himself seem more sophisticated but actually hated the taste.

"Then you'll have to share with me." The idea lights you up inside and you nudge him while you walk. "They do this margarita tower thing...it sounds impressive but it's two or three drinks each and ridiculously cheap. Best margaritas in the city."

"Then we will have that." Max grins and nods. "And you like the...flatbreads?" He doesn't know what it is, but you seem happy about having one.

"It's just fancy pizza." You grin when he sounds confused and put your nose in the air while you walk. "Fancy metropolitan pizza. I thought you might like a change of pace from all the cheese all the time."

Max groans and rolls his eyes. "Aliastair has to try something else." He pouts slightly. "Even if it's just pepperoni."

"One day we'll have him eating a huge variety. But not quite yet." That pout hasn't changed in twenty years. It still makes you want to wrap him up in your arms and cuddle it away. Which is why you immediately shove your hands in your pockets when you see it. "For now, we'll have some adult treats."

"Something other than Fruit Loops." Max snorts with a grin. "He had me buy two boxes when we went to the bodega last weekend."

"I promise." You hold up your pinky to him after scurrying across a busy street. "No Fruit Loops."

Chuckling as he rings his own pinky around yours, he feels like he's back in high school with you. Promising that he won't become friends with your cousin, as if that could have ever happened. "I want to buy your drinks and food tonight." He tells you.

"You don't have to do that." In fact, you had been planning on just paying the tab for both of you. Considering that you're the one who invited him, you didn't want him to feel pressured or have to count pennies.

"I want to. To say thank you." He shoves his hands into his pockets and concentrates on the steps in front of him. "For helping me find the job, for being a good friend." He lowers his voice slightly. "For not hating me."

"I could never hate you." Sure there had been things you didn't understand. Or times you were hurt when he lavished attention on other people. Like the girls at college that he had told you about during their holiday breaks. But hate? You could never. "I'm glad to have my best friend back."

Friend. He reminds himself that was what he was to you. No more. He frowns slightly as he suddenly thinks about something that makes his heart drop. "You- is there someone you meet at your happy hour meetings?" He asks, slightly jealous of the idea.

"There's a couple of people who always come. Kim, Jennifer, and Gretchen for sure. And usually Carmen. Apparently this time Brad and Dan are coming, too," you tell him, fully misunderstanding the question.

"And which one are you happiest to see?" Max asks, happy mood suddenly souring.

"I mean...usually Kim, I guess?" It's impossible to stop on the pavement in the middle of Midtown, but you tilt your head and your forehead furrows when he looks upset. "Why? Do you...not like some of them?"

"I see." He shakes his head. "No, I do not know them." He reminds you. "I understand now why it never...." He breaks off and shakes his head again, adopting a charming smile. "Never mind, I am eager to meet your friends."

There's a train of thought there that you can't quite follow, but you nod vaguely and keep walking. The two of you are quiet when you pull open the door to Pollard's and Kim waves enthusiastically from a place in the corner where a half dozen small tables have been pushed together for your group. "Looks like we're over there."

Max hangs back slightly, both wary of everyone's reception of him and mulling over the knowledge that you had never been interested in him because you liked women. He had wondered why you never seemed to want to take things farther with him. One of the reasons he had looked so hard for someone in college, to get you off his mind.

After giving hugs to your friends and sitting down beside Kim, you pull out the chair on your other side for Max. The group looks like they've been told to behave themselves - something you'll thank Kim for later - and you look around you only to notice that he hasn't sat down yet. "Max?"

"Hello." Max nods to everyone and bites his lip. "Do you mind if I join you?" It's important that he doesn't insert himself where he's not wanted. Something that he would do too often in his bid for respectability and investments.

"You're more than welcome," Kim insists, waving her hand at the chair on your other side. Everybody had agreed to play nice tonight for your sake. Generally speaking you're just too nice for your own good, and most of your extended work-friend group is curious. "Food here is great. I don't know if our girl told you or not on the way over."

Our girl. Max smiles politely and sits. "She has told me about the margaritas and the flatbread pizzas." He nods and looks around at everyone and wonders what they really think about him being here. "So I believe I will like it."

"Let me guess," Kim hums, one eyebrow raised in amusement. "Margarita tower?" "Of course." It's kind of your go-to anytime you have someone to share it with, and you stretch out with a happy grin at the table. "Max needs a rest from the world of juice boxes and cheese pizza."

"You have a child?" Jennifer asks curiously. "I didn't know that."

"His son's an angel." You offer, smiling at Max, who looks uncomfortable again. "He's my cat's new favorite playmate."

“Alistair is eight.” Max tells them. “The best son anyone could ask for. Sweet and kind, loving.” All traits that Max needed to improve on as an adult, but Alistair’s faith in him, your faith in him, kept him pushing forward.

“Eight is such a good age.” Gretchen goes a little dreamy. Everyone knows her kids are hell on wheels now that they’re teenagers, and she misses when they were little. “Curiosity is at a premium at that age. They’re like little sponges. And so sweet. Oh you’re so lucky.”

"Very lucky." Max can wholeheartedly agree with that. "We have been exploring the museums on the weekends and he asks so many questions that the tour guides don't know." It makes him regret not taking him to more museums while they were in D.C., but he is enjoying the outings with his son and is proud of his curiosity.

“Does he have a library card yet?” She asks, obviously enjoying memories of that age. “My youngest loved the themed story hours until she was eleven or twelve.”

“He doesn’t, but I should get him one.” Max tilts his head in interest. “He loves to read and watch movies.”

“It’s worth it.” Gretchen promises with a smile, and she picks up her menu. “No matter where you are in the city, you can always find a branch.”

“Thank you.” Max replies sincerely. “I will take him to get a card this weekend. We are planning on picnicking in Central Park.” He chuckles. “Which, to Alistair, means pizza at the park.”

“Central Park and the library sounds like a perfect day.” It twists your heart a little - the number of times you’ve thought about what would have happened if you have been brave enough to tell Max how you felt years ago. If Alistair would be your little boy instead of someone else’s. The result has been that you soak up every minute of time that Max’s son is willing to spend with you.

“Would you like to come with us?” Mac is always happy to have you with him. You make the even brighter with your company, just like when you were in high school.

"I'd love to." There's no hesitation for you. No question or even need to consider. Any chance you get to spend with Max, you're going to take it. "You guys have been spending a lot of time together, huh?" Kim asks, amusement twitching in the corner of her mouth. She had thought that you were acting a little defensive earlier because of some unrequited thing, but now she thinks you might just be oblivious to how requited it could be. Not that she would ever get mixed up with a guy like Max Lord, but you seem to have a unique history with the guy.

“She has been very kind to us.” Max is careful to not sully your reputation with telling them how most evenings are spent together and you’ve taught him to make more than mac and cheese with hot dogs for dinner. “New York is very different from D.C. and we are grateful to have someone who knows the area like she does.”

"Rekindling the old friendship, right?" It's a little bit of prodding, sure, but she's also trying to peel away at that Maxwell Lord veneer that they all saw on tv for so long and make him a real person to your other friends.

“I was very lucky to have her as my friend.” Max admits, looking down at his hands shyly. “Believe it or not, I was not well liked when I was younger.” He chuckles at how true that still was, although that was because of his mistakes rather than his misfortune of being poor or an immigrant.

