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raleighcarrera · 3 years

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hushed

the royal masquerade | hunter fierro x mc (juliet rosario)

hunter & juliet return to the library. for @trmaw 🖤

~2k words | E (18+)

“so...” hunter murmurs, the seriousness implied in the low tone of his voice betrayed by the way one corner of his mouth is lifted in an improper smirk, “this is the library.”

despite herself, she’s as charmed as ever by his absurdity. juliet huffs out a laugh under her breath, slowly shaking her head. “i can’t believe you’ve never stepped inside.”

“i was rather busy with a few other things.” his smirk widens. “plus, you know me. i’m not exactly one for being quiet.”

she hums, the sound bordering on the edge of disapproving. she knows exactly what hunter of house fierro has been doing instead of reading in the library. the reason they never crossed paths in her past is because before her, hunter spent most of his free time bedding the women who’d followed him around town, ignoring the signs that his sister was capable of murder and plotting behind his back.

the expression on his face remains perfectly innocent even as her eyebrows arch at him disapprovingly. “right,” juliet laughs finally, “of course. how could i forget?”

“you have a lot on your mind,” hunter answers graciously, his eyes sparkling. “of course i forgive you.”

“quite kind of you.” her hands remain folded in front of her as she inclines her head down one row of tomes. “this is where i spent most of my time. transcribing for the archives.”

“indeed,” hunter hums, stepping up beside her to squeeze her hand before continuing down the row of the archives, looking every bit the king regent he no longer is. despite the fact that the title has eluded him, there’s something about hunter that will always look regal, the tilt of his shoulders and the cut of his clothes simply screaming status.

she follows behind him, eyes scanning the titles they pass. it’s been a long time since she’s been in the library, but the smell of the dusty old manuscripts she spent so many hours meticulously logging stirs up a host of unpleasant memories that threaten to take her over. she can still feel the phantom rap of a ruler against her knuckles when she’d dozed off, the ache of hunger in her stomach when it’d been an entire day of writing with no breaks for food.

“juliet?” the sound of her name startles her from her stupor, and she shakes her head, moving to meet up with hunter where he’s stopped halfway down the aisle. “are you alright?”

“just lost in a memory,” she murmurs, lips lifting up into a smile. just the sight of him brightens her spirits, the affection in hunter’s eyes a welcome reminder that her reality is different, now.

they’ve come so far.

as if reading her mind, hunter lifts her knuckles to his mouth to brush a tender kiss against her fingers, shooting her a look of love from under lush lashes. her smile widens into something more genuine.

“perhaps we should work to give you a more positive memory of this room,” he suggests, glancing over his own shoulder.

juliet blinks at him. “what do you mean?”

the expression on hunter’s face transforms, from sweet to wicked in a matter of moments. his hand slides around her waist to pull her closer, until they’re nearly nose-to-nose in the archive stacks.

it’s then that she understands what he must mean, and she feels heat rush to her face in embarrassment, as though someone’s already caught them acting untoward.

but there’s no one around as far as she can see; the library is empty. it’s a beautiful afternoon, and she knows mostly everyone is outside taking advantage of the weather. they’re the only two people hidden away in the library, though the sudden sound of her racing pulse feels so loud she wonders how it hasn’t attracted anyone else yet.

“you can’t be serious,” juliet hears herself say, distantly. it feels like the appropriate thing to say. they can’t possibly...

“oh, i’m very serious,” hunter assures her, his hand warm at the small of her back where he’s rubbing soothing circles into her skin above her dress. “it’s only logical.”

her hands come to rest on his shoulders as hunter beckons her closer. “how do you figure?”

“the library was cruel to you. i’ll be generous to make up for it.” she can feel the fabric of her skirt shift as hunter’s free hand ever-so-slowly pulls at the fabric. “what do you say?”

in response, juliet turns her head and kisses him before she can think too much about it, brushing her lips against his gently, at first, and then more eagerly when hunter kisses her back.

there’s at least a thousand reasons why they shouldn’t be doing this -- not here and not now -- but she finds she can’t be bothered as she considers hunter’s logic and decides he’s ultimately right.

the library took so much from her. many of her most hopeless moments occurred in this very room. it’s hard to find a dark corner of the library she hadn’t stowed away in to cry at one point or another, so if she’s able to kiss her betrothed in the middle of the stacks, with sunlight streaming in through the grand, stained-glass windows, why shouldn’t she?

hunter’s movements are slow as his hand lifts her skirt up, higher and higher until it’s officially indecent for the library, laying her bare against the books. their kiss breaks so they can both draw breath, and she pushes up onto her tip-toes to lock eyes with him, back arching to press her body alongside hunter’s.

“you’re quite radiant, you know,” he comments absently as his fingers encircle her thigh, creeping around her leg to dance upwards. his tone is so conversational anyone browsing the records on the other side of the library would never imagine what they were doing, if they happened to overhear. “beautiful, really.”

“you think so?” juliet asks, her eyelashes fluttering. she can hear her breath growing embarrassingly quicker as hunter’s touch climbs higher and higher.

“of course,” hunter murmurs, eyes fixed firmly on her face. from anyone else, the staring might be unnerving, but when he’s the one looking at her, it’s hard to feel anything other than delight.

hunter is not shy about letting her know he is in her thoughts. he is the most forthcoming man she’s ever spoken to (not that he has much competition) and revels in showcasing his affections openly and honestly. he is romantic, in a way she’d never expected -- she often finds herself the recipient of flowers and surprise moonlight strolls and now, it seems, amorous breaks in the library.

yet he still catches her by surprise with his sweetness every time.

“i daresay a majority of the kingdom feels the same,” he continues. before she can challenge him, his fingers pause, parting her so the pad of his thumb can press in with an easy slide where she’s already wet. “you have many admirers.”

her laugh is breathless, the grip she has on his shoulders tightening. “quite a comment, coming from you.”

hunter’s answering chuckle makes her toes curl in her shoes. juliet forces her eyes open and her breath catches at the expression on his face, serious and wanting with intensity and gentleness both displayed in his eyes in equal measure.

his thumb circles her, catching just right where she’s most sensitive, the practiced movement of his fingers comforting, for their familiarity. hunter knows her. for someone like juliet, who went much of her life without that very basic comfort, their intimacy is everything. knowing she can rely on hunter to understand her, to take care of her, to treat her like he does...

it’s all she’s ever wanted and more.

“don’t be smart,” hunter chides, though the curve of his mouth seems to suggest he’s amused. his hand continues to move, which is all that matters, anyway, the brush of his thumb pressing into something more purposeful while his wrist angles just so.

“i can’t help it,” juliet murmurs, aiming for cheeky and landing somewhere very far off, her voice almost shy as she resists the urge to bury her flushed face in hunter’s shoulder. “hunter.”

“yes, darling?” hunter’s free hand, bunched in her skirt, jerks to urge her closer. as she moves, his fingers slip deeper, sending a shiver down her spine. “everything alright?”

his voice is teasing, and yet she can’t find the words to bicker back with him. she can’t find any words at all, actually, exhaling a sound that’s half-moan, half-sigh as hunter touches her so expertly. her eyelids flutter shut again.

hunter gives another soft laugh under his breath. “there you go,” he encourages, and she shudders again.

despite the fact that they’re so clearly the only ones in the library, she can’t quite bring herself to get loud, hushed out of habit and by the implication of where they are and what they’re doing. her teeth bite down on her bottom lip, yet they don’t stop another groan from escaping, louder this time against her best efforts.

the skilled stroking of hunter’s fingers is quick to make her head swim, so she’s grateful for the firm kiss he bestows against her lips when his head angles in. juliet relies on him to keep her upright, holding tightly to hunter’s broad shoulders while his touch never falters, relentless between her legs.

she rocks up onto her tip-toes, scrambling for purchase against him. often, they’re in bed together when they do this, and it’s rare that her legs are left trembling while she’s still vertical, save one or two memorable occasions in the bathhouse. this is sure to be an experience she’ll never forget, and she’s certain she won’t ever be able to look in the direction of the library again without recalling the expression on hunter’s face.

though there’s worse things, she supposes, as she watches him watch her so intently. hunter’s eyes never fail to make her feel desired, and especially now, only heighten her emotions as she climbs faster and faster to an edge.

“so beautiful, juliet,” hunter murmurs softly, gaze adoring where it’s set on hers. “stunning.”

his gentle encouragement is all she needs to tumble to pieces. with one last gasping inhale, she shakes apart against him, biting down hard on the inside of her cheek to try and keep herself quiet. pleasure courses through her in a rush, and she’s grateful for hunter’s solid presence at the shelves to help her through it, his touch coaxing a few more sighs from her lips before she eventually calms and goes still.

her chest rises and falls rapidly as she works to catch her breath, and when she’s finally able to open her eyes, juliet finds hunter smiling indulgently at her, the expression on his face suggesting he’s just observed some grand entertainment.

“you seem awfully pleased with yourself,” she mutters, lifting a hand from his shoulder to push her own hair back out of her face.

“wouldn’t you be?” hunter asks smugly, finally pulling his hand out from under her skirt. the fabric drops down to the floor, swishing back across her knees, and juliet presses her legs together, twisting to shift her undergarments back into place.

“i suppose,” she allows with a laugh, her own mouth curving into a grin as hunter moves to adjust his pants. he seems to know what she does, which is that they’ve already pressed their luck to its limits, being in here as long as they have. extending their time in the library any further seems to be asking for consequences.

still, hunter’s hands move to grasp her chin lightly between his fingers, and he draws her into a soft, slow kiss, lips meandering as though they have all the time in the world.

she relaxes against him, kissing back just as sweetly. it hardly matters if someone catches her now, after all. there’ll be no ruler whacked against her knuckles, this time. there’s no tomes to transcribe, no archives to maintain.

the sun continues to stream into the room through the stained glass, casting water colors in shadow across their bodies where they’re intertwined. hunter pulls back to smile at her and she mirrors his expression easily, her heart pounding with love --

with joy --

-- and with peace.

#trmaw #the royal masquerade #hunter fierro #hunter fierro x mc #myfic #long post #ns*w

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sopxhiea · 3 years

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Moirai

Alfie Solomons X Reader

Summary: The mysterious niece runs into Alfie in her uncle’s office and she expertly plays it cool until she’s pulled away by his strong grip and the night has more in store than she’s bargained for.

Warnings: Age gap.

Part 1

“Fine. You win.”

“Are you blushing or cold?”

The deep colored oak desk is illuminated by the sunlight coming through the open window, the room is quiet as dust gathers on the many shelves that decorate the place. The space is mostly filled with books, torn out old covers with faded colors and it’s obvious that the furniture around is aged except the large table that resides in the corner.

It stands out, much like you do.

A low tune plays from the record player in the office, next to the assistant’s desk as she types the day away. The boss is away in Birmingham, brushing shoulders with dirty faced gangster even though he’s very much one of them. There’s no chatter inside the walls today, nor the voice of the golden haired lady’s heels clicking against the hard surface.

The boss isn’t supposed to come back for another two hours.

The weather is chilly, grey sky bestowed upon the citizens around as the large coat you have on hugs you tight. Your uncle’s office is empty for the day, as far you know which means you’re more than welcome to stop by to get some work done. As much as the men around London despise the idea of a woman getting education, your uncle is aware of your potential.

The boots on your feet are meant for men, heavy and dense as you stomp away. The days are shorter due to the weather and it will get dark in a couple hours as far as you’re aware, but that doesn’t stop you from making an unwanted visit to your uncle’s office.

He’s a criminal with gold wrapped around his fingers. Not many are content with the men and even though he tends to get the approval of the higher class in London, it’s not hard to recognise the distaste the working class have for him. He’s a gangster, a good one at that.

He’s your family.

It’s not by choice, that much you accept. Years of being alone on end make him seem like an angel sorts, someone to rescue you from the hellhole you’d been in for the first seven years of your life. It looks different from the outside, you know that it does which makes you realise just how easy it is to trick people around here.

From the outside, you look like a pearl wrapped in cotton with flowers carefully placed around you. Most people do not approach you unless you make the first move, perks of having a powerful man as your only family. It’s easy to point out that your features belong somewhere else on the map and not the dirty roads of London.

You spare one last glance to the dim colored sky before barging into the building that your uncle redeems as his. Its walls are made of brick, one on top of the other that make up a three story building that occupies most of the side of the street its on.

It’s easy to recognise, Alfie thinks.

The sound of your heavy boots against the hard floor are easy to recognise but it’s too late for you to lighten your steps when Martha, your uncle’s trusted assistant, calls your name. You sigh then, a grunt leaving your mouth and you curse at yourself for being so careless for once.

Walking through the large corridor, you face the old lady as she looks at you through her smudged glasses. That color of pink on her lips is far too vibrant on her lips, you think as she sizes you up.

You’re not conventionally dressed but she’s used to your choice of clothing.

“Hello Y/N.” she speaks, her voice a little shushed when compared to normal but you’re too busy fixing your long dress to realise that there’s a reason for her quiet attitude.

You lift your head to look up at her again, no longer pulling at your dress as she gives you an uninterested look, the usual treatment. Your lips part, a playful smile on your lips but before you can let out a word, the door of the gathering space opens with a loud sound.

It’s him, you gather as you stare at his hat.

There’s gold on his fingers and a crown tattoo. It’s easy to recognise him, you think, his hat is peculiarly shaped and the rhythm of his steps is far too unusual for a normal person. There’s flour on his sleeves, the kind that looks like he’s been laying in it for a while.

His hat creates a shadow over his eyes so you miss the evident look of surprise in them but he’s quick to take it off. He’d been bothering Martha for a while, asking when the beloved boss would return since their deal was now ‘off’ due to a couple complications in the process.

When in fact, Alfie is directly betraying him.

He watches your eyes glisten as the sunset is bestowed upon the sky. Short strands of hair fall around your face from the braid, the braid that had your friend pulling at your hair for the entirety of breakfast. He finds himself to be too intrigued at the sight of you to actually speak but he’s fast to recover.

“’ello, lass.” he says, the words echo in your mind before you can answer. Martha isn’t daft, she catches onto the way you stare up at the man but before she can say anything, you speak with a plastered smile.

“Hello, Mr. Solomons.” your voice is soft against the air around as you look up at him. There’s mischief in your eyes mixed with a glint of innocence, the kind of thing that could easily mess a man of Alfie’s wrath.

You hadn’t gone the address he’d sent you.

It was easy to make up excuses: you were busy with school and simply swarmed with work. You ignored the heat rising to your cheeks and gave him your softest smile while Martha eyed the both fo you, it was obvious that whatever you and Alfie had was doomed from the start.

Your uncle was a sheltered man and had raised you the same way. No boyfriends until you wanted to marry someone, only talk to men your uncle had assigned you for protection and if you were to go out, you informed him a week before.

But he wasn’t as sharp as he liked to believe.