"Neither of us was," you amend, not wanting him to feel singled out by that fact. "If not for Max, I wouldn't have survived senior year. And I definitely wouldn't have gone to college."

“That was a long night.” He remembers, smiling slightly at the memory. “But your admission papers were perfect.” He had sent them off like he had promised and you had been accepted to all of them, with scholarships.

"My mother was furious." A fact which makes you giggle now, so many years later. "Until it became a bragging point. She found out that one of the colleges I applied to was all women, and suddenly I was making a modest, pious choice to educate myself to be a good wife." You roll your eyes heavily, knowing that your years at Sarah Lawrence had radicalized you in ways that your mother could never have dreamed of. "Imagine her disappointment when I went and got a career after college instead of a husband."

“She should be proud of you.” Max shakes his head, still unable to believe what your mother had put you through. “I was. I am. You are in a prestigious position and working on becoming a published author.”

"All thanks to you, it sounds like." Kim is actually smiling, and Gretchen's expression has turned from curious to fond. "You know, this is the most we've ever been able to get her to open up about the old days. Normally she just glosses over any hometown or family questions."

“Oh.” He tosses you a look, hoping that he has not overstepped. “Life was not great for us, but we managed together and we had fun. Prom was possibly the best night of my life until the day Alistair was born.”

"Did you go to prom together?" Gretchen looks like she might melt at that, while Brad and Dan are clearly regretting that there isn't something less girly to talk about.

“Yeah.” Max nods and grins slightly. “It was a good night. We had fun and I still have the pictures we took.”

"You still have those?" Somehow you hadn't expected that, and it makes you light up and soften at the same time. "My mother got rid of my copies...along with pretty much everything else."

“She was always a…difficult woman.” Max sighs. “Genji made sure that she kept them when we divorced but returned all my stuff when we moved to New York.”

"Sounds like your ex-wife and my mother would have gotten along well," you grumble sympathetically when the waitress appears to take your drink orders.

Max defers to you, letting you order first and adding a glass of water in addition to the margarita tower.

Several beers, Gretchen's Long Island Iced Tea, and Kim's white wine selection later, you're all engrossed in looking through food options. The reason you like this place that is it's easy to blend into the background and still get decent service. Yours isn't the only office that empties into this building on a Friday night, and a group of tables nearby is taken up by some folks from a nearby marketing firm that you recognize as fellow regulars. It's just a cordial, relaxed atmosphere that is more than welcome after a long work week.

“They have a lot of options.” Max hums as he looks through the menu. “Have you had anything other than the flatbreads?”

"Not much," you admit with a guilty grin. "Do you want to try something else? I don't mind broadening my horizons a little."

“We could always get the appetizer thing.” He points to a sampler. “And your flatbread. Splitting it and trying more things?”

"If that's what sounds good to you, I'm in." He could suggest almost anything and you would go along with it, so this is barely a compromise. All you want is for him to enjoy himself tonight.

He nods, smiling at you and relaxing slightly. No one has been rude yet and it feels almost like the old days, although he’s still slightly upset he never realized that you were into women.

It's a comfortable evening, with people loosening up after some drinks and food. Brad drags Jennifer away from her seat to dance at one point, even though this is definitely a bar that does not have a dance floor. It's warm and comfortable and there is something extra in the air tonight that is probably just the margaritas talking, but it has you smiling and laughing even more than usual.

As the evening goes on, Max relaxed a little more. Somehow the buttons of his polo pop open and he leans back and ruffles his hand through his hair as the alcohol mellows him out. Sticking close to you and to Kim, he has tried to figure out the dynamic and it’s driving him crazy. He wants to be a good friend and be supportive of you, but he also wishes that he had taken that chance so many years ago and kissed you when it seemed like the right moment for it.

You're just too good to be true...can't take my eyes off of you...you'd be like heaven to touch, I wanna hold you so much... Frankie Valli croons through the speakers in the bar, making your head jump up and your eyes snap over to Max. Like the memory of senior prom wasn't enough, that song throws you back in time harder than a slingshot.

******

Max tries to suppress his nerves, praying his hands aren’t sweaty as he guides you through the song. It’s romantic and one that he’s heard before, making him think of you. At long last love has arrived….And I thank God I'm alive “Are you having a good time?” He asks, desperately hopeful that you don’t hate the night with him.

"Of course I am." You're here with him, there's nothing realistic that you could think of to make it better. Realistic being the key. Those little daydreams you've had about going out to Lover's Lane with him or cuddling up under the stars? Those are just fantasies. "A--are you?"

“I am.” He nods and smiles at you. “Your dress is the prettiest one here.” You had taken his breath away and he was grateful that the corsage matched and his suit complimented it.

"Do you think so?" The pattern is a little old fashioned probably, but you love it. the flowers that you had carefully embroidered for embellishment and the few crystals that you managed to get your hands on had made you hopeful that he would like it, but your mother had scoffed that boys don't care what dress you wear. After that, even though you had finished the dress, you had been a little less giddy about it.

“It is beautiful. I cannot believe that you made it yourself.” He smiles and reaches up from your back to rub the edge of your shoulder strap. “If you wanted to, you could be a very accomplished seamstress.”

"Maybe I'll just make my own dresses." You beam at him, unable to contain how hard you're smiling at such a compliment. "Dinner dresses to go out in. Or even my wedding dress one day."

“It would be breathtaking.” His heart pounds in his chest thinking about your wedding day. Painfully wishing that he was the lucky man who got to meet you in front of the priest.

"Not that...that I think that will happen any time soon." Mostly because you can't picture the day at all with anyone but him, and he doesn't seem to like you that way. Even all through the nice dinner he took you to before the dance tonight, he hadn't tried to hold your hand or anything. Which is okay. It's not like you don't know that boys don't like you. But you're trying not to lose hope before the night is over.

“No, you must get through college first.” Max insists seriously. “It is important that you establish your dreams first.” Max decides that he will become wealthy before he asks you out, not wishing for you to pity him. He had been so nervous tonight he couldn’t form the words to ask you to the movies, even though he wanted to.

"I've been waiting for the right time to tell you." Deciding that this is it - this moment, this dance, this song, you are absolutely beaming at him. "I spoke with the financial department at Sarah Lawrence yesterday. They're actually going to give me enough scholarships and grants that I can manage it."

“What?” Max gasps, lighting up. “That’s great.” He lunges forward to hug you tightly, excited that you were getting to have your dream despite your mother trying to sabotage you.

“It’s all thanks to you.” You hug him back tightly, nearly giggling with excitement. “I never could have gotten it all done alone.”

"You could have." He protests, but he beams at your praise. "We will both have our college degrees in no time and I will know a famous publisher and you will know a powerful businessman."

Know. You will know each other. Nothing more. You try so hard not to let your smile dim and end up clinging to him a little harder. If you weren't so terrified of losing him altogether then you wouldn't care what the other girls said. You could live with being considered 'fast' for kissing him first if you were just brave enough.

You seem so happy by the prospect, he bites his lip and wonders if he imagines that you sometimes look at him like you want to kiss him. Perhaps it is just his own wants projecting onto you, he has a habit of doing that, but he cannot help it with you. If he had one person in the world to save, it would be you. Whispering your name, he gathers the shreds of his courage and presses slightly closer to you.

For a second you can't tell if it's your imagination or if the world really has stopped moving around you. Your vision has narrowed down to just him and he's filled your other senses -- but when does he not? When do you ever think of anyone in the whole world before Max? Sometimes you could swear he thinks of you as more than just a friend, and right now his hands grasping you a little tighter has your heart jumping directly into your throat as it starts to beat wildly out of control.

Staring into your eyes, Max wets his lips, finding them suddenly dry and chapped. He doesn't want your (hopefully) first kiss to be dry. He swallows again and decides to go for it. His fingers flex on your hip and his eyes drop down to your lips as he leans in more. "Ladies and gentleman! It is time to crown our prom King and Queen!"

The sheer volume of the announcement has you both jumping out of your skins, startling apart from each other like a cartoon and breaking the moment. You could have sworn that he was inching closer to you. He looked like he was going to kiss you. And now you've completely lost it.

Max's heart sinks down to his toes and he gives you a small smile before the two of you turn towards the stage. Cursing himself for not being fast enough, the moment is gone and with it, his courage.

******

“Did you have fun tonight?” Walking from the subway stop to your apartment building, you have your hands once again shoved into your pockets in that long-established custom of keeping yourself from reaching for him. A few margaritas each has you feeling loose and relaxed, but it isn’t like you’re not in control of yourself.

"It was really fun." Max sounds bewildered, as if he was surprised that having drinks with your co-workers, his co-workers could be a pleasant time. "I see why you like her." He still feels bad that he hadn't noticed it before, but he's trying to be there for you.

"Bars are girls?" You ask him, wondering why he gave a building a pronoun. Maybe it's one of those weird things like how cars and ships are female somehow.

"Nooooooo." He manages to giggle slightly, fully feeling the effects of the alcohol now. "Not the bar." He snorts and nearly trips over a piece of the sidewalk that has lifted up and he stumbles forward before straightening and looking down in bewilderment. "Kim."

"Did you not like her before tonight?" If he had disliked her you hadn't noticed, and that makes you feel a bit silly. But the silly might also be the couple of margaritas you had.

"No, I like her." He shakes his head, not willing to let you think he doesn't like your crush. "I think that she's nice. I see why you like her." He stresses. "I'm jealous."

"Why are you jealous?" That makes you frown very deeply, and your nose wrinkles. "She's just my friend." Not your best friend, or anything more -- like you've always considered him to be.

"I can't help it." Max hangs his head and his shoulders round slightly. "I will get past it. Support you."

"Stop." At the front door of your walk up, you swing around in front of him and put both hands on his shoulders, forcing him to stand a little bit taller and actually look at you. "What are you talking about? Support me how?"

"By being happy for you." He frowns and motions towards you like it should be obvious.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Your head drops and shakes animatedly, a pout turning down the points of your lips. "I'm fine, I guess? But I'm not...happy happy."

"Because you have not told her." Max nods, understanding and reaches out and takes your hand. "You must, otherwise you will live with regret. Like I do."

He isn't making any sense, but his large hand covering yours is warm and making you fuzzier than even the tequila had. "I should tell Kim that she's my friend?" You ask, trying to understand him. "She knows that already."

"No." Max winces and shakes his head. "You should tell her that...." he closes his eyes, in pain for the lost chance, or maybe the chance that never was. His unrequited heart aching. "That you love her." He whispers.

The swirling confusion that started at your toes and went all the way up to fogging your brain stops dead, and all of a sudden you're standing up - stone sober - in front of Max with a clarity that makes you feel more foolish than you ever have in your life. More foolish than the first time you ever met a lesbian, way back in college. "But..." you look at him with resignation in you somewhere. "I don't. I mean she's my friend and I love her platonically but...did you think I was gay this whole time?"

"You shouldn't have to hide it." Max swallows and opens his eyes. "I figured it out, it- it hurts because I know that my feelings would never be returned, and I wondered if I imagined the times you looked like you wished- it doesn't matter. All that matters is that I am your friend and I will be here for you. Be your friend, no matter if I am jealous."

If the last revelation hadn't instantly sobered you, this one certainly would. You're practically gawking at him in the middle of the sidewalk as people move around you in all directions. "What feelings?" You insist - demand - feeling your heart strangle in your chest so tightly it could rip into pieces.

His shoulders round again and he sends you a look that is a mixture of humiliation, apology and heartache. "Please don't- I had tried so hard to move on from you in college, to pretend that it didn't matter that you would never date poor Max." He chokes out. "You- you have been exactly like you were in high school, of course my infatuation with you came back."

"Is this some kind of joke?" You never thought that Max would be cruel enough to pull a practical joke this personal on you, but your hands retract and you cross them over your chest like a very poor set of armor. "If it is, it's mean, and I never thought you were mean. But pretending you had a crush on me when I've spent my entire life in love with you is just cruel."

Max frowns, unsure of what you mean when he has just told you his feelings, but he swallows harshly. "I- I didn't- I'm sorry." He gulps, having completely missed your confession of love. "I know you don't - it's - I can't help it. You have always been the girl I wish I kissed that night at prom." He murmurs quietly, shoulders slumping even more and he turns to walk away, sure that you want nothing to do with him now.

It's too much to process and yet your mind gets through it at lightning speed. Fast enough with your reflexes to throw yourself through the other door of your apartment building and end up in front of him, your body is reacting a lot faster than you can even tell it to. He's barely inside the lobby before you're in front of him, and both of your hands hit his chest at the exact same time. Grasping the collar of his shirt to bring him down to you, this is the moment of boldness that all missed opportunities has been building to. If you miss this, you miss everything. And unlike prom, there is no dj to interrupt you this time when you pull him down to you and press your lips to his.

The alcohol and the melancholy fade instantly and his eyes widen, his groan of surprise loud against your lips but he doesn't pull away. He can't. Not when he has you pressed up against him and kissing him. His arms snake around your body and he pulls you close, deepening the kiss and feeling you melt against him.

It seems completely impossible for this to be happening, but he has deepened the kiss instead of pushing you away, letting you slide your tongue along the seam of his lips and inviting you inside the map the contours of his mouth the way you've dreamt of ten thousand times. Your hands clutch each other inelegantly, holding on for dear life, but you don't care how awkward it looks from the outside - you've been waiting for this moment for more than twenty years.

All he can think of is you. How you sound, how you taste. So much better than his imagination twenty years ago and even just today. Unable to believe that this is real as he fulfills a fantasy he never thought he would get to have.

In true city-life fashion, what breaks you apart is not a lack of enthusiasm, but the grumbling of a loud neighbor who shouts, "Get a room!" As he storms out the front door with his arms thrown up in disgust, as though two people kissing is the most offensive thing he has seen in his entire life.

Max flushes and looks back at you, wondering how you feel about the kiss that was just shared and his heart is pounding in his chest. “I- what was that?” He asks, unable to stop the goofy grin from spreading across his face.

"It's what I wish I had done in high school," you admit, the adrenaline making your heart beat wildly in your ears as you seem to vibrate in place. "What I wish I had done every single day. I was scared my whole life, Max. But then I finally said it and you didn't hear me and that scared me more than anything else in the world. That I could have told you and you still didn't know."

“You- you like me?” He asks dumbly, shaking his head and points to himself. “Me?”

"Yes, you." But since Max has had as terrible a time believing in his own self-worth as you have, there is no bite to your insistence. "Since well before senior year, if I'm honest. But courage isn't my strong suit."