You did things that would simply torture the man, from sneaking out to man’s apartments to dancing intimately with strangers. The city was fun at night, when it was supposed to sleeping seemed to be the only time the groggy streets felt alive to you.

And through years of sneaking around and lying almost too expertly, no one knew what you did. You’d have a different fake name, a different set of friends and a whole new part of town each week so things didn’t get messed up. It was a perk of being closely related to a gangster of your uncle’s power.

Martha knew how intense your uncle was when it came to you making contact with men, let alone a known brutal man like Alfie so she stood up and smiled softly, threat evident in her eyes as she spoke to you under her breath.

“Why don’t you go to the office, dear?” she speaks through her teeth and Alfie couldn’t hear but your eyes don’t leave his, if anything this was highly amusing.

And you wanted to talk to the men.

“No, thank you. I think I’ll keep Mr. Solomons company while he waits for uncle.” you spoke, looking directly into Martha’s eyes while speaking in a tone that was loud enough for everyone to hear.

She doesn’t say anything, she just backs off.

As cautious as your uncle had been with you, there were two sides to the story. Behind closed doors, he would get mad at you and scold you as much as he could while remaining as gentle as possible but in front of those very doors, he’d have your back and protect you that made most people frightened. He was allowed to get mad at you since you were his niece, but that was a privilege only he had in his hands.

Much to Alfie’s surprise, you shoot him a smirk through the smile you had on and ignore the old assistant. He doesn’t flinch when your hand comes in contact with his arm but there is a wave of alarm in his eyes. He knows your uncle will have Alfie’s scalp in his hands if he doesn’t behave well around you, he’ll try anyway.

Soon, you both find yourself in the dusty room that your uncle so graciously gave you when you had asked for a place to do some work and reading. Standing in the middle of the room, you slowly take your coat off while Martha keeps the door open and mutters something under her breath about making some tea for you and the gentlemen you offered to entertain while he waits for business.

But you don’t ignore the elephant in the room since he’s already gawking at you. You stare back instead. The ghost of a smile pulls at the ends of your lips as his eyes reek over your body, he isn’t subtle to say the least. Glancing at Ollie through the open door, you watch him for a moment as he talks to Martha but your observations are cut short when you hear his voice.

“You ain’t visited me yet, aye?” he speaks, talking about the address he had sent you and you know you can take this two ways. You decide on the fun way.

He sits in front of the desk and you take the opportunity to lean on the wooden material and have a look at his features. He still looks as handsome, but you don’t give in that easily. You shake your head and he watches the ends of your dress move with the small breeze that comes in from the open door. For all you know, Martha is listening.

“Is that why you’re here?” you speak, words filled with something other than curiosity. Lust, he thinks. He sees the familiar glint of insanity in your orbs and he’s aware of the little game you’re playing behind your uncle but much like you, he isn’t keen on giving in so easily.

“Nah, just business.” he says, voice heavy as it fills the walls. You nod, a few times more than you should before getting comfy on the desk.

Your eyes glisten before you speak, so he has been waiting for you. Just no matter how interesting this rugged man seemed, there were certain lines you wouldn’t cross and going to an unknown address given by a stranger was one of the many lines you were taught to beware of.

Although it all worked out for the best.

The stranger that had invited you to the location was looking at you now, with hungry eyes for things he wasn’t able to have. You knew men like Alfie, ones who had a superiority complex or it seemed that way from the outside. The kind of men who got whatever they wanted since there was immense blood in their hands.

“So you waited then, hm?” you ask, eyes looking up and down his built figure as he stands before you, he had gotten up when you’d taken a minute to look out the door to see where Martha was since she was usually keen on listening.

“Seein’ as it’s my fuckin’ work place, yeah, can’t say I have, luv.” he speaks, talking about the peculiar address he’d given which you now realise was his work place.

So he could be trusted after all.

You sigh, this game is highly amusing for you. It’s easy to make up the lines of how this is going to go but it could go so wrong all of a sudden. You want it to, this stranger seems to be a kind one you wouldn’t mind getting under. His eyes watch as you lick your lips, not aware that he’s watching while he observes you in all your wrath since your uncle isn’t around here. Alfie can tell you’re a wolf in mere sheep’s clothing.

“Fine. You win.” You shake your head as you speak. You need to know whether this man wants the things you do, even though you’re sure he does. He’s not to be toyed around with and you recognise the blood on his hands for that matter.

He walks a little closer, close enough for your chest to be almost brushing his figure but he’s entirely too tall. You don’t glance up while your next words fill the air, voice soft to lure him into the fantasy you want to live, no matter how short lived it will end up being.

“What you want?” you ask, eyes looking up to meet his handsome face as he looks down at you in an expression you can’t quite solve. The question hangs around the air while the breeze from the open door gets a little strong.

He sees no reason to ponder around, he knows the old assistant will be around the corner with her peering eyes in a second and this will be the scarce moment he’ll have with you. He doesn’t beat around the bush anyway.

“Ya’ know what.” he says, easy as that and you do, now you’ve learned what he wants.

But it’s not so easy to get it.

It’s the forbidden fruit situation all over again, you know it is. He’s a man with power, the kind of authority that’s able to shake a grown man to his very own core. He has blood on his hands even though his golden beard contradicts the very image that’s created by everything about him. He knows he’s dangerous and so is this situation but you’re no forbidden fruit.

Your uncle has taken all kinds of measures to make sure you’re the best you can be. It’s not like you’re a regular citizen, it’s obvious in your features that you belong somewhere else in the map but there’s the kind of elegance that comes with your bloodline, excluding your uncle who happens to be a gangster.

You take a large step back from his built form, clearing your throat when Martha comes in with a tray in her hands. You see the look he’s giving you and she does, too. You know she’ll rat this out to your uncle but you’ve always made sure he stays on your side so you see no problem with it.

Offering the assistant the widest fake smile you can muster up, you wait until she leaves to speak. It’s a thin line you’re dancing on but it’s a familiar one to you which is why there’s a faint smile on your lips as you speak.

“I’ll let you get on with your business, since that’s all you’re here for, Mr. Solomons.” you speak, watching the way something along the lines of frustration and arousal come over him. You know he thought you’d let him have you against the desk, it seems like the plausible answer from any logical lady whom he’s offered the pleasure but he failed to see the silver lining. You don’t happen to be a logical lady.

He sees the devil behind your eyes and it brings a smirk to his face. It seems as though you’ll be haunting him for a while.

You hear Martha talk about uncle’s car being parked outside to Ollie and you get up at a slower pace than he’d expect and wear your coat over the dress again. You know there are manners your uncle has tried to teach you and covering up in front of a stranger is one of them, or so you think.

He watches as you walk towards the door, waiting like a little kid for your uncle. There’s a flip side to your coin, he gathers. The innocent little jewel who’s been protected all her life also happens to be dancing with the devil for a while, he can see it in your eyes.

You watch Alfie walk by, touching your waist gently when he has to pass by you to get through the door. You see the way his beard covers up his bothered face and since your uncle is about to arrive and have a meeting with him, why not rile him up further?

A childish smile finds your lips and you hold his arm as an attempt to make him look down at you so you see eye to eye, which works due to the unfamiliar sensation. He lifts his eyebrows, telling you to go ahead and speak and you do but you don’t realise your uncle has been watching your strange interaction with one of the most dangerous man you could find around here.

“Are you blushing or cold?” you speak, fighting giggles as you look up at the man. Alfie opens his mouth to say something but before he can greet your amused face with his playful words, you catch you uncle’s eyes. He clears his throat and you immediately let go of Alfie’s arm, smiling at the old man as he looks at you and Alfie.

Looking like a child caught red-handed, you offer your uncle a small hello but he’s dismissive of it. It’s unclear to you whether he’s in a mood or he saw something he shouldn’t have seen just now. Alfie seems unfazed as he looks down at your little, the devil behind your eyes long gone as you look at your uncle and then Alfie.

“Mr. Solomons..” your uncle speaks, not sparing a glance at you while his eyes size Alfie up. Your gaze moves to the large man next to you as he tips his hat at your uncle as a way of greeting him.

“Shall we start discussing the deal in my office?” your uncle asks but you know better than to assume it’s an invitation, it’s more of an order.

Alfie mutters something unintelligible and turns his gaze to you. You offer him a formal smile this time, everyone is watching so he figures it’s his time to make you blush.

He takes your hand in his and your eyes shoot up, you see your uncle watching hesitantly but Alfie is far too powerful for him to scold the man like he scolds you. Alfie’s plump lips come in contact with your hand as he kisses the back of it gently. A small smirk plays on his lips as you gather the game he’s playing.

“Always a pleasure, luv.” he says, finding his true self to be a gentlemen at the given moment as you stare at him with heavy eyes.

You smile then, the kind of smile that he’d remember when he went to bed at night. You know he’ll be waiting for you in the address he gave you the first time he met you from the way he’s behaving, he isn’t keen on giving up that easily this time.

The territory is familiar to you but it takes two to do this and the other player is foreign territory. A gangster, someone with blood on their hands as it grips the golden rings around his calloused fingers. It perks up your curiosity, the thrill of being with someone so powerful.

He knows you’re protected. There are two guards with you wherever you go, your uncle’s gift to you on your birthday. He knows you live in a mansion of sorts with too many people around so sneaking in is not a choice.

But he’s tempted to say the least.

He wants to dance with the devil you hide so well, to feel her touch against his skin under the moonlight. He knows you have your ways around the city and men, too. He also knows that your uncle will try to cut his balls off if he hears even the possibility of the things Alfie wants to do to you but you don’t find in yourself to care.

He knows you’ll come around this time.

Your soft voice plays at a tone only he can hear and he listens with his ears perked up before he goes into your uncle’s office and you go off on your own way. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

-----

Tagging: @clairecrive @parkbearum @sourirez @vetseras @mollybegger-blog @babylooneytoonz @peakascum a/n: This is a little too late :) but i just got done with some project deliveries and I truly do hope you enjoy this chapter! Let me know what you thought of the chapter and if you’d like to be tagged <3

(If i’m forgetting to tag you, please lemme know!)

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honey-dewey · 3 years

Text

Rodeo Romeo and Agent Juliet

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels/Kingsman Reader

Word Count: 2,118

Warnings: None

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell

Jack was never a fan of classic literature, but when Agent Juliet comes in from Kingsman for the annual Statesman Holiday Gala and immediately calls him the ‘Rodeo Romeo,’ he may be a little bit, okay a lot, in love with the totally off limits woman. What he doesn’t know is that darling Agent Juliet is just as deep in it for her beautiful Rodeo Romeo. Expect many references to Shakespeare, and I promise no one dies at the end.

Author’s Notes: Based off a wonderful post by @pedrocentric that cursed me into writing 2,000 words in a day. I love you for the stab of inspiration I was given.

The Statesman annual holiday gala was, in Jack’s words, a fancy pain in the ass. It was an excuse to get dressed up and horribly drunk, and while he knew his night would end in some beautiful woman’s bed, he didn’t want to go through the actual gala to get there.

“This is bullshit,” he decided firmly, adjusting his hat and mask. Every year, the gala had a theme, usually pretty vague so people could get creative. This year, the theme was masquerade. Jack, at Ginger’s request, was wearing his usual tuxedo that he wore to every gala, his hat, and a gorgeous black mask with intricate silver details. It was a pain in the ass, but he had to admit, the mask made him look really good.

“I know,” Ginger reassured, tying her own delicate golden mask. “But as two of the more involved agents, we have to attend.”

Jack sighed. “Anyone new attending this year, or will it be a familiar crowd?”

Ginger reached over his chest and readjusted his bow tie. “Kingsman is coming. Eggsy, Harry, and I think they’re bringing a new agent. Agent Juliet? They’re rebranding to have classic literature names instead of Arthurian legend names. Something about inclusivity, I think.”

“Yeah well,” Jack mumbled. “I was never a fan of classic literature.”

They left the room together, ready for the music and the lights of the party. It was a bit more toned down from last year, with quieter music and gentle lights. Plenty of Statesman agents filtered around, along with some of their business partners. Jack did what he always did at these parties. Started his night off with a glass of whiskey and went right into flirting with some pretty thing in a tight rose colored dress.

“Heads up,” Ginger said behind him, sliding up to the bar as Jack’s rosey target walked away. “Kingsman’s here.”

Jack turned, seeing the familiar two Kingsman agents he’d tried to kill. In his defense, he hadn’t been right in the head, and they’d both forgiven him. Apparently holding grudges wasn’t the Kingsman way.

“Whiskey,” Eggsy greeted as he walked up to the bar. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I could say the same about you,” Jack said smoothly. “Who’s the lady?”

Standing by Eggsy’s side, chatting happily with another woman, was the prettiest lady Jack had ever seen. Delicate features barely hidden behind a midnight blue and silver mask, Jack traced down perfectly shaped lips lined in dusty pink and a beautiful silver necklace that laid across her collarbones perfectly. Her dress was a soft looking midnight blue, all flowing fabrics and cinching at her natural waist with a silver belt. The heart shaped neckline and semi-sheer sleeves lay across her skin in a way that made her look, in a single word, like a goddess.

“This is Agent Juliet,” Eggsy introduced, nudging Juliet forward. “Jules, this is Agent Whiskey.”

Juliet scanned Jack from top to bottom, her brows knitting a bit as she thought.

“Oh!” She finally exclaimed. “Is this the one who couldn’t flirt for shit?”

Immediately, Jack almost choked on his drink while Eggsy laughed out loud. “Yeah!” He said. “Something like that.”

Juliet smiled. “From the looks of it, I’d say he’d a regular rodeo Romeo.”

Just like that, Jack was deeply in love with her. The way the corner of her mouth quirked as she gave him the nickname, the way her hands clasped in front of her, the look she gave him. It was enough to ruin the newly christened Rodeo Romeo.

“Jules?” An unfamiliar man came up, sliding a hand around Juliet’s waist. “Who’s this?”

Juliet sighed, a deep and unsatisfied sigh as she shifted the man’s hand off her hip. “Darling, this is Agent Whiskey. Agent, this is my boyfriend, Agent Paris.”

And with one word, she had broken his heart. Jack drew a breath in, an action that went entirely unnoticed by everyone but Ginger. She put a comforting hand on his arm. “It’s wonderful to meet you Agent Paris. Jack and I are going to see if we can’t find Champ, I’m sure you’ll want to meet him.”

Jack nodded halfheartedly as she pulled him off. Suddenly, he wasn’t very happy about meeting the new agents.

———

You sighed, watching Agent Whiskey get dragged away. He seemed so nice, and his brilliant brown eyes were so deep, you could’ve easily gotten lost in them all night. Instead, your boyfriend had to walk up, ruining the moment.

“Babe,” he said, kissing your neck, much to your disgust. “Want to dance?”

“No thanks,” you said sourly, hoping he understood your tone as you walked away, heading towards the bathrooms.

Sliding down the wall, you sighed, adjusting your shoes so they weren’t so tight, and finally abandoning them altogether.