“I- you don’t like Kim?” He frowns in confusion and closes his eyes. “Me. You like me. You’ve liked me.” He repeats softly. “Why?”

"Because...even though we were different we had important things in common. We had a whole town and our own families telling us to give up on our dreams and we worked our way up from the dirt. Both of us. You're...you're so smart, Max. And so much sweeter than you have ever given yourself credit for. And unbearably handsome, even when we were teenagers and everyone was some kind of gawky and awkward. You just...you made me want to be a better, stronger person." You shrug slightly, suddenly feeling self-conscious all over again, and shove your hands back in your pockets. "I always thought if I learned enough about the world and showed you I could be as smart as you that you might...you might think I could be more than just your friend. But when you came home from college you would always tell me about other girls and I just...I figured that if I had ever had a chance, I lost it on prom night."

“I didn’t think I had a chance.” Max admits quietly. “Believe me, I wanted you. You were just always way too good for me.” He shrugs his shoulders and shoves his own hands in his pockets. “I was lying about the girls. No one was talking to me. Not until Genji. I was trying to impress you, but you just seemed to be okay with it, so I thought you were just my friend.”

“I just wanted you to be happy,” you murmur, wishing you had been better at seeing the signs or braver about asserting your own desire. “Even if it was with someone else…even if it broke my heart.”

“I wish I had told you how I felt. Alistair could have been ours together. But I would not have wanted you to leave me like Genji.” Max murmurs.

“I wouldn’t have left.” He may not believe you, but it’s true. Some people would probably call you blind with devotion. Maybe it is? Who knows. “When you were up there…Doing your broadcast?” The breath you let out is shaky at best. “I just kept wishing you could hear me. That that might make a difference to you somehow…I guess it didn’t work.”

Max frowns slightly and tilts his head. “What was I supposed to hear? There was one voice in my head that kept telling me to be happy.”

“To remember your happiness?” You look up at him with such hope that it is almost too much, but you can’t help it. “Maybe it was conceited of me. Or desperate. I just wanted you to remember that people love you as you are.”

“To remember my happiness.” Max nods. The influx of emotions and wishes were much more than he had anticipated and it seemed to jumble together at one point but that voice stood out. “That is...something I am working on.” He admits quietly.

"If that isn't me...or you don't want to..." Looking around reminds you that you are very much in public still and you press your lips together nervously. "Maybe we should talk about this upstairs?"

“Upstairs. Yes, upstairs.” He glances around and flushes slightly. “We should talk upstairs. And I can let Señora go home. Alistair should be asleep.”

When you make it up to his apartment, Señora Ramos is watching a movie on tv without a care in the world. Alistair apparently tired himself out reading an hour ago and all has been quiet since.

“So-“ as soon as the door closes behind Señora Ramos, Max is nervous and claps his hands together. Feeling vulnerable now that you know everything. “Do you….want….” He looks around. “A drink! Do you want a drink?”

“Maybe just water.” After the amount you both had earlier, and what you have to talk about, you want a chance to clear your head.

“Water is good.” He agrees, bobbling his head and rushing towards the small, galley style kitchen that he was lucky to have. Some apartments didn’t even have a kitchen.

“Max…” Leaning against the counter, you take down two glasses and slide them over to him. “You don’t have anything to be nervous about.”

“Sure I do.” Max snorts, opening the freezer to grab the ice tray. “It’s not like you tell the girl you’ve had a crush on since you were twelve that you thought she was a lesbian.”

“I’m still wondering why you thought that.” Mostly out of curiosity, of course. Though the news that he’s liked you as long as you’ve liked him is both satisfying and a little bittersweet. You could have had something so long ago if just one of you had been brave.

“You said that Kim is the person that you most enjoyed, you never talk about any men, now or back in school.” He shrugs, mildly embarrassed. “I know that people have been….more open….than they were back when we were close. Maybe…I don’t know, maybe I thought it made sense.”

“I never talked about boys I liked to you because I’ve always liked you.” It isn’t exactly an easy thing to admit to him, but the cat is very much out of the bag at this point. “Kim has been my closest friend for a long time. I absolutely adore her. But my love for her isn’t romantic. She’s like the sister I never had.”

"I am foolish." Max hangs his head and sighs. "I am sorry." He murmurs quietly.

“Please don’t be.” Stepping cautiously closer to him in his little kitchen, you take the glass of water he hands you and have a sip. “If you hadn’t thought so, you might not have said anything. And then we never would have come clean.”

He hadn't looked at it that way and he bites his lip as he watches you. "What do you want?" He asks softly, still irrationally fearful of rejection, but also hopeful.

It’s a vague question, but the context is so specific. Specific enough that you are shocked he feels the need to ask, but grateful that he isn’t simply assuming. “Ideally?” You ask, and wait for him to nod shyly. “I want what I’ve always wanted. To be with you. But I understand if that’s too much to ask.”

"I- you know that people hate me, no?" He asks, scrunching up his brows. "Mi amor, it would be hell to be with me. Are you sure that is what you want?"

It isn’t a trick question, but you put down your water after another sip and hoist yourself up to sitting on the edge of the counter. “I want you to respect me. To love me and treat me well, and listen to my day regardless of whether it was good or bad. I want you to trust me and talk to me and confide in me and be silly with me. I don’t give a damn what anybody else thinks of you. Be a good partner to me and I’ll be one to you, and that’s all that matters.”

"I do respect you." He promises. "I wasn't a good partner, not to Genji, but I want to be one. I will be one for you." He knows that he has made mistakes, but he feels like he won't make them again. His ideas for success have changed and as long as he can take care of his son and provide him with a happy, safe childhood, he will consider himself blessed.

"Then that's all I need to know." The shy smile on your lips tips up the corners of your mouth and you shrug guiltily. "Almost all." You admit when he gives you an incredulous look. "I also kinda want to know if you meant it when you called me amor a second ago..."

His eyes widen when he realizes his slip of the tongue and his tan complexion darkens further as he flushes in embarrassment. He hadn't meant to say it, but it was something that he thought often. "Yes." He admits quietly, but his shoulders don't round. "I did."

“Then that’s all I need to know.” You know your cheeks are burning but you truly don’t care. This is more than half a lifetime of pining coming to a head right now and you are so unbelievably touched that you aren’t the only one that has held onto the flame this long. It makes it special in a very unconventional way - as if you were being rewarded somehow.

He doesn't quite understand what you might be thinking but he nods. "Yes." He murmurs, wondering what he could say right now that would be interesting and flirty.

“So…” You shift slightly on the counter and tilt your head at him. “Are you sure you want to be with me, then?”

Max has had to bluff his way through many meetings, promising things that he couldn’t give the men who wanted to invest with him, or were thinking of investing with him. He doesn’t use that smarmy, painted on charm to reassure you. This time, it’s his own thin courage that has him stepping closer and reaching out to hold onto your waist as he steps closer again. “Yes.” His voice breaks softly from how low it dips. His lips curving up slightly. “Very sure.”

"Better late than never, right?" The warmth of his hands seeps through your clothes, waking up every inch of your skin and making you sit up a little straighter as he comes closer. That little smile of his is contagious.

“Only a lifetime of regret and enough stories to fill a book.” Max snorts.

"Some things are good enough to slog through all the hell for," you remind him softly. "It gave you Alistair."

“It brought me back to you. As well.” He reminds you, smiling at the thought. “But I want to do something else right now.”

"Oh you do, do you?" There is a distinctly boyish - maybe even mischievous - expression on his face that you've never seen before and it works for him. "What would that be?"

“I want to kiss you.” He admits, leaning in and his eyes flicker to yours. “Can I kiss you?” You had kissed him before, so he wants to do this.

It's beyond you to not be excited about it, even more than a little giddy as you nod and let your legs naturally slide apart to make a place for him to stand between them at the counter. "As much as you want."

He steps forward again, this time fitting himself in the space you allocated for him and leans in more, pressing the evidence of his desire against your belly as he cups your cheek and drops his lips onto yours.

The first press is soft but sure, and you almost startle feeling him press so obviously against you, but it is delicious. Instead of drawing away or jumping back or politely pretending not to notice, you lean in that much more surely and trap his hard on between both of your bodies. You may not have soaked through your panties just yet, but the heat rolling off of you is unmistakable. as unmistakable as your enthusiasm for kissing him again.

Groaning, he’s happy you don’t push him away. Instead you’re pulling him closer and his arms are wrapping around you to deepen the kiss.

Your knees bracket his hips, holding him tight against you and letting yourselves get lost in the moment. It's slower this time, deepening less frantically but no less ardently. Twenty years of wanting from both of you is being poured into this moment and you'll be damned if you're going to rush it.

He doesn’t try to push this beyond a kiss, although he aches to. He has no idea how long he leans into you, making out with you as if you are teenagers again.

No one could accuse either of you of a lack of enthusiasm. If you had not already been sitting on this counter you might have swept everything off of it just to get him to sit you here, enjoying what easy access you have to all of the most important parts of him. Access that - despite the fact that you have absolutely soaked through your panties and probably your pants as well - you don't know if you should be taking. Pulling yourself back from the edge of control and catching your breath is tricky, but you focus your eyes on him and feel your heart skip that all-important beat. "Max..." As much as you want to whine, your voice pitches down to be soft and rasping. "Is it too fast to ask if I can touch you?"

He’s conflicted. Not because he thinks it’s too fast, but he’s still coming to terms with the idea you want him. “You-“ he clears his throat when his voice breaks again. “You can do whatever you want to me.” He answers honestly.

"Then we should not stay in this kitchen." The grin you flash him is mischievous but oh so promising, and your hands slide up his shoulders to let your fingers just touch the trim edge of his hair. "Take me to bed, Max."

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Maxwell Lord #Max Lord #Maxwell Lord x you #Maxwell Lord x reader #Maxwell Lord x female reader #Maxwell Lord x f!reader #WW84 #Wonder Woman 1984 #The One That Got Away #high school crush #friends to lovers

195 notes · View notes

slaymitchabernathy · 2 months

Text

Field Mouse

District Twelve is filled with rats. Vermin. Infested in fact. That's the first thing Coriolanus Snow learns when he gets off the train at the station. At night he tries to soothe himself to sleep by telling himself that by all technicality, he's sleeping in the cleanest place there is in this sad excuse for a District.

Not that the Peacekeeper base is top tier. Because it's not.

His penthouse on the Corso is top-tier. But here he was, sweating as he loaded crates and barrels onto trucks in the sweltering heat of June. "Got here right in time Gent," his bunkmate Smiley jokes.

Coriolanus has to withstand the urge to roll his eyes at his friend's playful jest. There is nothing right about him being here. There is nothing good about District Twelve. There is nothing worth visiting District Twelve for and...oh.

Well, what does he have here?

Coriolanus had almost forgotten that women inhabited this part of Panem. It doesn't mean they're pretty, but they all share that one special thing between their legs and that's good enough for him.

His other bunkmate Beanpole takes notice of the change in Coriolanus's demeanor and nudges him, "We're going down to the Hob tomorrow night. You should come, meet the locals." He wiggles his eyebrows as he says the last part and Coriolanus grins. "Sounds like a plan."

If he were in the Capitol, he would've put a lot of time and effort into his appearance. He would've made sure his shirt was free of any wrinkles, that his shoes weren't scuffed, that his curls were styled just the right way.

But he's not in the Capitol. His shirt consists of the uniform every Peacekeeper is given when they arrive at the base. His shoes are heavy-duty boots, and he gets yelled at if his laces are undone. And his golden, precious curls are gone. Shaved off before he even left the Capitol.

He runs a hand through his buzzed hair as they all step into the Hob. According to Smiley, it's some sort of black-market the locals have put together. The Peacekeepers normally turn a blind eye since it's one of the only places you can get alcohol for a decent price, along with a good time with a girl.

Coriolanus surveys the room for a moment, locating all the exits and entry points. It seems there's one way in and one way out. A major fire hazard but who cares? "Let's get some drinks," Smiley shouts into his ear. It's loud in here, and it smells a little but Coriolanus nods, everything's more tolerable when you're drunk.

They get some drinks from a vendor who's running the bar who eyes them wearily until Smiley produces some coins. Then they're welcomed customers. "Folks around here are a bit scared off by us," he explains to Coriolanus, tugging on his blue shirt, "they can spot the uniform from a mile away."

Coriolanus was always able to identify the Peacekeepers in the Capitol, but he doesn't tell Smiley that. Peacekeepers were a beacon of security and safety to Capitol citizens. Here, they're practically terrorists.

It's like a sudden silence falls over the room before a girl comes scampering out onto the makeshift stage they have set up in the Hob, and she's hollering about all sorts of things. Coriolanus doesn't really pay her any mind, or the other's that join her and strike up a tune. Live music is always appreciated so he keeps on talking to Smiley about when he thinks Hoff might stop making them carry hundreds of crates back and forth from the base.

Coriolanus has always been perceptive, and that's how he spots a small disturbance in the crowd. It's between a girl and a guy and the two are arguing about something with such passion. Well, the guy is at least. The girl won't seem to give him the time of day as she pushes her way through the crowd that seems to make way for her, but not for him.

It's hard to make out her face in the dim lighting, but she looks pretty. Well, pretty for a girl in the Districts. She's making her way towards him. Towards the bar most likely. As they get closer Coriolanus can make out more of what the guy is saying.

"...didn't mean it! You know I would never get with her, you're the one for me Soarynn."

Soarynn. What a pretty name. And the closer she gets he can see that she's very pretty. Coriolanus decides that he'd be chasing her too if she was running away from him.

She finally reaches the bar, not sparing any Peacekeepers a glance as she goes to order. She doesn't get far before the guy grabs her arm and pulls her back. Coriolanus tightens his grip on his drink. He hates District people all the same, even if they're pretty girls. But there's just something about a guy bothering a girl that he hates.

"I didn't cheat so stop walkin' away from me!" He cries, frustration written all over his grimy face. Soarynn pulls her arm from his grasp, "I don't care what you did or didn't do, we're over Billy Taupe. Go find some new girl to follow around." She tries to step back but this Billy Taupe is relentless and clearly drunk because he goes to grab her waist. Soarynn doesn't hesitate to slap him across the face and several people let out low whistles at the public fight.

Coriolanus shakes his head and focuses back on Smiley, figuring the argument is over now that she's shown him a thing or two. So when he watches from the corner of his eye as Billy Taupe grabs her by the hair and starts screaming bloody murder, he's the first to react and leap to action.