“Knock knock,” a familiar voice said, knocking on the bathroom door. “Can I come in?”

Unlocking the door and allowing Eggsy to slide in, you smiled, seeing him holding two drinks. Accepting one and immediately swallowing down the soda sweetened liquid, you collapsed back against the wall. “Fuck me Eggsy, I hate him.”

“So break up with him,” Eggsy said plainly, joining you on the floor. “You’re an adult. Tell him he sucks complete ass and run right into the strong and manly arms of your cowboy Romeo.”

You punched his arm playfully. “Firstly,” you said. “It’s rodeo Romeo. And secondly, I am not in love with Agent Whiskey.”

Eggsy raised an eyebrow at you. “Yes. You are.”

“Am not.”

“Are to.”

You burst into laughter. “We sound like children,” you realized. “What was in that drink?”

“A bit of whiskey, some coke, a few ice cubes,” Eggsy recited. “Now go get your man.”

Rolling your eyes, you stood and smiled. “Maybe I will.”

You headed off to the balcony, intent on clearing your head. It was barren, the cold weather deterring most from braving the outside. You sighed, leaning against the railing and looking out at Statesman’s garden. It was beautifully kept, with fields of trees you assumed grew fruit in the warmer months.

A rustling broke you out of your thoughts. Looking down, you saw Jack wandering the gardens, his mask still on. He looked up, seeing you and smiling. “Ain’t this like, a big part of your story?” He asked.

You nodded. “Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?” You said, leaning over so you could see Jack better. “She’s wondering why he has his name, because that is the only thing preventing their relationship.”

“Yeah I was never into Shakespeare.”

You gasped. “Really? Romeo and Juliet is an undeniable classic! Hold on, I’m coming down, and when I do, you are in for one hell of a literature lesson.”

Hurrying down the stairs and into the gardens, you met Jack under the balcony. “I cannot believe you’ve never read Romeo and Juliet,” you grumbled to yourself.

“I never said that,” Jack said. “I’ve read it.”

You smiled, following his aimlessly wandering feet. “It was Shakespear’s greatest comedy, a work of absolute genius.”

“Back up,” Jack interrupted. “Comedy?”

“Yeah, comedy,” you said. “Shakespeare was incredibly, well, I don’t want to say he was anti-love, but he wrote Romeo and Juliet to poke fun at couples who said they were soulmates. After all, Romeo and Juliet spanned about three days time from start to finish.”

You continued to go into detail about the intricacies of Shakespeare, wasting away a good portion of the night. Jack was an excellent listener, occasionally asking a question that sent you on a tangent, but always quiet and respectful while you talked.

Finally, when the clock tolled twelve, you two headed back to the gala.

“It was nice getting to know you,” you said softly, not wanting to enter the building again. “Agent Paris is kind of a jerk about me talking to other men.”

“Oh my god, is there any redeeming thing about him?” Jack asked.

“Not that I can tell.”

Jack took your hands. “So break up with him. Find a man who’ll treat you right.”

You stared deep into his eyes, into the depth and complexities he kept hidden behind a deceptively simple brown color. “A man like you?”

Jack didn’t respond. Instead, he cupped your cheek and kissed you, molding his face to yours and satisfying that craving that had building in you since Paris.

“Jules?”

Jack broke away, sliding out of sight so quickly you had to wonder if you’d only imagined him. Eggsy came up to you, confused and a bit concerned. “Jules? Are you okay?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Never better.”

That night, you tossed and turned, unable to sleep. The ghost of Jack’s lips kept waking you, until you were forced to pull a robe on and open your balcony so you could get some fresh air and hopefully clear your head.

Settling on the stone and leaning your forehead against the railing, you stared out into the Statesman stables. “Romeo, Romeo,” you said, mostly to yourself as a comfort. “Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name. Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I'll no longer be a Capulet.” You had memorized large portions of the story in order to keep yourself calm during Kingsman training, and even now, the familiar passage eased your troubles.

At least, until someone responded.

“I take thee at thy word. Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized. Henceforth I never will be Romeo.”

You stood, looking out at the stables. Standing there, lit by the light of his phone, was Jack.

“Are you reading that off your phone?” You asked, a laugh bubbling in your throat.

“You’re getting the lines wrong!” Jack called back, coming closer so you could hear him properly.

Laughing, you leaned against the railing and stared at Jack. “You kissed me earlier.”

“You’re still getting the lines wrong.”

“Jack!” You said happily, unable to not laugh. “I’m serious!”

Jack’s grin was obvious even from your distance. “I did kiss you earlier. Are you mad about it?”

“No.”

“So shall we make love like your namesake?” He asked. “Run away and get married after having known each other, what, a few hours?”

You shook your head. “No. Because then we’d both have to die.”

Stepping closer, Jack shrugged. “Yeah, that would throw a wrench in my plans to woo and marry you.”

You yawned, and Jack smiled. “Does the lady need her beauty sleep?”

You gave him a very ladylike middle finger. “Goodnight Romeo.”

“Goodnight my fair Juliet.”

The next morning, you went out for a walk with Eggsy and Paris, walking by the stables and admiring the horses.

“Juliet!”

You turned, seeing Jack atop a beautiful black horse. He rode with ease, as if he’d been doing it all his life. “Fancy seein’ you here,” he said. “Y’all sticking around?”

Eggsy shrugged. “Jules wanted to stay for a bit. Airplanes make her wonky, so we’re leaving later tonight.”

Jack’s face visibly fell. “Aw damn. I liked having a beauty like you walkin’ around.”!

“Leave off,” Paris said, wrapping you in his arms. “She’s taken.”

“Might wanna reconsider that one,” Jack said with a wink. “What’d’ya say Juliet? Wanna take a ride with your Rodeo Romeo? Saddle’s got room for two.”

You didn’t even hesitate. Squirming out of Paris’s grip, you eagerly jumped the fence and joined Jack. “Just as long as we don’t die at the end.”

Jack helped you up in the saddle, kissing you long and hard. “Well, like I said, I’m not one for the original story anyway.”

He rode off with you, leaving Paris and Eggsy behind. Holding you tight as he jumped a fence, he continued out, beyond the orchards and the buildings, until you two had reached a small, run down church.

After helping you off the horse, Jack pulled you inside, where there was light and warmth.

“You’re really not helping our horribly cliche love story,” you said.

Jack raised an eyebrow, pulling you down onto a couch and wrapping you in his arms. “Am I? It’s been such a long time since I read Romeo and Juliet.”

You laughed. “Clearly. Although this is very close to the part where they both die.”

“And we definitely aren’t doing that, right?”

You nodded. “Definitely not.”

Jack looked around. “One day,” he said decisively. “I’m going to marry you. Right here, in this church. I promise.”

Smiling, you pressed a kiss to his nose. “Sure you will Romeo.”

Three years later, he asked you to marry him.

You, as if it were any question at all, said yes.

After all, how could you say no to your Romeo?

#kingsman the golden circle #kingsman #agent whiskey #jack 'whiskey' daniels #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #Pedro Pascal #My writing

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isnt-it-loverly · 3 years

Text

little birdie (5)// five hargreeves

Warnings: very tiny trigger warning for self harm

Summary: When Five lands in the Sparrow Academy, he must convince one of them to help him reset the timeline.

Word count: 1650ish

Author note: finally done with exams and back to writing! it felt good to write something I wanted to, instead of essays for school.

part one, part two, part three, part four

Remember when you said The Umbrellas were not that bad, well most of them weren’t. But they were hesitant to welcome you with open arms. Luther stared at you intently, fire and rage seeping from his demeanor. You tried your best to sink into the burlap couch, the fibers itching away at your skin. You had delivered their brother safely, mostly unharmed but at least he was alive.

“Does anyone else think that this is- I don’t know, dangerous? That thing is a killing machine, she could be raiding our minds,” Luther snarled.

“I have to agree with King-Kong, she could be satelliting our location to Dad as we speak,” Diego, you assumed, spoke.

“That’s not entirely how it works,” you spoke up timidly.

“Oh yeah? Then how come you know everything about Five? Or how about how you tried to kill Klaus? I’m sure you’ve already told your little flock of drones all of our secrets,” Luther yelled.

“First off,” you started, “I am number five. I’m not the ringmaster, I’m not the leader of the group, and I have the body of a teenager. So let’s assume I hold no power when it comes to my family. I am an object to them. If I was in league with them- believe me, pea brain, you’d be dead.”

The room fell silent as you raised your voice, and Five gave you an encouraging smirk. He was going to enjoy you putting his egotistical brother in his place. But boy, did his family make your blood boil.

“And another thing, Mr. Age-of-enlightenment, don’t try to use my ability against me. Because I can bet that you will lose every single time. Brain beats brawn, tough guy,” you spat.

You were in his face now, on your tippy-toes, but still making yourself eye level. You could do it if you wanted to. Take over his mind and make him do unspeakable things, but you decided against it. You needed them to trust you, but more importantly, you needed their help. You took a deep yet shaky breath and backed away from Luther slowly. The anger was suddenly gone and replaced with immense dread. You looked around at your surroundings, they were all staring at you harshly but with fear ever-present on their faces. You knew that all they saw was the beast who stole lives, who knew every secret and thought, the monster who could never be trusted.

“This was a mistake,” you whispered, tears brimming your eyes.

“(Y/n), wait,” Five called. You felt him reach out for you but it was too late, you were already out the door.

You could hear him yelling at his siblings from outside the door. It was strange how much he cared, you’d known him a couple of days- and half of that was fighting with your families. You looked around cautiously, where were you gonna go. You made your way through the old and dusty hallway of the rundown apartment complex. It was a good hiding spot. The other side of town in a secluded and forgotten area, your siblings would never think to look down here. They thought the umbrellas were too egotistical to be smart. The stairwell, you thought, was the only way to rise from rock bottom. You must go up. You run up the stairs as fast as your feet could carry you, hearing the loud boom of your stomps echo off the concrete walls.

You reached the rooftop in a matter of seconds. The chill of the April air lingered around you. You made your way to the edge, the streets were barren and quiet. There was no one to help you escape from this nightmare you had created. What a mess you had managed to create in less than a week. You peered over the edge trying to find any living being to take over so you could be rid of all these conflicting emotions.

You were a member of the Sparrow Academy, and yet here you were fraternizing with the enemy. The Umbrellas would never see you as an equal, just as someone who stole their life. Then there was your family, how would you ever come back from this?

“You really shouldn’t be leaning over the edge like that. You could fall and that would be quite unfortunate for the both of us,” Five’s unempathetic voice pulled you from your thoughts.

Five carefully grabbed your forearm and pulled you away from the edge. Not that he thought that you’d intentionally hurt yourself, but he was not about to lose someone he cared about. Five thought for a moment, did he care about you? Or were you just an important asset to resetting the timeline? He didn’t have time to sort that out at the moment, he had more important matters to attend to. You looked up at him, the tears made your eyes shine more than they usually did. He didn’t know if it was your power drawing him in or if this was just a moment of weakness. He just couldn’t help himself. He wiped a tear that had managed to escape, though he could tell that you were trying your best to keep them in.

“They’re a lot, I know, but they’ve been through hell and back. They’re scared. They’ve lost everything, and they see you as Number Five not as (Y/n). A replacement for us. You’re better and far more powerful than any of us,” He explained.

You liked this version of him. This Five was gentle instead of hostile. You wiped your eyes and nodded, showing him that you understood.

“I can’t believe I let my temper go, I just- it’s been a hard couple of days. I’ve never disobeyed an order, I’ve always done what my father told me, was always there when Number One needed me. Yet here I am, standing in the presence of my most dreaded enemy,” You explained.

“I’ve told you, I didn’t ask you to help me,” He remarked coldly. There he was, there was that hardened exterior. There was a silence for a moment before you decided to continue.

“I’ve heard about you my entire life, the boy who could travel between space and time. I used to be afraid of you, how could I possibly compete with someone who could be anywhere they wanted. I used to have nightmares about the day when you and your family would come,” you finished.

Five cleared his throat with an unreadable expression. You could look into his mind and see what he was thinking, but you did not want to destroy the foundation of trust you had built with him. He placed a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Our father really has a special way of sculpting young minds. When we met him in the sixties, I should’ve been more careful...if I had known that’s why he was taking notes at that dinner- I would’ve watched what we said,” Five said solemnly.

He blamed himself for all this, how could he not. Not only had he managed to ruin his entire family’s life, but he had managed to drag someone as good as you down with it. He thought for a moment about where you would be in his timeline. Maybe you had learned to control your powers, and you had grown into a young woman. Maybe you had a life, a job, a family, a house mortgage to pay. But yet his stupidity had cost you everything. Now you were just as broken as he was.

“You’re not stupid,” you spoke up.

Five gave you a quizzical look, and then it dawned on him.

“You were in my head,” He responded in a monotone voice.

“I couldn’t help it, you blanked out. I had to make sure I didn’t say anything wrong. More importantly I had to make sure you were okay,” You said reaching for his hand. To your surprise, he didn’t pull away, and for that you were thankful.

“Why do you care?” He asked sharply. It was meant to hurt you, but you’d faced worse than a moody old man.

“Because you’re my friend. We are friends, right? I mean, I saved your life...twice. You held me while I bled everywhere,” You said with a small yet hopeful smile.

Five cautiously looked at your hand holding his. He wouldn’t let anyone else do this, he really shouldn’t let you do it. Something about it felt right, your touch was comforting. It was like a breath of fresh air and if he concentrated really hard it almost brought a sense of normalcy. He could imagine that there was no danger and definitely no world in need of saving. It was you, he concluded, it had to be. Somehow you must have been drawing him in, making him feel this way. He hadn’t felt like this since he first saw Delores. This had to be one of your mind tricks, and yet he didn’t care. The feeling was worth having.

“Yes, I suppose we are friends,” He confirmed.

That brought a smile to your face. You both liked the sound of that. Five gave your hand a gentle squeeze and you felt your heart melt. Surely this was not the same Five Hargreeves your father had warned you about. You were sure that there was no way you could ever hate him, you just didn’t have it in you.

“Come on,” Five spoke up, “We better get inside before my siblings think you murdered me.”

“You know that I’m not always in your head, or anyone’s for that matter. And I’m not a cell phone tower, I can’t satellite your location,” you explained.

Five gave you a small chuckle, “I know.”

With that he lead you back into the warm and safe, yet slightly smelly, hallway. Having Five by your side made you feel safe and you knew with him there- you could face anything.

#number five #The Umbrella Academy #tua #five x reader #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x you #umbrella academy five #aidan gallagher #sparrow academy #number five x reader #number five x you #five x you #umbrella academy #five #the umberella academy #the umbrella academy #five x y/n

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banashee · 3 years

Link

CW: - swearing - exhaustion - longing / loneliness

Late night and early morning

In all honesty, it could have been much, much worse. At least, this is what Jon keeps telling himself as he is wide awake in a hotel bed and doesn't even react when a heavy arm is swung over his shoulder, almost hitting him in the face.