She looks so scared in his grasp, trying to get away and Coriolanus doesn't hesitate to grab the drunk by the shoulders and pull him back. Soarynn manages to get out of Billy Taupe's grasp and watches wide-eyed as Coriolanus turns him around and socks him across the face.

Now it's a fight.

There's yelling from both sides, miners and Peacekeepers alike as Coriolanus punches Billy Taupe again. He tries to fight back and manages to snag him in his lip, but he's no match for Coriolanus who's much taller and more sober. Coriolanus lands one more punch, watching as blood gushes from Billy Taupe's nose.

The Hob is buzzing with noise now, people are screaming and arguing while the two boys are now on the floor. Even though he can barely hear himself think, he grabs Billy Taupe by the collar, pulling him off the ground, "Don't ever touch her again," he spits out before letting go of that sorry excuse of a person.

It's Beanpole who's pulling him off the ground, saying how they need to leave before backup gets here. The crowd makes it hard to move in any direction but they don't seem to be too mad at him. He gets some dirty looks but that's about it. Coriolanus only glances behind him once to see Soarynn looking right at him, her eyes wide and watching as he leaves.

The boys clap him on the back as they walk back to the base, "You sure-handed his ass to him," Beanpole laughs, "thought we'd never get you off of him."

Coriolanus shrugged, his lip had a small cut on it, which meant bruise, swelling, the whole nine yards really.

"I was just doing my job."

꧁ ꧂

He's felt someone's eyes on him since they pulled into the town square. But Coriolanus can't seem to find who's watching him. They're loading crates, again. It seems that the newer Peacekeepers are tasked with all the grunt work no one wants to be bothered with.

"Take a break!" The commanding officer yells, wiping sweat off his own brow before walking into the nearest establishment for reprieve which just so happens to be the bakery. Coriolanus watches him for a moment, his eyes scanning the bakery windows and then he sees her.

Sees those eyes.

Soarynn's eyes widen momentarily before a small smile spreads across her lips and she walks away from the window. Coriolanus looks around to see if anyone else notices her but everyone's too caught up in their misery with the heat to even look at him. Beanpole and Smiley are leaning up against the truck so he decides to stray from the group, do some recon if you will.

He can't go into the bakery, not with the officer still inside. But he can peek in, try and see her. He's walking by the alley when he hears a whistle. His head snaps towards the narrow road in between the barkey and another establishment but he sees nothing. In the movies he's seen this is the part where you run in the other direction.

He goes into the alley.

He walks further and further, passing by a small gate when a hand reaches out and grabs him. Coriolanus nearly jumps out of his skin when he's pulled to the side, his hand immediately going for his gun when he looks down and sees that it's her.

It's Soarynn.

She smiles up at him, her hand still on his arm, "Hi."

Coriolanus raises his eyebrows before replying, "Hello. Is there a reason as to why you lured me into this alley?"

Soarynn laughs and it sounds so sweet, sweet like honey. "I wanted to thank you for the other night. You were real noble saving me from the likes of Billy Taupe."

"Is he your boyfriend?" Coriolanus blurts out, watching her face slightly falter as if she's deciding whether or not to tell him the truth. "He was," she says slowly, swaying back and forth on her heels, taking her hand off his arm, "then I caught him cheatin' on me."

Coriolanus can't help the look of surprise on his face, out of all the women he's seen in District Twelve, Soarynn is by far the prettiest. "Why would he cheat on you?" He asks, "Doesn't make sense to cheat on a sweet girl like you."

Soarynn grins, tilting her head, "Boys will drop a shiny coin to pick up a pebble sweetheart, just the way it is." She looks him up and down then, taking in his current state, hot and sweaty. He must look very handsome right now. "They got y'all workin' hard with those crates. Been watchin' you all morning."

Coriolanus isn't used to this, how forward this girl is with him. In the Capitol, it's all about soft giggles and practiced glances. But this girl is putting it all out there so he might as well too. "You like looking at me?" He asks her, taking a step towards her. She doesn't back up. "Mhm. I like lookin' at pretty boys like you," she purrs, her fingers coming up to touch his dog tags, "especially pretty boys who come to my rescue." She grabs his tags, yanking him down until he's at eye level with her, she turns his tags in her fingers, not even looking at him.

For some reason, he finds that attractive. How she won't give him the time of day right now even though she's the whole reason he's in this alley.

She reads his dog tags, "Coriolanus Snow," she says, finally looking him in the eye and she looks rather impressed. "Eighteen years old, six-foot-two, Capitol born," she smirks at the last part. "I've never met a Capitol boy like you before. You miss home?" He doesn't miss a beat, "Yes." Soarynn laughs and nods her head, "I would too, especially if I ended up here."

She lets go of his tags but he doesn't rise to his full height, he stays down there with her. "Do you have a job?" She shrugs, "Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. Depends which way the wind blows I guess." Coriolanus bites his lip, his bruised lip and she notices, reaches out, and touches it without even asking, "Sorry about your lip. Billy Taupe can throw a nasty punch when he's angry."

Suddenly his stomach is in knots thinking about how she knows what it feels like to be punched by Billy Taupe. "He ever hit you?"

That seems to be the question that scares her off the most, he can almost see her putting her walls back up, "I'm not with him anymore. Don't need to worry about who he's punchin' or kissin' for that matter."

So he's hit her before. That's fine. Perfectly fine.

A sharp whistle pulls the two out of their tense little world and Coriolanus straightens back up, leaning out to see they're finally packing up and heading back to the base. "I'd like to see you again," he says, looking down at her. Her hair is parted down the middle, it's blonde and it looks so soft. Her tan skin is fairly clean and she's got these eyes he can't look away from. They're blue with a hint of gray. Freckles cover her face and her pink lips curl up into a smile, "You wanna see little old me again? After all the trouble I've caused you?" She asks, feigning surprise.

Coriolanus rolls his eyes and nods, "I'll take my chances." Soarynn hums, bouncing on her toes, "I'll be at the Hob this Friday. 'Course you can always come see me in the Seam." He furrows his brows, the Seam?

Soarynn giggles, "Oh so you're really new to District Twelve huh? I'll see you on Friday then. Coriolanus Snow." She slips something in his hand before she spins around, walking up two stairs and opening a door. He has no clue where it leads or where she's going but he's nodding and watching her leave.

It's only when he's sitting in the back of the truck that he looks to see what she gave him. It's a ribbon. Pink, silky, probably cost her a small fortune. Smiley looks over and his eyebrows raise, "Where'd you get that?" Coriolanus finds it incredibly rude of Smiley to insert himself somewhere he has no business being, but perhaps sharing this little secret will pay off in the end. After all, Smiley is much more knowledgeable about this place than he is at the moment. "That girl from the Hob," he says, his voice hushed, his fist curling around the ribbon.

Smiley grins, "Looks like she's being sweet on you if she gave you that. Must make you her hero or something since you saved her from that guy."

Coriolanus frowns because it makes perfect sense why Soarynn would like him and be so sweet to him. He protected her. He saved her. But he's a Peacekeeper. He's seen the way people look at him, at his friends, his bosses. All they see is Capitol dogs.

"But I'm a Peacekeeper," he points out, "she should hate me for what I do."