He sighs, not for the first time that night. Jon simply moves the hand out of his face and closer to his shoulder in slight irritation, knowing it won’t stay there for long.

Predictably, the only answer he gets is a long snore, about as gentle as a chainsaw.

Eyes heavy, Jon tries to make himself more comfortable. But once again, this proves itself to be a lot harder now that Tim, fast asleep and dead to the world, seems to have chosen him as his own personal pillow. Or teddy bear - it’s a bit of an even tie so far.

Truth be told, this is not at all what Jon had expected from this work trip.

A few hours earlier -

It isn’t that big a deal, really. Jon and Tim have been sent to a small village up north, in order to investigate an old, abandoned farm building. Strange things are supposed to happen, and well, given the nature of their job, it is on them to take a close and personal look at it.

Truth be told, the two of them are happy to get out of the city for a bit, especially since it’s on the institute’s dime. They just have to be there, wander the old abandoned farm and then make themselves a few nice and comfortable evenings. There is a small pub, right next to their hotel, and a lake that is nice to sit nearby.

All in all, it is a rather nice and idyllic place.

“This is great, I almost feel like we’re on a holiday. Well, minus this part here, maybe.” Tim gestures around and in the general direction of a very old, ragged scarecrow to prove his point. It really is an ugly thing.

“The village, certainly. Him over there? Not so much.” Jon nods over to the scarecrow, and for a moment, it feels like it might be staring back. He shakes his head - what a silly thought. He continues,

“I have a feeling we’re wasting our time here. I cannot see anything out of the norm, this place is just… Old. And abandoned. “

“Well, it adds to the… Spooky factor.” Tim grins at the disgusted look on his friend's face as soon as the word leaves his mouth - he knows that “spooky” gives Jon the hives, and admittedly, he’s having way too much fun with it.

“Eugh. I wouldn’t put it like that, but… Yes. Yes, I think it does.”

“It’s a psychological thing… But then again, people did disappear here. I’m just not sure if it really is something paranormal or simply, well, crime.” Tim shrugs, and bends forward to take a closer look at some dusty artefacts in a lopsided shelf on the wall. It’s mostly fertilizer, watering cans and all sorts of small tools - nothing that would look suspicious on a farm at all.

“And as far as we know, Police never found any signs here that would indicate crimes. Still… I’m really not sure about this… Hmm...” with a thoughtful noise, Jon peaks around the corner of a dusty, cob-web covered tractor. Careful not to touch anything, he searches the corner with a torch and almost jumps to the ceiling when the light cone lands on a fairly large spider in her net, surrounded by several egg sacks in the corner. Jon could swear the bloody thing is staring right back at him with way too many hungry eyes.

“Jesus! Fuck no…”

“Everything okay?” Tim asks from behind him, and Jon can hear him stepping closer as his heart is about to beat out of his chest. He hates hates hates spiders with a passion, and for good reason… But he isn’t willing to discuss this right here.

“I- yes, I’m fine… I just got startled, is all. Huge spider.” Jon shudders in disgust, and is ridiculously proud that he doesn’t jump at the touch from hand on his back. Mostly because he knows who is coming up behind him.

“...That’s one big Nope in a web.” Tim agrees, peering over the smaller man’s shoulder and then makes a face.

“At least there is nothing else to look at there… No hidden doors or anything strange as far as I can tell.”

“No, it doesn't look like it. Come on, let’s call it a day. We still need to check in to the hotel.”

“...Right.” quietly thankful for the excuse to leave, Jon easily falls into step with Tim. They only arrived a few hours earlier, but they knew that once they checked in, they wouldn’t want to leave anytime soon. So, they make their way to the hotel right after the first, very rough investigation.

It’s a small village and the hotel is easily found. It’s an old, but well taken care of building. Clearly, it is a very central place and looks pleasant enough from the outside. It is definitely a lot nicer than anything either of the researchers would have booked for themselves. But since the institute is paying… Well, they intend to enjoy the stay while it lasts.

From behind the service desk, Jon and Tim are greeted by a clerk who is of friendly and helpful nature. This is probably why it takes the two men a second to catch on when he reads back the booking information to them for confirmation.

“So, that is one double for three night’s then, gentlemen. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No thank you, this is fine - wait, a double? Not a twin?”

The smile on the clerk's face seems to freeze into place, and he begins typing, slightly more panicked than before.

“I am so sorry, there must have been a mistake in the booking.” Apologetically, he looks up and back and forth between Tim and Jon.

“...Usually, I’d offer to rebook but as it is, we’re full for the next two weeks. I’m really sorry for the inconvenience, gentlemen.”

Jon glances over at Tim.

The two of them have been working together for a while now, and it is safe to say that they’re friends. There might even be something like a mutual crush, but… It’s not like either of them is talking about that part. Instead, they share another quick glance and come to an agreement.

“That’s alright, we’ll take the double. Please, there is no need to worry.”

Clearly still embarrassed, the man behind the counter sends them on their way with not only the keys to the room, but also a generous handful of vouchers for the in-house restaurant.

The evening itself is quiet and comfortable, spent with good food, conversations and friendly banter. It’s easy to forget about the job, now that they’re done for the day. And thankfully, it seems to be a bit of a bust - as frustrating as it is to find that, they still have three nights booked here and they’ll be covered back at the institute for the time being.

In all honesty, both Tim and Jon could think of plenty that would be worse than being stuck in a nice little village with a friend.

As the evening is getting late, the two of them make their way up to the small but comfortable room.

And this is how the two of them end up in the double bed.

At first, they’re back to back, with a tiny bit of casual distance between them. It’s their careful attempt to not remind themselves of feelings that may or may not be mutual. But that lasts for about five minutes, which is about as long as it takes Tim to fall asleep that night. As soon as he is out, Jon is informed of that fact when the first wave of snores shakes the bed. Or at least, that’s what it feels like.

“Psst. Hey. Tim. You’re snoring.” he presses out between clenched teeth, but it’s useless. Jon sighs, but he doesn’t try again. For one, he doesn’t want to make a fuss, and he also doesn't really want to wake Tim up.

Lord knows, he is aware that sleep doesn’t always come easily to him. It doesn’t come easily to Jon himself, either, and that’s not even taking into account someone who clears an entire forest in their sleep right next to his ear.

And this is when the shifting back and forth begins.

Arms are flailing, elbows collide with ribs and shins are kicked - Jon does his best to rearrange himself in order to be somewhat comfortable, but it never lasts long.

That is, until Tim turns over onto his other side and slides his arms around Jon. He shifts a bit, until they’re pressed flush against each other and Jon can feel the warm, even breath on his neck. At least, Tim’s snoring is now way more quiet - more like a soothing white noise instead of the offensive chainsaw.

Even though it is dark and no one else is awake to see it, Jon can feel the deep flush creeping up his cheeks. But apart from that, he is… Comfortable - happy even.

His heart is beating faster now, almost hammering out of his chest. It feels like it must be deafening, and Jon is almost surprised that the sound of it doesn’t fill the entire room.

He didn’t expect any of this, but there is no denying that it feels good to be held, to be close to someone he cares a lot about. But Jon doesn’t know how to address any of this in the future. He is well aware of his ever growing feelings for Tim, but this… This is much more.

Jon feels warm, happy and comfortable. Laying here like this, surrounded by warmth and with the breathing, sturdy body of his friend pressed against him, the idea of actually talking to Tim about this doesn’t seem too bad anymore.

Almost without noticing, one of his hands finds its way to Tim’s forearm slung over his chest. Skin brushes against skin, and it feels just right.

“You couldn't have come up with that position like an hour ago, could you?” Jon asks sleepily, but he smiles. Unsurprisingly, all he gets in response is another quiet snore as Tim tightens his hold around him. It only makes Jon smile wider, but he already drifts off into sleep and doesn’t answer. .

Sooner rather than later, the next morning comes. The first rays of sunlight creep in through the half closed blinds, tinting the room into a soft glow.

Tim is the first to wake up, and he is pleasantly surprised when he realizes that there is a weight on his chest and hair tickling his chin. It’s been a long time since he woke up with someone else, and truth be told, he’s really missed that feeling.

He is especially happy since it is Jon of all people who is currently fast asleep half on top of him. There is something between the two of them, and has been for a while actually. A feeling that seems to grow every day, and yet, neither of them has initiated a conversation about it as of now.

Tim glances over at the clock on the bedside table - it’s still early, so he closes his eyes again and lets himself drift back off into sleep.

The next time he wakes up, the sun is completely up in the sky and the clock informs him that they were asleep for longer than they probably should have been.

Despite all that, Tim doesn’t make a move to wake Jon up, too happy and content to be close to him. Instead, his hands start combing through his hair absentmindedly until eventually, Jon stirs awake. He blinks a few times, clearly taking in the situation, but he doesn’t move away.

That fact alone makes Tim happier than it probably should.

“Good morning.” he says, carefully casual while he continues to gently untangle a knot in the other man’s hair.

“....Just five more minutes…” comes the sleepy response, muffled into his chest.

“Five more minutes.” Tim agrees, and leans in closer. He’s perfectly fine with that - it’s not like this is a hardship. Not at all.

But as it is, the idyllic morning can’t last forever. The next time Tim looks at the clock, he realizes that now they really are late - it’s not like anyone would care or find out, but the responsible adult part of him already feels slightly guilty.

“Jon, wake up. We’re late.” he regretfully informs him, and Jon shifts a bit while opening one eye. He looks like a sleepy cat, and Tim finds that endearing as hell.

“I suppose we are… But it’s not like anything would wait for us out there.” And grumpy, too. That’s good to know, he figures.

“Oh wow, I’m sure Creepy Frank over at the farm would be disappointed to hear that.” Tim quips at him, the smile clear in his voice.

After a beat of silence, Jon lifts his head off of his chest and squints at him through messy strands of his hair.

“You named the…? You know what, nevermind.” he flops down again and decides to not-care. He’s too tired to deal with this.

“Well, we’ll spend some time at that farm, we might as well give our ugly friend a name.”

That actually gets him a laugh.

“How very charming of you. What time is it?”, he asks then.

“Half nine.”

“Half - okay yes we really should get going….” Regretfully, Jon peels himself off of Tim and feels across the nightstand with one hand, searching for his glasses without actually sitting up. Even though they haven’t even left the bed yet, he already feels colder.

Their day is largely uneventful. Mainly, the two of them keep investigating and walking around the old farm, talking and bantering like they always do. Occasionally, they throw a quip towards Creepy Frank, just for the fun of it, but they still can’t find any evidence of anything that would be relevant to them and their jobs.

They discuss this while sitting by the lake, comfortably in the shade of a large tree while they’re having a late lunch.

It’s idyllic and comfortable, and under different circumstances, “romantic” would be a word that could come to mind.

But as it is, neither of them mentions the last night or the way they woke up. It still doesn’t stop them from sitting closer together than usual, close enough even, so that their legs bump together.

Maybe, one day, they can come back here together - it's a daydream well worth entertaining.

When the darkened night sky stretches out over the village, Jon and Tim climb into bed next to each other. But unlike the night before, they don’t even try to keep a distance. In quiet agreement, they shuffle close to one another and rearrange themselves until they’re both in a comfortable embrace. They fall asleep fast that night, listening to each other's heartbeat and breathing until sleep pulls them under.

By the time morning comes, both Tim and Jon are once again happy, warm and comfortable as they wake up wrapped around each other. Sleepily, they enjoy the gentle physical contact for as long as it lasts.

They are well rested - better so than either of them has been in a long time.

Their remaining days in the village are pretty much the same. There is nothing noticeable going on in the old farm and Creepy Frank is unsettling as always.

Around lunch time on the last day, they have once again made themselves comfortable by the lake. They write their reports there, because there is no point in going back to the farm or the hotel now - they’ll leave later that evening, their luggage already stashed away in lockers at the train station. They’ll miss this place - despite it being technically a work trip, It has been a nice change from their busy everyday life in London. Not to mention the other, more private parts of it all.

Neither of them has made a move to talk about The Thing between them yet, and maybe that won’t happen until they’re back home - who knows. Just a few times, Tim opens his mouth as if he isn’t sure what to say, but then he always comes around with some sort of joke or teasing.

Jon picks up on it, but he isn’t great at talking, either. He wants to - but as it is, he remains silent and chews on his words without getting any of them out.

At first glance, it looks like nothing has really changed, but when Tim and Jon walk to the train station in the early evening, they hold hands the entire way. Once they have found their seats, they continue to do so, but still, neither of them mentions anything. For now, it is perfectly alright. Neither of them wants to have this potentially awkward conversation in public.

They keep up their conversation and occasionally squeeze the other’s hand in silent acknowledgement.

The everyday life in London and the Magnus Institute gets them back into its claws almost as soon as they return to work. There isn’t a lot of opportunity to start a serious personal conversation, and so they fall back into their old routine. They work on opposite desks, they share lunch breaks and walk to the library together, and things should be as they always are.

They are not.

Jon notices it in himself first. In the short time he’d been away with Tim, those three nights sharing a bed with him had been the best sleep he’d gotten in months, if not years. It had been only three nights - but Jon misses him already.

When before, he’d been faintly aware of, and mostly ignoring his feelings for Tim, now he lays awake at night because he feels cold and lonely without him.

Jon stares at the ceiling of his bedroom, eyes itching from tiredness. He’d give anything to fall asleep right now, but he knows it is useless.

Sleep has always been a difficult topic for him, as insomnia, nightmares and circling thoughts about everything and anything tend to keep him awake on a regular basis. But those three days… Those three days had been special, and Jon isn’t sure he can ever get back from the way that makes him feel.

One night, about a week after returning back home, he is staring at his ceiling again, half-tempted to text Tim, who always looks tired and worn out when he sees him at work. But Jon doesn’t want to take any chances - what if he does manage a bit of sleep and then gets woken up from a text in the middle of the night?

His thumb hovers over the send button in their ongoing text conversation.

Hi,

Are you awake?

It’s short, but Jon knows it will tell Tim an awful lot. He sighs, unsure what to do. But then, he accidentally moves wrong, and he hits SEND without meaning to. He shoots up into a sitting position in his bed, cursing out loud as he stares at the screen. After the first shock, he calms down. it’s not like he didn’t want to send the text, it’s just that he isn't’t mentally prepared for it. Not really.

Before he can go down another rabbit hole of thoughts, his mobile phone vibrates in his hand, and a text from Tim appears on his screen.

Hi, I sure fucking am. Can’t sleep. You?

Can’t sleep either. Not since. Well.

Jon doesn’t even think as he types his reply, and he sends it off before he can stop himself. He is half tempted to ask if Tim wants company, although he doesn’t know how to phrase that over text. Not with all the feelings they haven’t yet talked about.

He is saved from agonizing over it when Tim himself asks him the very same question.

Do you want company?

It would be an understatement to say that Jon is relieved.

Yes, please. I’d like that

Tell you what? I’m already on my way. I fucking hate sleeping on my own.

That last text makes Jon’s heart beat a little bit faster once again, but he is more relieved than anything. And to his great surprise, it doesn’t take as long as he’d thought it would until his doorbell rings.

He scrambles out of bed and into the hallway to open the door. It doesn’t occur to him just how frazzled he must look. Deep purple bags under his eyes, hair standing up in every direction as it has escaped from his braid and clothes that are way too big on him and hang off of him like potato sacks.

He is tired - so, so tired.

Only a short while later, Tim shuffles out of the lift, and he looks just as exhausted as Jon feels. He must have rolled straight out of bed, put on shoes and a jacket and that’s it.

Instead of making one of his usual quips, Tim simply slumps into Jon as he hugs him, his head resting on top of the smaller man’s.

“Hey.” He hugs back and remains standing in the doorway - he is pretty sure they’re both going to fall over if he tries to move now.

“Hmmm… Much better.” Tim squeezes him a bit tighter, like he always does when he is showing affection. it’s very much him, and Jon finds he is long used to it by now. Even more so, he needs it. It makes him feel warm and reassured.

“Wanna come in? It’s much more comfortable than the hallway.” he tries to reason, and yawns. All he wants is to get back to bed, preferably with the warm presence that is Tim.

Quietly, he nods and let’s go of Jon, but very reluctantly so.

The two of them shuffle back into the dark bedroom, where the covers are kicked aside in a messy tangle. Clear evidence that Jon himself has trouble sleeping as well, even though it is obvious by now.

Almost wordlessly, the two of them climb in, much like they did the other week in the shared hotel room, and simply hold each other close.

“Thank you.”

The words are so quiet, Jon almost misses them. But he doesn’t, and he knows exactly what they mean. As bad as he is with communication and interpersonal relationships sometimes, he understands. He understands and he feels the same.

“Of course. I missed you, too.” he answers, just as quietly, and without thinking, presses a quick kiss on top of the bright purple mop of hair resting on his chest. It’s ironic, really, how their positions are now in reverse to what they were back on the work trip, but they don’t mind either way. All that counts is that they are close now.

They don’t talk any more than that, because they are both way too exhausted to hold a conversation.

As they drift off into sleep, they remain wrapped around each other, soaking up each other's warmth and company like a sponge. Being together feels just right.

Tim and Jon have been friends for a while, and neither of them could tell when the romantic feelings had first started to show themselves. But they know that they care deeply, and most of all, need each other.

Falling asleep together is bliss, and it makes them feel safe and loved. It really shouldn’t have been surprising that the two of them had so much trouble after getting a small taste of what could be.

Jon and Tim hold each other close as they finally fall asleep. Fingers brush softly over beard stubble, hair and exposed bits of skin while their lips quietly find each other in the dark. And really, for now that is worth much more than words.

“I can’t sleep without you anymore.” They don’t say that night, but they do so the next morning when they wake up, almost in the same embrace as they have fallen asleep in.

They face each other, and their words are sealed with another kiss. It feels different, in the light of the morning, but it feels just as right as searching for one another at night, exhausted but safe together in the dark.

“I love you.”, the two of them blurt out pretty much simultaneously soon after, and really, what else is there to say?

Both Jon and Tim are happy, after all. And so they make their way into the kitchen for breakfast, hand in hand and with a warm, quiet and content feeling spreading throughout them.

#banashee writes #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #JonTim #pre-canon

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monsterlovinghours · 3 years

Text

Rescue

new don dropped! here's a little ficlet i wrote for @realmonsterboyhours and the new don she came up with. enjoy!

cw: kidnapping, death, gore

There hadn’t been time to call for help. There hadn’t been time to run, or scream, or even draw breath. One moment, you were walking down an empty street at twilight, your arms aching from the bags looped around your wrists, containing your purchases. You had spent more than you meant to, but not nearly as much as your lovers encouraged you to spend; two lifetimes could pass and you would still never get used to the seemingly endless wealth you now had access to. You were excited to show the others what you had bought, excited to model some of your new outfits and see which of the dons would reach you first to rip it off of you. You weren’t paying attention. You should have been looking around. You should have been more aware. One moment, you were hopeful, at peace. The next, you were waking to pain and semi-darkness, unaware that you had passed out at all.

You tried to move, tried to bite back the rising panic as you found your wrists bound, cuffed together and looped through the rungs of a metal chair. You tried rocking from side to side to find that not only had your ankles been cuffed as well, but the chair itself had been bolted to the floor. Tears stung your eyes and the back of your throat, but you willed yourself to be still, to swallow down the terror and listen. Beyond your racing heart, you could gentle murmuring from the next room, the sound of at least three different voices speaking, perhaps as many as five or six. Not that you could determine much through the pounding pain in your skull and the thudding of your heart. The room smelled dusty, bare except for the single floor lamp in the corner behind you, the light dim and casting deep shadows. How long had you been out? Had anyone noticed you were gone yet? How long would it take for them to come looking for you, and would you be able to survive until they found you?

Your lips trembled, and you bit them, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. Crying wouldn’t help, crying wouldn’t fix anything. All it would do is dehydrate you and make your headache worse. Of course they would find you, you reasoned to yourself. You were loved by some of the most powerful men in the world, and definitely some of the most dangerous. They would notice your absence and would be quick to find you. There was nothing to fear.

Almost as soon as you had that thought, there was a soft yell from the other room, then muffled shouts and the sounds of a quick struggle, chairs scraping against the floor and things being knocked against the walls. Things went quiet, and you held your breath, not knowing if your saviors had arrived, or if a different, nastier threat had presented itself.

A bloodied hand emerged from the doorway, dragging behind it the injured body of a man that seemed vaguely familiar to you, his face now contorted with pain and fear, both broken legs sliding uselessly along the rough concrete floor. You let out a startled sound at the sight of him, and someone poked their head through the door. Someone with ice-blue eyes, jet black hair, and a willowy frame. Someone you recognized with a wash of relief.

Bjalla. The elusive seventh member of the Conglomerate. You hadn’t known them long, and while they had always been cordial towards you, you hadn’t gotten to know them extraordinarily well; at least, not as well as you’d like. They seemed fascinating, though somewhat distant and aloof and, well, almost snobbish. As if everyone were beneath them. But here, in this very moment, they were the person you loved most in the entire world.

Their gaze locked on you, seemed to scan you quickly for signs of injury, then dropped to the broken man on the floor. Teeth that were too sharp to be human were exposed in a grin that, if not for the razor points within, might have been friendly. “Ah, there you are. I thought I miscounted.” In a couple strides they were close enough to plant the heel of their expensive boot on the man’s back, pinning him to the ground and staying his escape. Once again, their gaze lifted to you as they knelt, gathering a fistful of the man’s hair in one hand while the fingers of the other tightened around the handle of a large knife, its edge obviously wickedly sharp even through the blood drying on the blade. “Look away, sá litli."

You shook your head minutely, your eyes wide and staring, and though you half expected Bjalla to argue or force the matter, they only shrugged, as if to say, suit yourself. In one fluid, well-practiced motion, they lowered the knife and drew it deep across the man’s throat, who gagged and sputtered, hands fluttering weakly. Bjalla rolled their eyes, smiling wryly at the man’s last desperate actions. “You should thank me, idiot. At least I made the cut clean; you’ll pass out in a few seconds, painless and quick. You’re welcome.”

With that, he released the man’s hair, his head falling back to the ground as he continued to make those sickening gurgles, the last gasps of a dying man. Bjalla knelt to work at the chains around your ankles, checking you over more thoroughly now that they were at a closer range.

“Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, and they nodded curtly.

“Can you walk?”

“I think so.” It was the first time you had spoken during this entire ordeal, and your voice was hoarse, scratchy. For some reason, the sound of it made your flood of tears break loose from their dam, and as soon as you had your arms free, you wrapped them around their neck and sobbed. They stiffened, but didn’t pull away. “Thank you,” you rasped, clutching at them and sobbing. They didn't embrace you, not that you had expected them too, but one cold hand did stroke once through your hair, an almost tender gesture. It was gone as soon as it came, however, and with a series of musical clinks, they cleared the chains from around your ankles and pulled you to your feet. The only exit to your kidnappers lair was through the other room, and since you'd made no effort to turn away from the spilling of blood nearly at your feet, Bjalla made no attempt to shield your eyes from the massacre that had taken place. You counted four bodies, though there may have been more. Two figures identical in build and carriage stood at the far end, their tailored suits immaculate despite the bloodbath that surrounded them. You couldn't be quite sure, but you guessed this was Bjalla's Lex and their Cici. They followed you outside, where a sleek black car was waiting. A tall figure sat behind the wheel-Wasp. It had to be. As Bjalla ushered you into the backseat, Cici and Lex vanished, their work complete.

You clung to Bjalla as the car sped off, unable to stop a stream of mostly silent tears. You half expected them to push you away or slide out of your clutches, but he didn't move, sitting still as a stone. After a while, once some of the adrenaline had faded, you wiped the tears from your cheeks and looked up at him. "Thank you for finding me, Bjalla."

Their expression didn't change. "It was Scarabee that found you. I was closest to your location, so they sent me to fetch you."

You recoiled a little at the flat tone of his voice, but didn't draw away completely. "Who were they? What did they want?"

"It doesn't matter," they said sharply, icy eyes flicking down to you. "They're dead. Whatever they wanted is no longer relevant." Bjalla sighed, rubbing the tips of perfect manicured fingers over the bridge of his nose. "You should sleep. It's a long drive back to the estate."

You didn't think you would be able to sleep, but incredibly, you were out in a matter of minutes. In your sleep, you didn't feel the weight of his arm around your shoulders, keeping your body close to his, and you didn't notice the way his hands trembled ever so slightly. They woke you when you reached the manor, all present dons and their clones pouring out of the doors to greet you. You were all but lost in a sea of embracing arms and frantic kisses, none of which belonged to Bjalla, who had all but vanished.

Later than evening, you sat cradled in Zhuk's lap, your legs draped over Scarabee's, who was rubbing something onto the bruises left around your ankles. Breaking the silence, you asked, "So, how were you able to find me?"

Scarabee looked up, his brow furrowed. "Find you? Cherie, we didn't even know you were missin' until Bjalla sent their Bee to inform us you were gone. By then he was already halfway to ya. All we did was wait for them to bring you back."

"And dispatch our own forces to wipe out everyone associated with the idiots who tried to take you from us," Zhuk growled darkly.

It was your brow's turn to furrow. "But...Bjalla said you found me. They said they were closest and that's why they came and got me."

The Russian and the Cajun exchanged a knowing look, the slightest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of Bee's mouth. "Well, darlin', I don't know what to tell ya. Seems our icy friend might be a little more fond of you than they let on."

Your thoughts whirring, you settled back against Zhuk's shoulder. If none of the others had known you were missing until Bjalla told them, that could only mean that they had found out first, and rather than inform the other dons and let them handle your rescue, they had gone after you themselves. Somehow, despite the terror of the day still weighing heavily on you, that thought caused a flicker of warmth. Perhaps Scarabee was right. Maybe Bjalla did care about you, after all.

#the conglomerate #bjalla #i didn't kill six men and drive halfway across a continent because i like you or anything

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starkerintheparker · 4 years

Text

starker reclist - canon based fics

Hi Starker fam! To celebrate my 900 followers I decided to finally start posting my humble and very personal reclist. I’ve been planning to do it for a while now but it got way bigger than I anticipated so I decided to split it in 4 parts and will share the first one today. I’ve been around for less than a year and there’s a lot I haven’t read yet so my plan is to update this list as I go.

Under the cut is part I, solely is dedicated to canon-based fics. I’m a sucker for angst so most of my recs feature guilty!Tony, miscommunication, porn with feels and all that jazz. Hopefully you’ll be able to find something interesting according to your preferences. Oh and don’t forget to leave kudos, comments and spread the love for these authors :) Cheers!

Last updated: 2020/04/18. All new fics added will be marked with ***

• 10 Ways to Woo Your Boo by @darker-soft-starker (NR, 6k, completed)

Summary: By twenty-one Peter Parker had graduated college, scored himself a post-grad job and was a full-fledged member of the Avengers. He had his own apartment, paid his own bills and juggled his time between being a superhero and working enough to cover his rent. So long as Peter was armed with his ID, he was a full-fledged adult in the eyes of the law. Perhaps foolishly, he’d assumed it would make him an adult in the eyes of everybody else too. Keen to be seen as worthy of Tony's heart, Peter enlists the help of his friends and the internet in courting his former mentor.

Review: We all love Ash’s fantastic AUs but this lovely canon-based fic may be one of my favorite works by her. I will never know how she manages the fine balance between angst, humor and romance, I just know it hits me good and takes my breath away. Oblivious!Tony and Peter being a bisexual disaster at wooing, what do you mean this wasn’t in the movies? Sounds canon to me.

• 100-Point Restoration by Destina (T, 8k, completed)

Summary: Tony needs a happiness upgrade; Peter wants Tony. These goals might be compatible. (This story is set roughly five years post-Homecoming).

Review: I just realized this was the first Starker fic I’ve read, and it was back in 2017! I didn’t ship Starker at the time but this author must have done something right because for some reason I couldn’t take my eyes away. This fic is gorgeous. Tony’s voice is amazing, his dynamics with Peter are spot-on and organic - but nothing’s better than watching their feelings unfold, like a soft and warm humming just awaiting for disclosure.

• adult supervision by doveslayer (M, 20k, on hiatus)

Summary: Peter Parker should not keep drunk-dialing Tony Stark after midnight. But more pressingly, Tony Stark should not keep answering. In which Tony tries to convince himself he's doing nothing wrong. warning: underage!Peter tho pretty vanilla imo

Review: My favorite “everything is happening while nothing is happening” fic. Their voices are spot on, the dialogues are clever, and you can almost touch the tension with your fingertips. It’s been a year since the last update but even if this fic never gets finished I promise the read will have been worthy!

• Attached by @paspleurer (E, 7k, completed)

Summary: Tony gets it, he really does. As far as rebounds go, sleeping with your childhood hero isn't half bad. And if what Peter wants is this— just sex, with no strings attached— then Tony will give him this.

Review: Pleurer and Learned Foot have seduced me with the rebound trope. This is a lovely Tony POV with the good old pining + miscommunication combo, plus enthusiastic sex and sweet domesticity. What else could I ask for?

• Covet by RTC anonymous (E, 34k, completed)

Summary: Peter has a new boyfriend. Tony starts drinking again, for unrelated reasons.

Review: I read this fic when I was still warily lurking around the Starker fandom and it blew me away. The sexual tension is so palpable you can almost taste it. There is jealous, guity Tony failing at mentoring and a vulnerable, smitten Peter Parker trying to make sense out of it. RTC anon is a religion.