The truck jostles and Coriolanus knows they're back on base, and watches the gates close behind them. Home sweet home.

Smiley chuckles, "Sounds like she's one of those girls who has a thing for Peacekeepers. Some women love men with authority so we're the perfect fit for them, makes them feel like they're special."

Well, this was news to Coriolanus. He'd grown up hating District people and always assumed that they did the same. Which meant something must be really wrong with this girl.

The truck finally came to a stop and they hopped out, the ribbon still clutched in his hand. It was pretty, like her. And he didn't get a whole lot of pretty out here in Twelve, surrounded by sweaty, grumbling men.

Smiley bumped his shoulder with him, "They're like bees to honey with us, can't get enough.”

Everyone begins walking towards the mess hall. Cookie made something fried tonight from what he can smell and everyone wants a bite, but Coriolanus lingers behind.

Looking at that pink ribbon. It’s soft, it sure would look pretty in her hair.

“…like bees to honey…”

Those words play over and over in his head for the rest of the day, rest of the night. Surely he hasn’t misread the situation, her actions. She gave him that ribbon to remember her, so he’d think about her until they saw each other again. She even told him where she lived! Kind of. Sort of. Maybe.

“Hey Beanpole,” he says, not moving from his position on his bunk. They have an hour of free time before its lights out and Coriolanus has been using it to mull over his possibilities with Soarynn.

“Yeah, Gent?”

Coriolanus debates how much he should ask, how much he should tell. Because at the end of the day, he’s here to work, to suffer, to serve. Hoff hasn’t directly said they couldn’t be in relationships but he has a feeling that they’re rather frowned upon. Especially with new recruits. Especially with District girls.

“Where’s the Seam?”

The laugh he gets from Beanpole makes him wonder if it’s so obvious. Clearly, there aren’t big signs in town pointing in every which direction but still, it seems to be a valid question.

“The Seam is the south side of nowhere my friend. It’s rock bottom.”

Oh, so she’s poor.

Or her family is poor at least which makes her poor. If only he could take her back with him to the Capitol, show her true wealth.

“I’ll point you in the right direction when we stop by town tomorrow,” his bunkmate offers. Coriolanus thanks him before rolling over in his bunk, staring at the wall. This is a bad idea, he thinks. But what’s the worst that can happen? A little heartbreak never killed anybody.

Right?

꧁ ꧂

“Just keep walking down that road and you’ll reach the Seam,” Beanpole said, giving Coriolanus a pat on the back like he’d need it.

Coriolanus nodded and soldiered on towards the Seam, a bag of ice clutched in his hand. It took some convincing from Cookie, but he managed a decent-sized bag, figuring Soarynn might enjoy some ice. The further he walks the more he realizes why Beanpole wished him luck. The Seam is where poor, poor, poor people live.

The houses can barely hold themselves together, the roofs are sagging, the grass is dead, the fences are leaning and Coriolanus is about to start running.

But he can’t.

He needs to be a man, a better man. At least a better man than Billy Taupe which shouldn’t be hard since he hits his girlfriend.

Ex-girlfriend, Coriolanus reminds himself as he comes across a man working on his front fence. The man looks normal enough until Coriolanus asks him for directions and he realizes the man is missing his two front teeth.

“I’m looking for a girl,” he starts and the man lets out a wheeze, slapping his knee. “Aren’t we all?” He asks, throwing his head back. Coriolanus sighs, leave it to him to ask this absolute nut job for directions. “Her name is Soarynn,” he continues, “she said she lives in the Seam.” That seems to sober the man up long enough to think, “Oh the blonde girl,” he snaps his fingers, “she lives at the end of the road.”

Of course, she does.

Coriolanus thanks the man before continuing his trek to her house. It’s positively sweltering and he’s glad he had forgone the long-sleeved part of his Peacekeeper uniform. Today it’s the pants and the white shirt. Simple. He’s hoping for handsome but his sweat isn’t helping.

When he finally reaches her house he’s passed a number of people on the street, all looking at him strangely as if he’s the odd one out. Shouldn’t these people be working? No wonder this country was such a mess.

Soarynn’s house is gray but that seems to be a recurring theme in the Seam. It looks to be about two stories although he wouldn’t try the second floor if he was smart. There’s a rickety porch and he cautiously makes his way up the steps and knocks on the door.

There’s the chance that no one’s home. With his luck, her dad will answer the door.

When the door opens he almost wishes it was her dad answering. It’s a boy. His age, brown hair, tan skin, shirtless. They’re about the same height and they immediately size each other up because what else do teenage boys do?

Finally, the brown-haired boy smirks and looks over his shoulder, “Your pretty boy is here Soarynn.”

His heart beats a little faster at the nickname. One, because it’s a nickname and Coriolanus only has two other nicknames, Gent and Coryo. Both reserved for very different people. Two, because it means she’s talked about him since they last saw each other. It’s only been two days but still.

He can hear a bit of scuffling before Soarynn pushes her way to the front door, shoving the other boy back into the house, “Don’t make me get my earplugs,” the boy says to her. Soarynn looks up and shoots him a nasty look before jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow, “Go fishin’ Jett, and don’t tell no one either.”

Jett, it seems, simply holds his hands up before shooting Coriolanus one more look and disappearing into the house.

Coriolanus can feel his bottom lip twitching. Who was that? At first he feared the worst, that she might already be with someone else, but their dynamic doesn’t seem that way.

“My cousin,” Soarynn says as if reading his mind.

Coriolanus finally looks down at her and isn’t she just something? Her hair’s been thrown up in a messy bun, a few pieces falling out here and there. She’s wearing a dress with thin straps, it’s light blue and it looks like it’s been worn to death. He isn’t even trying to notice but she’s got no bra on and she doesn’t seem to care that he’s seeing her this way, so exposed right now.

“I thought I might never find this place,” he says, not wanting to expand on her cousin anymore if he can help it. Soarynn gives him a small smile and leans against the doorframe as if the house won’t fall over from her small amount of weight. “But you found me,” she tells him, some pride in her tone.

Coriolanus swallows, “I did.” He looks into the house to see if he can find anyone else but it seems to be empty. Soarynn catches him looking because she seems to notice everything and straightens back up, “Why don’t we go to the meadow?”

The meadow? A possibly desirable place in this wasteland?

“Sounds good to me.”

꧁ ꧂

Soarynn doesn’t wear any shoes when they go to the meadow. It’s quite literally right behind her house which makes it easier, but still. What if she stepped on something or got bit? She doesn’t seem to care.

She leads him to a large oak tree where there’s a rock under it, the perfect size for the both of them to perch on. At least that’s what she tells him.

“I come bearing gifts,” he says, settling down on the rock.

Soarynn tilts her head and pulls her knees up to her chest, “You don't say.”

Even though he’s sure she already saw it he makes a big show of producing the ice. It’s not even the satisfaction of knowing he provided for her that makes him happy, it’s the big smile that spreads across her face when she sees the bag.

“Well this is a gift good as any,” she says with a laugh, grabbing the bottom of the bag to feel how cold it is. “Y’all got ice on that Peacekeeper base?”

Coriolanus nods while untying the bag, offering her a cube. Soarynn simply opens her mouth and he doesn’t falter to drop the cube into her mouth, watching her work on it for a minute. “Thank you for the ribbon by the way. You didn’t have to give me a gift.”