• Ephemeron by @ramblings-from-elsinore (E)

Summary: "Being around Ned, Peter's reminded how out of place he is. For Ned, the second ever appearance of aliens over Manhattan is the stuff of excited hallway chatter, of where were you when—? Ned’s world wasn’t blown apart and stitched back together. Because Ned doesn’t remember. No one does, except the ones who were there, who fought." AKA, "Tony's relationship with Peter may be unconventional, but they’re unconventional people who have had some pretty fucking unconventional experiences." In which Tony can't stop touching Peter to make sure he's real, and Peter dreams of being in Tony's arms and not disappearing.

Review: I started reading this fic before I joined the fandom and man, what a way to get pulled into this ship. Brace yourself for hardcore guilty!Tony being all over the place plus unhealthy codependency and touch deprivation, all the good things. Reading this is a spiritual experience but fair warning: this is not a happy story, at least not for a long while, so please mind the tags.

• Expiration Date by @learned-foot (E, 12k, completed)

Summary: Tony knows exactly what this is. First big breakup, go for a fling with a completely inappropriate person. It’s basically a cliché. He kind of thought Peter was better than that, but apparently being brilliant and one of the bravest people on the face of the planet doesn’t mean he’s immune from being a stupid college student who makes stupid college student mistakes. AKA Tony is sure this is just a fling, and he deals with that about as well as you’d expect.

Review: Ahh my beloved rebound trope and my first rec (out of many) by LF! Between a pining, insecure Tony making all the wrong decisions and a young and confident Peter unwilling to let him go, this fic makes your heart ache in the best ways. Good thing LF only works with happy endings!

• From Thy Bounty by @ibby-writes and feyrelay (E, 31k, completed)

Summary: Tony’s eyes are always dark, but now there's almost no iris left. He looks hollowed out. There’s something terribly hungry there, despite the feast they've filled themselves on.

Review: I’ve lost count of how many times I reread this insanely hot and ridiculously well written fic. Besides the A+++ characterization, there is delicious food porn foreplay followed by a breathtaking cat and mouse game that culminates with no less than 13.5k of intense and unapologetic sex with feels, my favorite kind. Enjoy the meal! ;D

***Gift of Choice by tuesday (E, 12k, completed)

Summary: Tony Stark had a thing about giving Peter stuff.

Review: This is my favorite fic by tuesday and the PERFECT rendition of our beloved sugar daddy trope. Great pacing, amazing dialogues and a breathtaking build up that makes you both smile and sweat in anticipation. They’re so in love I almost can’t handle when they finally get together. Sexy, hot and very sweet.

• here is my hand, my heart by belatrix (E, 16k, completed)

Summary: Mostly, Tony had tried not to look. He still does. Try, that is. It’s just― it’s getting a little bit harder every day.

Review: I have a HUGE soft spot for this beautiful masterpiece, because it was the fic that finally made me join the Starker fandom. I’ve reread it so many times and it never fails to amaze me. Through an atmospheric non-linear narrative, this shows a guilt-ridden Tony Stark trying and failing to resist one determined Peter Parker who won’t take bullshit for an answer. Hot, and angsty, and breathtaking.

• I know that you got Daddy Issues (And I do too) by feyrelay (E)

Summary: The one where Peter’s blue balls save the world. Because, yeah? That meandering, blooming thing between him and Mr. Stark? That relationship that continues to be maddeningly legal, platonic, and above-board, but still somehow haunts Peter’s wildest wet-dreams? That might just be the key to Strange’s endgame.

Review: This fic is a love letter to those who appreciate an angsty and nuanced slow burn like me. Possibly the best character study I’ve ever read combined with a clever, well researched and intricated plot. Reading this will make you fall even more in love with Tony and Peter as individuals, before wanting them to be better together. Make sure to also check all related fics under the tag DIEU (Daddy Issues Extended Universe) - the Starker verse we fucking deserve.

• if I am the river, you are the ocean by sadonsundays (E, 7k, completed)

Summary: The one where Tony can't sleep and Peter can't stop his hands from shaking.

Review: This is a gorgeous recovery fic, painful and heartbreaking, yes, but still very gentle as Tony and Peter’s relationship quietly unfolds. Pepper is an absolute treat which was refreshing to me. I just love the quiet and angsty undertone that guides their journey until they finally find home in each other.

if you’d grant my love a pardon by belatrix (M, 2.5k, completed)

Summary: The first time, it goes something like this: “No,” Tony says, but it’s tired, half-hearted, not quite a denial.

Review: One of the reasons why I love this ship is that there’s always room for angst, even when they’re already together. This lovely yet heartbreaking fic mirrors Tony’s fragile heart as he realizes that as much as he should, he just can’t let go of Peter, not quite yet. Belatrix writes guilty!Tony’s headspace like nobody else and I just can’t recommend her writing enough.

• in the light of a dying star by @areiton (M, 6k, completed) fix-it

Summary: Extremis isn't a guarantee. That's what Pepper told him, as they took him off the bloody, dusty field. It was just a chance. A desperate gamble.

Review: I’m so glad I read this right after Endgame because this is the fix-it Tony and we all deserved, this fic is so comforting and beautiful. I really love the quiet, ethereal atmosphere and how it shapes our perception of time and character development. Peter is beautifully written and their get together made my heart ache in peace.

• In the Morning by @cagestark (M, 6k, completed)

Summary: Peter's pretty stressed. He isn't understanding physics despite all the extra time he is spending with Bruce. And underneath it all, something is wrong with Mr. Stark.

Review: Heart wrenching and painfully honest fic, where Tony is a jealous mess and Peter is his usual earnest, sweet and good self. They meet in the middle, and it’s quiet, beautiful and sad.

• Kiss Me by @ironspi

Summary: Five times Peter and Tony almost kiss and one time they did.

Review: This fic was such a lovely surprise! It begins unpretentious and it builds up to quality pining and unresolved sexual tension. Chapter 4 is particularly awesome, so charged and intimate. Kudos to the author for exploring Peter taking the lead and making Tony melt in his arms.

• Landslide by spqr (M, 8k, completed) fix-it

Summary: Peter jumps into the quantum realm with his heart in his throat. He steps out in 2018, on the edge of a lake he still has nightmares about. A hundred yards away over the water, the lights in the lakehouse are on.

Review: Morally ambiguous characters + angsty time travel? Count me in. This fic has a very interesting (and darker) take on Peter post-Thanos, in his raw and desperate grief over Tony. Bonus points for amazing dialogues and a fix-it plot so clever and believable I’m surprised I didn’t see it on screen.

• lean on me now by @areiton (G, 9k, on hiatus)

Summary: He’s so tired, and he hurts, the kind of screaming pain he’s struggling to ignore now, and he wants to go home. But he can do this. He can sit and watch, and keep them safe. A wry smile tugs at his lips because he knows how ridiculous that sounds--a kid keeping Avengers safe.

Review: One of the best canon divergence fics I’ve ever read. It’s quiet, angsty and Peter’s voice is simply amazing. My heart breaks for Tony, but I’m so here for Peter & Rhodey’s brOTP, the fandom deserves more of it.

• noticing by @areiton (NR, 2k, completed)

Summary: “You deserve to be happy,” Rhodey tells Tony once, when Tony is drinking and conflicted and Peter is sleeping unaware on the couch. Tony watches him, eyes bright.

Review: How could I ever resist seeing Tony and Peter’s relationship development through Rhodey’s protective and thoughtful gaze? Any Tony stan should read this fic because this is the kind of love, friendship and support he deserves. Reading this put my mind at rest, knowing Tony’s cared for, and safe.

• Obvious by @learned-foot (M, 14k, completed)

Summary: When Peter wakes up, several things become very clear all at once: he’s underground somewhere unpleasant, something is messing with his powers, and his entire body hurts. A lot.

Review: WHUMP WHUMP WHUMP *victory dance* god this one is brutal, but we can trust LF to bring on full angst with an intriguing plot and A+++ characterization. I’m so here for protective!Tony doing whatever it takes to keep Peter safe, including all the confusion and heartbreak his problematic decisions may bring.

• Permission by @cagestark (E, 16k, completed)

Summary: During drinks with the Avengers, Peter admits that he enjoys orgasms more when someone is giving him permission, though since he's single, there isn't anyone in his life to offer it. Generous Tony offers to offer it.

Review: This fic is unique and so very hot, but don’t let the smutty summary fool you. There is also tenderness and FEELS in capital letters. Despite their arrangement, pining!Tony is so vulnerable and so completely in love with Peter it kinda breaks my heart a little, but thankfully Cage is a big fan of happy endings like me, so we’re all safe in her hands.

***Post-Endgame NYE by @darker-soft-starker (M, completed)

Summary: Five years after the events of endgame Tony is resurrected. Months after that, he's still trying to find equilibrium

Review: Hands down the loveliest ‘flirting on a bench’ I’ve ever seen, and my top favorite NYE Starker fic. I love to see Tony facing an existential crisis while he navigates his new life post-resurrection, including the violent realization of ‘oh no, Peter’s an attractive adult now’. Gentle and gorgeous get together, kudos at Morgan for being a little devil and playing matchmaking.

• Proxy by @cagestark (E, 11k, completed)

Summary: Peter wants to know if Mr. Stark knows, like, anybody who’d be willing to make out with him. Things escalate from there.

Review: I have such a big soft spot for this fic because “by proxy” is one of my favorite tropes and Cage explored it masterfully. Again, this is pining!Tony at his best and Cage just has this ability to transform what once started as a sexy little thing into this soft and gentle love story, the kind that gives you butterflies in the stomach.

• Radar by @intoxicatelou (M)

Summary: Peter could say that he’s officially approached desperation, but he wants this, wants Tony, and he’s willing to do everything it takes. Or the one in which Peter tries to become Tony's celebrity crush from 2009 in order to seduce him.

Review: This is one of my favorites self-indulgent fics, I just can’t resist the good old “Peter’s seduction handbook” trope and intoxicatelou delivers it beautifully. This story is sweet, super fun and relatable af. There’s A+ pining, Peter being a bisexual disaster and MJ being the queen we all stan, shocking absolutely no one.

• Revelations by RTC anonymous (E, 127k, completed)

Summary: “I still don’t get it,” Ned says. “How you just... keep being ordinary in spite of all the craziness you’ve lived through. You were in space. You helped Iron Man save the universe. And nobody knows it was you.” His tone softens, becomes almost sad. As though he realizes that what he’s saying is so completely alien to him that he will never be able to understand this part of Peter’s life. “Peter, don’t you want people to know you for who you are?” An AU where they get the Gauntlet off of Thanos that first time, on Titan.

Review: I feel like I don’t need to justify this choice – almost everyone in the fandom has either heard of or read this masterpiece, it’s safe to say this fic is part of the Starker Training Wheels Protocol lol. If you have just arrived or is just exploring the fandom and enjoys slow burns I suggest you start right hee because it doesn’t get any better than this. There’s A+++ characterization, breathtaking pining, insane sexual tension and a very satisfying ending if I may say so. Definitely among my top 3 Starker fics. RTC anon, wherever you are, please know you are loved and appreciated. I’ll literally build an altar for you.

• Reversal by @learned-foot (E, 4k, completed)

Summary: Sometimes, Tony is the one who needs to be praised.

Review: For once Peter makes Tony just lie down and take 😊 the fucking 😊 praise 😊. I feel like I’ve been waiting for this fic all my life. This is the praise kink Tony (and we all) deserve, genuine, gentle and powerful. If you’re a big sap for their love like I am, you’re in for an emotional ride because this is overwhelmingly sweet to the point it brings tears to your eyes. LF is such a gift to this fandom.

• Settling by @cagestark (E, 5k, completed)

Summary: Peter really wants to be taller than Tony. Heels help.

Review: One of my favorites by Cage, I still remember how happy and giggly I felt when I first read it. There is A+++ characterization, amazing dialogue, Avengers domesticity, praise kink, the hottest blow job and my favorite Starker first kiss. Oh, did I mention Peter in heels and Tony loving every moment of it? You’re welcome :D

• Stipulations by RTC anonymous (E, 70k, completed)

Summary: Peter Parker’s long term dream recently went from ‘get into MIT’ to ‘afford going to MIT’. As the time approaches, it’s dawning on him that he won’t be able to pay his tuition and afford the move to Cambridge all at once: he’s out of money, his secrets are beginning to pile up, and desperation has started creeping in... And then one night, he saves Tony Stark’s life.

Review: Another fandom classic by our irreplaceable RTC anon, this fic is SO GOOD I keep coming back to it and just recently I realized I’ve built all my personal Starker headcanons out of it, lol. A+++ characterization and hot, delicious pining is a given with this author, but I’m really here for that senses-dialed-to-11 trope, and RTC delivers it masterfully.

• subtle by @areiton (T, 1k, completed)

Summary: Peter is not subtle. He wears his emotion, his excitement, like a flag waved bright red and teasing for a bull—impossible to go unnoticed, impossible to ignore. It’s adorable and it’s Peter, and it’s—in hindsight—why Tony misses the context clues.

Review: This fic is like reading poetry, a balm to the heart. Peter wears Tony’s colors and by the time Tony finally gets the context clues they fall together in the gentlest, softest way.

• Take it slow by tuesday (E, 13k, completed)

Summary: There were a ton of reasons dating Peter was a bad idea. Tony loved bad ideas. He was going to do it anyway. In which Tony thinks they're dating, and then they're dating undercover.

Review: This fic is so endearing it’s basically impossible not to cheer for these two, despite their usual infuriating communication issues, lol. But I promise all the angst and wait are worth it, because there’s nothing more satisfying than seeing how they (finally!) get to be on the same page.

• the record spins on the trails we blaze by @darker-soft-starker (NR, 5k, completed)

Summary: Years after the events of Homecoming, Peter thought all of the bad memories were well and truly behind him. After all, so much has happened since then - and he's happy now. Everything is kinda perfect.Turns out nothing stays buried.

Review: Hell yes! I agree HoCo’s events were particularly traumatizing and this trope is not as explored as it should be. To put it simply, this fic is something I didn’t know that I needed and Ash delivered it beautifully. It’s incredibly gentle, cathartic and honest, not to mention the lovely domesticity and understanding between the characters that will make your heart swell.

• Under Someone Else by @learned-foot (M, 7k, completed)

Summary: Peter realizes he’s just a rebound. And he’s okay with that, really. Or at least, that’s what he keeps telling himself.

Review: FEELS, FEELS EVERYWHERE. It’s so hard to choose a favorite fic by LF but this is the first that comes to mind because it introduced me to the amazing rebound trope. It’s so refreshing to see this ship’s potential for angst and miscommunication playing into the “fuck first, talk later” scenario. Warning for vulnerable boys being idiots and breaking our hearts but P.P.P.S they do eventually get their shit together and it’s glorious!

• Up for Anything by tuesday (E, 8k, completed)

Summary: When it came to Tony Stark, Peter would take what he could get. In which Peter believes he's just a rebound. (Not Endgame compliant.)

Review: Of course there’s yet another gorgeous rebound rec because I can’t get enough of this trope. Honestly, LF and Tuesday writing for each other have provided some of the best fics this fandom has, God bless them. This is another treat featuring pining!Peter and the usual “I can’t communicate properly how much I fucking love you”, but there’s also bantering, delicious dirty talk and so much affection that you’ll read it all with the biggest smile on your face.

#starker #reclist #peter parker x tony stark

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the-panwitch · 4 years

Text

Castle

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: This was a request submitted by @dreamerinthesun. Thank you so much for this request and sorry for taking so long to write it. I also changed one slight detail of what you asked for because I kind of forgot about it until after I wrote it so...yeah. Sorry. I hope you still like it tho lol.

Warnings: some swearing, Minho being a shithead, mostly fluffy and platonic friendship between Minho and Reader, bullying Gally

Word Count: 1261

Pairings: Newt x Reader, platonic Minho and Reader

Summary: Reader is a very sweet and seemingly innocent person who is somehow best friends with the least innocent person in the Glade. At a Gathering discussing various things the Gladers need, Newt and the others discover that maybe Y/n isn’t as sweet and innocent as they think.

Sidenote: There are a few details that may confuse people who haven’t read the books. Sorry not sorry. Go read them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh come on, Newt!”

It was a pretty regular day in the glade. Newt, your boyfriend, had limped himself into the Med-Jack hut complaining of some headache or some klunk, just so that he could spend some time with you and distract you from the actually injured Gladers.

The blond boy just chuckled as he kissed your cheek, an innocent grin plastered onto his face. He absolutely adored it whenever you got angry. He found it super cute considering your normal sweet demeanor. Everyone in the glade knew how much of a sweetheart you were. You were always kind to everyone and always made sure to take care of your patients with the gentleness of a mother, and you also never swore. It was a very big and innocent contrast compared to the rest of the glade.

You huff at him as you untangle yourself from within his arms to try and go back to the task at hand: organizing the medical shelves. They definitely were more stocked than they usually were, but bandages and other supplies were needed. You sigh as you sort through all of the materials.

“Oh hey, I brought these for you,” you heard a beautiful British accent say, clearly only just remembering whatever this was.

You turn to look at Newt as he pulls out a bundle and hands it to you. As you unwrap the faded fabric, a wonderful smell floats up to your nose. Lavender, primrose, rosemary, poppy, sage, yarrow, goldenrod. Newt had brought you herbs from the Trackhoes medical garden. It was your idea to have that garden in the first place, and it warmed your heart seeing how well the plants were doing.

“Thank you, angel,” you said happily as you started prepping the plants for drying.

As you were tying up the stems by the window, Minho strolled in. You looked over at him and raised an eyebrow, expecting some mischief. Minho was your best friend in the glade. It was a surprise to everyone at how well you both got along considering you were seen as practically polar opposites. He was loud, mischievous, snarky. You were reserved, kind, polite. Yet, whenever you weren’t with Newt you were usually seen with Minho. And usually, that meant you were the common sense to his chaos.

“Minho you know my rule,” you stated as you turned back to tying up the plants. “No shenanigans when I’m doing my job.” The Keeper of the Runners rolled his eyes as he leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed.

“Shenanigans? Me? Never.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes as Newt snorted in disbelief. “Yeah, sure.”

A low chuckle could be heard from the dark haired boy. “Whatever you say, shank. Alby’s calling a Gathering. All the Keepers need to be there.”

You bite back a groan of annoyance as you dust off your hands on your pants. You had been made Keeper of the Med-Jacks a couple months ago, and while it certainly had its perks, all the new responsibilities were kind of overwhelming.

Newt nodded and stood up. He wasn’t a Keeper, but he was the Second-In-Command, so he still needed to attend. You took Newt’s hand before walking out of the room, Minho following behind the both of you.

————————

You hated the Gathering Room. It was always hot and dusty and smelled like sweat and boredom. You were sitting in your place between Zart, Keeper of the Trackhoes, and Billy, Keeper of the Baggers. Minho was sitting in front of you. Newt and Alby were at the front of the room taking requests one by one from each of the Keepers of things that were needed. More nails for the Builders, more seeds for the Trackhoes, so on and so on and so on.

You had already put in your request for more bandages and twine, so now you were just biding your time until you all were dismissed. Normally you’d be patient and listen intently to everyone’s needs, but today you really just wanted to leave.

The sound of snickering grabbed your attention and pulled at it until you were focused on the source: Minho. Of course.

You leaned forward until your head was practically over top of his shoulder before whispering, “What’s so funny?”

Minho glanced at you with a familiar glint in his eye. This Gathering was about to get a lot more amusing. With a playful wink, the boy turned back around in his seat. He was focused on the front of the room. When you glanced up, you noticed Gally was standing near Alby and he was reciting various things he and his builders needed. Apparently, it was a lot more than just nails. You barely stifled a giggle as you watched Newt yawn from behind his hand.

“We also need more rope. Alex used the last of it two days ago. And another thing-”

“Don’t forget to get yourself some more tweezers for your eyebrows, Captain Gally.”

You gasped out a laugh before clapping a hand over your mouth. Gally turned around and shot a glare at a smirking Minho. You weren’t the only one who had laughed. Newt was barely suppressing his laughs as his shoulders shook, and the ever so stoic Alby had a hint of a grin on his face.

“Slim it, Minho,” Alby stated calmly. “Or you’ll be spending some time in the Slammer.” Minho let out a dramatic whine as he slumped in his seat.

“Oh, come on Alby. I’m just saying the man needs his tweezers. He’s gonna have a unibrow soon if we don’t do something.” There were many more sounds of the other Keepers holding back chuckles and sounds of laughter as Gally’s glare hardened. You were giggling behind your hand.

“Minho if you have nothing serious to ask for then you can spend the rest of this meeting out in the Slammer,” Alby said seriously, but the light in his eyes betrayed his amusement.

“Fine fine fine,” Minho said with a loud sigh. “Let’s see, I need some more trainers, notepads, some of those Runner undies you know what I’m talking about, hair gel-”

“Why are you like this?” Alby interrupted with a tired look. Minho just grinned in response as the other Keepers laughed and elbowed one another.

“You may want hair gel, but bitch I want a castle.”

You have never heard a room go quiet so fast as all eyes turned to you. The grin slid from your face as quickly as it had arrived as you glanced over everyone’s shocked faces.

“Since when did you swear?” Winston questioned as he turned to look at you with interest.

“Shit, Y/n. You never swore around these slintheads?” Minho asked as he looked back at you with delight. You only shrugged in response.

“Wait hold on. Wait a bloody moment,” Newt said as he held his hands up for attention. “What do you mean ‘never swore’ around us?”

Minho let out a loud barking laugh as he looked around at everyone. “Y/n has the damn mouth of a sailor, is what I mean.” All eyes turned to you as you grinned sheepishly.

“Well...he isn’t wrong. You’re all just fucking oblivious.”

The rest of the day was spent ignoring the need to put in requests as everyone questioned you, wondering why they had all believed the idea that you were all goody goody and innocent when you were really just as rough as the rest of them. Also, where the klunk did the castle thing come from??

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading!! As always, reach out to me if you would like to be added or taken out of my taglists!

Tagging: @soft-petey @tommysparker @lekirra018 @stixnstripesworld @orowit @dreamerinthesun

#newt x reader #minho #tmr alby #tmr #my fics #funny #the maze runner #newt tmr #zart

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quaylinsims · 3 years

Text

I was excited to meet Mr. Baldwin's family. I was sure such a kind and gentle man would have wonderful children, and I was looking forward to putting a face to the lovely lady who had been writing to me for months.

Mr. Baldwin had sent me extra money for travel expenses and some train tickets that would take me to upstate New York. I silently thanked the gods I didn't believe in that I didn't have asthma in this life and cursed them that I had to ride in a train pulled by a coal-powered steam engine. Gross.

The trip was long, and I was relieved when I found myself on a station platform again.

Mr. Baldwin sent Lizzy Baden, the governess, to greet me. She was a stern and capable governess, and she was chiefly involved with tending to the youngest Baldwin, as the others were advancing in their studies to where they would need experienced tutors. I rarely saw her without seeing Joseph, the pre-school aged son (though the time didn't have pre-school).

When we got to the house, I was immediately taken into the parlor where I finally met Mrs. Baldwin. We sat and talked for a little while before she sent me up to bed. Maggie, the housekeeper, had shown me the way.

It wasn't until the next day that I met Mr. and Mrs. Baldwin's children. There was William, the oldest. He was a bit of a perfectionist and a bookworm, but too serious for a child on the verge of adolescence, in my view. Joseph, or Joey, was a cute little boy, sweet but also quite shy.

And then there was David. He was a few years younger than William, about my age, or rather, the age of the child's body I inhabited. I could tell he was clever, but he had a knack for mischief. I quickly learned that his target was almost always William, who just tried to ignore him.

But when I came, I became a frequent target of his less than gentle side. I enjoyed the feel of the grass between my toes, and he took that opportunity to make fun of me, asking: "Didn't my father buy you any shoes?"

He proceeded to insinuate all sorts of horrible things, always coming back to the fact that I was there and taken care of due to his father's generosity. He always said these things out of earshot of the adults.

At first, I was hurt and angry at his bullying. But I remembered that bullies usually bully because of something they feel lacking in themselves. I wondered if he was feeling jealous of the attention I got from his father. I never asked, and I kept his cruelties a secret.

I did my best to steer clear of him that summer, mostly enjoying the company of Mrs. Baldwin.

Occasionally, Mr. Baldwin would invite me into his study, which no one was allowed into without permission. Noting my successes at school (I would have to purposely get some answers wrong to avoid being made fun of by some of the girls), he would let me borrow books and teach me to play chess.

Mr. and Mrs. Baldwin noticed I wasn't exactly having fun at their home that summer. To my knowledge, they never knew about David picking on me. I believe they merely thought I was lonely without other girls to play with.

They tried inviting their friends and their daughters over for play dates, but I never found the girls very interesting. They were, after all, children. And girls in the 19th century. None read the newspaper or cared about it. They wanted to play with dolls and talk about what kinds of husbands they wanted. I asked one, Becky Hanson, whether she wanted to have a career. She gave me a look like I was crazy, and she and her mother left early.

I mostly read outside in the yard, thankful that I didn't have allergies anymore. Or I would walk into town with Maggie or Mrs. Baldwin.

When the long summer ended, I made the decision that I would not return for a while.

The school eventually gave me my own room as I got older. It provided plenty of breathing room and light to read by.

I continued trying to find a way home, but my visits to the bookstore were more frequently to find entertainment than anything else, and I rarely read the newspaper for anything other than current affairs.

They brought in a piano and a tutor, and I took up playing. When I wasn't reading or pretending to study, I was playing the piano. Eventually, I began teaching the basics to the younger girls.

Then I began tutoring the girls who needed extra help. Eventually, by the time I was "17," I was teaching entire lessons, bringing in some of the experience I'd had before landing in this century.

Look at me looking all teacheriffic!

Anyway, that year, Mr. Baldwin sent me a letter:

Dearest Emma, Mrs. Baldwin and I wish you would come around more. I understand it can be a taxing journey, but we do so miss you. We will be staying at home for this year's Christmas festivities, and we would enjoy it immensely if you joined us for the celebrations. Oh yes, William has decided to join me in my investitures. He is so serious, though. I wonder if he will be able to take any worthwhile risks. But that is between you and me. I hope to see you soon, Mr. Henry Baldwin

I sighed. It had been over eight years since I had last been there, and I was still the recipient of the Mr. Baldwin's generosity. I had kept exchanging letters with him and Mrs. Baldwin, and they nearly felt like family. Returning for Christmas wasn't too big an ask.

I made sure to have some nice clothes made. I still did not like the styles women wore, so I often persuaded the seamstresses to make my skirts smaller, more Edwardian. They didn't need to know I was basing my own personal style on a later time period. I made an exception for the dress I would wear on Christmas and to any holiday festivities I would be invited to.

There was already some snow on the ground when I arrived. It was much more beautiful than the dusty, dirty city snow in Philadelphia, though at least there weren't any gas and/or oil-powered engines running down the streets yet.

I had seen myself from the train to the house, and I was greeted warmly by most of the Baldwins. William was now a young man, and Joey was much bigger than I remembered him being. Almost a teenager! David mostly kept a distance. At least he didn't mock me anymore.

The first time I sat down to play the piano in the living room, everything else seemed to go quiet. When I was finished, three Baldwins and Lizzy Baden all applauded.

"I'll get a man in here right away to tune that piano," Mrs. Baldwin promised.

The man came just in time for Christmas. There were a few different parties held at the Baldwin home: one for friends, one for Mr. Baldwin's colleagues, and a more intimate one.

I played for all of them, much to the delight of Mr. and Mrs. Baldwin. I even got a "Not bad" from David! That in itself was a gift.

I returned to Philadelphia in January and continued teaching.

#sims 4 story #s4 story #storytelling #Past Perfection

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lesetoilesfous · 4 years

Note

"Inappropriate location" from the NSFW prompts for Handers for the DADWC?

Oh now see this is incredibly fun. Thank you so much for the prompt!

(If you’d like me to write you a da2 fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: M!Handers

Characters: Garrett Hawke, Anders

Tags: set at a vague point after da2, AU, Anders is incorrigible, past Karl/Anders

Rating: Mature

“This is a terrible idea. And considering the fact that I’m the one saying that, there’s a strong chance the sky will fall, imminently.” Anders sniggers, and Hawke gives him an unimpressed glare, even as he allows himself to be tugged into some poor absent Senior Enchanter’s bedroom.

“Come on Garrett. For me?” Anders bats his eyelashes and looks like a man nearly fifteen years his junior, coquettish and proud. Hawke rolls his eyes and double checks the lock on the door, mostly as an excuse to hide his blush from the mage who insists on making him feel like a teenager.

A wave of power brushes against his arm, shimmering in the air for a moment before a Glyph of Repulsion glimmers over the wood. Hawke turns back to his lover, raising an eyebrow. “Won’t they know how to dispel that?”

Anders shrugs, stepping closer and walking his fingers up Hawke’s armour. “I guess it depends on how efficient you are. Besides, I like to think only the Senior Enchanters could break my Glyphs. And they’re not here right now.”

“As far as we know,” Hawke warns, without much feeling. It had been...a while, since Anders had looked at him as playfully as he’s looking now. Ever since Kirkwall - sometimes Hawke got the impression that Anders was a dying flame, and he was the poor fool cradling his embers, trying desperately to keep them burning. Some days, it felt like that light could be snuffed out with a word. Right now though? Now he’s like the sun, bright and burning and full of life. Hawke wants him to stay this way forever, and be the happy, fierce, powerful man he’d fallen in love with.

Hawke has known enough of grief to know that won’t happen. But he wants to live in this daydream for a little while longer. Sighing, he lifts his hand to Anders’ cheek. Anders nuzzles into his touch, eyes fluttering shut. “Why did you want to come back here, anyway?”