Soarynn raises her eyebrows and looks out into the meadow, “Wasn’t much of a gift as it was a token. A token of my affection,” she states matter of factly.

Coriolanus grins, “Does that mean you might show me some affection today?”

Soarynn shoots him a flirtatious look, “Might show you somethin’ more if you keep it up pretty boy.”

That’s what he likes most about her he thinks, how she can dish as well as she can take it.

He wonders what else she can take.

“Have you ever been with a Peacekeeper before?” He asks, curious to see if Smiley is right and if he’s her third victim of the month. He’s sure there are girls like that, finding some new boy the second their old one gets shipped off to some new District.

Soarynn bites her lip, “Been with a Peacekeeper in what way? Sexually?”

Well, he hadn’t meant that but there’s no going back now he supposes, “In any way shape, or form,” he decides, popping two ice cubes into his own mouth. He doesn’t suck on them like Soarynn does like she’s trying to savor them because she doesn’t know the next time she’ll get ice. He can get as much ice as he damn well pleases back at the base.

“Nope, y’all aren’t really my type,” she says with a smile, gigging when Coriolanus gasps as if offended. “But you’re here with me,” he points out, “and why aren’t we your type?”

Soarynn pretends to think for a second before answering, “I like boys with longer hair.”

Oh, that hurts. If only he could show her how long his curls used to be. She’d be on him in seconds if she knew.

��Well, I didn’t get much say in the matter. Have you ever cut your hair?”

Soarynn shakes her head, her nose slightly wrinkling as if the very thought of it is repulsive. “Never cut it. Some women are superstitious about cuttin’ their hair, I just never had the urge to do it. Plus if I ever did have to cut it to sell it, I’d like to get my money's worth.”

Is this what it’s come to in the Districts? Cutting hair to sell it? Who wants to buy hair?

Coriolanus takes another good look at Soarynn. It’s hard to imagine her hair chopped to her shoulders but he thinks she’d look pretty still. She’s got the right face shape for it and her jaw juts out in just the right way. His eyes wander down her small, slender frame. If she was naked he’s sure she’d be all skin and bones, you can probably see how many ribs she has.

He remembers what that was like. Being poor and hungry. The worst two feelings in the world. But she seems happy as she gazes out into the meadow. Can’t miss what you never had he decides.

“You know, if you ever need money…I could help you out. Of help with whatever you need,” he says, already feeling like more of a hero to her.

Soarynn snorts and he frowns, what’s so funny? When she sees his expression she laughs even harder and shakes her head, “You don’t need to be my hero sweetheart. I really appreciate it but I don’t want your money.”

Well, then what does she want?

Coriolanus scratches the back of his neck, “Is there anything you from me then?”

He’d sure hope so. Here he was with this girl out in the middle of nowhere when he could be back on base with cool air blowing all around him.

Soarynn peered up at him through her long eyelashes, “I can think of a few things,” she mumbles with a grin.

At least they’re somewhat on the same page now.

Coriolanus doesn’t hesitate to lean in, his hand cupping her face as his lips press against hers. Her lips taste like sweet syrup and she smells like vanilla. Soarynn’s hands rest on his biceps, slightly squeezing them. His training has given him muscles he’s never seen before and he’s not complaining.

He drops the bag of ice to grab her waist with his other hand, his palm pressing into the back of her spine through her dress. Soarynn sighs into the kiss, one of her hands coming up into his hair, carding her fingers through it. She smiles against his lips, “Might just make an exception for you and your buzzed hair,” she mumbles. He pulls her in closer, wishing he could crawl into her skin and never let her go.

Soarynn isn’t the first girl he’s kissed and he doubts she’ll be the last. But right now she’s the only one who matters, the only person that matters here in District Twelve. Besides him of course.

He gets her to lie down on the rock, propping himself over her while they explore each other’s mouths. She’s so soft and sweet, and small, he likes how much bigger he is compared to her. How he could break her in half if he really wanted to.

They’re much more handsy once she’s lying down. Her hands slip under his white shirt, her fingertips tracing over his sculpted abdomen sending shivers down his back. Coriolanus presses one more kiss to her lips before kissing down her jaw, peppering her neck with kisses while his hand slips onto her thigh. He should probably ask if she’s okay with this, if she wants more, wants less. If she’s a virgin.

Probably not.

A girl like her knows a thing or two about men and their sexual urges.

His hand slips under her dress and he can feel the fabric of her panties. They’re probably old, well-worn, maybe the only pair she owns. Who knows what they can afford out here in Twelve.

Just as his hand is slipping under the fabric of her panties, a hissing sound pulls Coriolanus from his lustful haze. He glances to the right and nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees a snake has slithered its way onto the rock.

“Shit,” he swears, getting off of her so they can both run. Soarynn’s eyes fly open, most likely confused as to why he’s stopped kissing her and she looks over to see the reptile currently threatening their lives. “Oh, hey there little fella.”

Coriolanus is on his feet within seconds, breathing heavily as he eyes the snake. Maybe he could shoot it, but he’d feel kind of bad killing an animal in front of Soarynn.

And Soarynn isn’t making any sudden moves to get off the snake rock. In fact, she grabs the snake. It slithers through her fingers and around her arms as if it’s her domesticated pet. She doesn’t even seem frightened by it. She looks up at him and gives him a small smile, “Don't need to run pretty boy, this here's a corn snake, all bark and no bite."

Coriolanus highly doubts that thing doesn't bite, nor does it bark but he relaxes slightly when he sees how calm the reptile is in her hands.

"Are there a lot of snakes out here?" He asks, suddenly feeling very exposed out here in this meadow with the tall grass, giving any other animals the perfect chance to attack him without him seeing them. Soarynn shrugs, "I guess. They're good for the rats though," she gives him a knowing look, "makes me real sad when they get the little field mice though. They don't cause no one trouble."

A field mouse he could deal with. He's dealing with one right now it seems.

Soarynn reminds him of a mouse. Small, harmless, easy to crush if need be. At the end of the day, they're still vermin no matter how cute they may seem.

Soarynn finally puts the snake back in the grass and watches it slither away before she slips off the rock and joins him, lacing her fingers with his, "Thanks for protectin' me," she jokes, standing on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.

Coriolanus manages to give her a sheepish look. It's not like he intended to abandon her, but she moved so slowly and she clearly didn't seem to have a problem with the snake. "Sometimes you've gotta let your girl handle her own battles," he responds cooly, giving her hand a squeeze.

Her eyes slightly widen before creasing upwards in a smile, "So I'm your girl then? Just like that?"

Had he already called her his girl? He hadn't meant to move so fast or really attach himself to her like this but she seemed alright and it never hurt to know some of the locals, have a spot where he could relax from his Peacekeeping duties.

And Soarynn was pretty. Very pretty. He hadn't gotten a good look at her under that dress but he was planning to and that meant keeping her around for a little longer. Besides, he wouldn't be in District Twelve forever. No. He planned on getting back to the Capitol one way or another to finish what he started. He'd have some fun for now and then get the hell out of here.

"Yep," he replies, "unless you're stringing along some other guy."

Nows her chance to come clean, to tell him if Billy Taupe isn't the only person he has to worry about because he'll be damned if he's being played.

Soarynn shakes her head, "Just you and me sweetheart."

| Part 1. |

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

52 notes · View notes