A faint frown creases Anders’ freckled brow. He opens his eyes, and they’re yellow as a cat’s and just as indignant. “Are you going to bed me or not?”

Hawke shrugs, and doesn’t fight the playful grin pulling at his lips. “I’m thinking about it.” Anders scowls, but he doesn’t move away from Hawke’s touch, and Hawke gently runs his hand through his lover’s hair. It’s gotten long, in the last few months. He wonders whether Anders will cut it. “Tell me.”

Anders looks away from him now, long fingers tapping his thigh. The late afternoon sun falls into the room from high, narrow windows - too small to crawl through, though Hawke has no doubt Anders had attempted it. “Think of it as laying my demons to rest.” Hawke makes no effort to hide his feelings about that choice of words, and Anders snorts. “Figuratively speaking.” He looks around them, at the small, cramped room. “There was a time when this seemed like the height of luxury. Your own space. A soft bed. A door you could lock.” He gestures at the armoire and the desk beside it. “A place for your own things. Your own things! I couldn’t even imagine what I wanted to own.”

Hawke thinks about the wide, sparse dormitories in which the apprentices had been kept on the floors below them. “It’s...hard to imagine what it must have been like.” He admits, softly. Anders gives him a gentle, tired smile, and shrugs.

“We all have our own battles.” Hawke nods. He’d spoken more than once to his lover about what it had been like to grow up on the run, with an apostate for a father and then one for a baby sister. It wasn’t about who had it worse. But still - the idea of Anders living here chafes at something in his chest. He tries to imagine Anders small, and quiet, and scared, flinching from the templars that had once haunted this place. Hawke doesn’t like the image it presents.

In the present, Anders sighs and tugs a hand up and back through his hair, swallowing. “Karl would have lived here. Not in this room specifically. Well.” Anders frowns. “Probably not. But somewhere like this. I used to joke with him about the favours I’d trade to get a room next to his.” Anders’ mouth curls into a sad, bitter smile. “He never really approved of those jokes.” Anders folds his arms around his chest. He’s still not looking at Garrett. Behind them, the bed is dusty and abandoned, like the rest of Kinloch Hold. As it has been for months.

Hawke steps forward and gently rests his hands on Anders’ shoulders, waiting until his lover looks at him before lifting a hand to brush his knuckles against his cheek and tuck a strand of red gold hair behind his ear. “Is that why we’re here? For Karl?” He speaks very quietly. The words are swallowed by the silence of the empty tower.

Anders shrugs, stiff and awkward. He doesn’t move away. “I don’t know. I had a life here. So much - so much of what I’ve done has been informed by what happened here. What happened to me here. What I learned, what I was taught, what I survived.” Anders swallows. Hawke’s hand tightens around his shoulder. Anders looks up at him, and his nose is brushed with sun-browned freckles. His golden eyes are bright. “I thought I’d find answers. Or guidance. But now I’m here I just feel haunted by the person I used to be, by what they did.” Anders voice breaks, and Hawke pulls him into his arms. It’s not so much a conscious decision as it is a sudden, violent need to keep him safe and hold him, where no one can ever make him sound like that again. Hawke presses a kiss to Anders’ head, and Anders chuckles, a little damply against his chest. “You’re such a softie.”

Hawke hums, and presses another kiss to his lover’s forehead, gently lifting his chin with crooked fingers. “When it comes to you? Absolutely.” Anders laughs again, and looks away, but blood rushes pink and lovely to his freckled cheeks. Hawke dips his head to kiss the warm skin. When he pulls back, he catches Anders’ tears with his thumb, gently wiping them away from under his eyes. “So what do you want to do now?”

Anders smirks a little, rubbing his eyes and clearing his throat. “I want to take it back. When I lived here it was on their terms, under their rules. I was a different person. I was so scared, all the time. But I’m not scared of them any more.” He glances up at Hawke, and smiles shyly, tanglling their fingers together. “I’ve got you.”

Hawke squeezes Anders’ hand, and lets go of his shoulder to scratch his beard. It really needs a trim. He looks, doubtfully, at the dusty bed in the middle of the room. The room smells like old blood and magic. He already knows he’s going to agree. Anders watches him hopefully, and Hawke draws it out, waiting until realisation glitters in Anders’ eyes. Then he grins. “You know, I always wanted to see what these Circle beds were like.”

Anders laughs, and catches Hawke’s face in his hands, pulling him down for a quick fierce kiss that melts into something deeper as Hawke wraps his arms around his lover’s waist. Anders is warm and solid in his embrace, and for a moment Hawke imagines holding him here forever, where he knows he will be safe. After a long time - and not nearly long enough, Anders pulls back, long fingers tracing the shell of Hawke’s ear. He grins at him, in the space where their foreheads and noses are touching. “Honestly, they’re the worst.”

#dadwc #midnightprelude #handers #da2 #my fic #da2 fic #hawke #anders #m!handers

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buckyreaderrecs · 4 years

Text

A Toast to Whiskey: Chapter 1 / 2

Summary: You work in an old bar hidden away from the modern world. It's almost charming, but not quite. That's probably why Bucky likes it.

Words: 2,325 Pairing: Bucky Barnes/reader Characters: Bucky Barnes Additional tags: Bucky needs a hug, recovering Bucky, mostly canon compliant (Infinity War and Endgame didn’t happen, Stark Tower still exists), angst, she/her pronouns, more tags/characters to be added with part 2, brief mention of Nazis, mental health will be prominent part of part 2

Note: Find this fic and others on A03 - click here. And follow this Tumblr! I post lists of Bucky/Reader fic writers and reblog all my favs. I’ve just started it, so would love the support! xo Rhi

Dedicated to: @browngirlmagic for the conversation. The next chapter is the Lush one!

A Toast to Whiskey Chapter 1 / 2

There were a lot of things in the dusty, old bar that made the man's jaw clench in annoyance, distaste, or anger. You were compiling a list of these things, doing your best to minimise their occurrences. There was one you couldn't avoid though, and it was almost amusing that it bothered him at all. Each time someone ordered a drink - beer, cocktail, shot, whatever - a clean glass was given. The man didn't like it. Was it not like that in his time?

If James Buchanan Barnes thought he'd gone unnoticed in the hole-in-the-wall bar you worked at, he was mistaken. Not entirely, to be fair; the baseball cap and quiet stopped the other patrons from even giving him a second glance. 'Patrons' might have been too civilised of a word to call them. They were old, sickly, local men that had been drinking the same beer from those same taps forever. Harmless, mostly. Unobservant, entirely. Not you though. The first day Bucky walked in and taken a barstool on the very corner, closest to the door, you knew exactly who he was.

Like a lot of people that came and went from the establishment, Bucky's seeking of anonymity was granted. You pretended to not recognise him. You were kind to him, a little more gentle than you were to others, but mostly just a good bartender. And in time, you grew accustomed to the charade. He came in a couple of afternoons a week, but never during the nights when it would be busy. Eventually, he even started to speak more than a couple words to you.

"New cap?" you greeted Bucky with a grin, putting the only drink he ever ordered down in front of him.

Bucky wrapped his right hand around the glass of whiskey. He glanced at you, smiled and shrugged.

"Speaking of new, can I ask you something?" you asked.

The expression on Bucky's face was guarded, but definitely one of concern. You realised you should have just asked, rather than let his mind spiral.

"What’s your problem with clean glasses?"

He looked surprised. Surprised was an experience Bucky wasn't particularly used to or fond of. He wouldn't hold it against you though.

"How do ya know I got a problem?" he asked back, genuinely curious.

Shrugging, you looked around casually. "Guess I notice a lot of things about people,"

"Right," he said slowly, knowingly. "I don't know… Just seems wasteful… Is it the law?"

"That we have to use clean glasses?" you asked with a laugh. "I don't know… probably not. I mean, it's more hygienic. Probably makes the drink taste cleaner or whatever. Board of Health might have a problem with us if we didn't… Not that I've seen one of them in here in years."

Bucky picked up his glass and finished the whiskey. "Fill her up," he quipped. He'd made a half-joke, and you appreciated the effort.

"Yes, sir. Lemme know if you, you know, what anything else," you told him, topping him up, knocking your knuckles on the bar top, and walking away.

…

Bucky Barnes certainly wasn't the most chatty person you'd met. It was better to ask questions if you wanted to pass time with conversations. Easy conversation was one of your special skills, being a bartender and all. However, it was incredibly difficult to do this when you were purposefully avoiding topics that would put Bucky in a position to have to, you know, admit his identity and all that. So, things stayed superficial.

No, Bucky didn't watch the game.

Yes, the weather's been insane.

No, he doesn't want any nut mix.

Okay, maybe yes to pretzels.

Yes, he can see your hair has changed colour.

Yes, he likes it.

For as long as it had taken to get to the point of superficial conversation, it didn't take any time at all to run out of things to say. As it turned out, neither you nor Bucky had lived, or were living, shallow enough lives to sustain it. There were questions you were begging to ask, and if he was honest with himself, Bucky was kinda just counting down until you finally spoke up.

…

"So, I got a question,"

"Mmm. You have a lot of questions," Bucky said, smirking then taking another sip of his whisky.

"You could ask me somethin' if you want a change of pace, pal."

It was a joke. Just banter. But a dark expression flashes across Bucky's face for only a split second. You didn't catch it.

"What's your question, Y/N?"

He knew your name?

Of course he knew your name. He was The Winter fucking Soldier. He probably knew everything about everyone that worked and frequented the bar. How had you not thought of that before? Suddenly, it seemed risky to ask what you had planned to.

Bucky watched you hesitate. He sighed and looked around at the empty room. It was a Monday afternoon and it was just before the regulars showed up to knock beer bottles together and catcall you across the bar. It was just you and him.

"Ask," he said softly, taking his cap off and setting it down on the barstool next to him. You watched Bucky run his hands through his hair, tucking some of it behind his ear.

"Why do you drink whiskey?"

Bucky laughed. Like, a proper heartfelt laugh. "What?" he said, nose still scrunched up in amusement.

"What?"

"Why do I drink whiskey?" he repeated.

"Yeah… I mean… It's disgusting… and, like, you… can't get drunk, right?"

There it was. You did it. Admitted you knew him. Which he figured out. So none of what was happening was really a big deal. But it sure as fuck felt like it.

"Right. I can’t- Well, I can, but it takes a lot,"

"Asgardian mead a lot?"

Bucky grinned and tipped his glass towards you. "How do you know about Asgardian mead?"

You snorted. "Everyone does. Everyone knows everything these days,"

"That's what we want you to think," he said, not skipping a beat.

It made you laugh. It was already better talking to him without false pretences. "So, whisky?"

"Ah… Guess it's that everything's different now… An' that's mostly good. But… You know."

No. No, you didn't know. How could you even begin to understand? "Yeah," you said, your voice far more quiet than you meant it to be.

"Whiskey's still whiskey,"

"It tastes the same?" you asked.

"Almost. Not exactly. Close enough,"

"Makes sense… But why here? S'not like this bar been here since the 40s or anything."

Bucky was visibly trying not to smile. Or make eye contact. "Ah… Not sure how to answer that without… offending ya,"

"Huh? ... Oh, I don't own the joint or anything,"

"You don't?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

"No? You think I did? Why?"

"You're…" but he shrugged, still guarded. "I don't know," he lied. "But, ah, I was just lookin' for somewhere…"

"Pretty much stuck in the 40s or thereabouts?"

He nodded, smiling. "But without the Nazis,"

"Mmm… I mean… Have you watched the news lately?" you very quickly said.

"I try to avoid it," he admitted solemnly.

As people started to wander in, the conversation waned. Bucky watched you serve cold beer and pour bags of crisps into bowls. He listened to the worst songs being picked on the jukebox and he sat truly shocked you weren't even at least the daughter of the owner. Despite what you may have thought, he hadn't bothered to investigate you at all and finding his assumptions to be wrong was unsettling.

See, Bucky was a little bit smitten with you. He thought you were smart and sassy and timelessly beautiful. You were the ultimate perk of randomly picking this as his hideaway from the world. But, he figured you were only here because it was a family business. Why was someone smart, sassy and beautiful working strange hours at a shitty bar?

It was hard to say which of you was more curious about the other.

…

Something about what Bucky said had stuck in your head. Whiskey, his drink of choice, was the closest thing to his own time he could find. You could do better than that though.

About a year into working at the bar, you were finally allowed to venture into the cellar to clean it up. There were boxes of shit from forever ago down there and you just wanted it sorted, gone, and the space put to better use. Most of what lived beneath the floor was trash, but every hour or so you'd find something cool. A few vintage beer signs. Empty bottles of collector edition Coke. That kind of stuff. But, there was one thing you had found that you now wanted to stumble across again.

Nobody could remember where it had got to.

It took two days of searching to find it.

The bottle of whiskey was shoved under a bunch of paperwork in the office's bottom drawer desk. Not exactly where you'd store something worth a lot of money, but hey - the barely-there owners of the bar were eccentric, to put it nicely. You didn't recognise the brewing company on the peeling label, but that wasn't the point. The date on the bottle quite clearly read 1940.

When Bucky took his usual spot that afternoon, you bounced over to him with a grin on your face. He looked up at you, keeping his cap.

"Aren't you gonna ask me why I'm so happy?" you said, elbows on the bar and head in your hands.

Bucky smiled a little. He seemed sad. Sadder than usual. Good timing.

"Why are you so happy?"

"'Cause I found something that's gonna make you real fuckin' happy. Check this out!"

You produced the bottle from where you had it stashed under the bar and handed it to Bucky.

Bucky's lips parted slightly and his eyes went all glossy. He read the label carefully, probably trying to place the brand you couldn't. He handled it so carefully, even more than you in your fear of dropping it.

"This is real," he finally said.

"Yeah. I found it in the basement ages ago and just remembered it. 1940, so I figure it's like, first or second batch after Prohibition, yeah?"

Bucky nods. "I guess…" he replied, smiling, remembering Prohibition. "And before all the distilleries had to stop again,"

"For what?" you asked.

"The war," he said so matter-of-factly that it hurt a little. He looked up then, saw your confusion. "Dunno if it was law or if they just did it, but most places stopped making drinking alcohol and started making stuff to help win the war. And ah, whiskey stopped being made because it took up too much crops. I don't know. Something like that."

Something like that. Like he hadn't lived history.

"I didn’t know that. That's…" Not 'cool.' "That makes sense… Anyway. Open it," you ordered, getting out two clean glasses.

Bucky put the bottle on the bar and looked at you seriously. "Y/N, that's gotta be worth… a lot… Can't open it for no reason,"

"Nobody here cares about it. And besides, it's not really no reason, is it?" He didn't move or say anything. "Bucky." He flinched at his name, glanced around to make sure nobody heard. They hadn't. "I think you kinda earned this one, yeah? Now do me the honours."

Why was everyone in Bucky's life so goddamn stubborn?

He sighed and opened the bottle silently. You nodded in encouragement, letting him pour.

"A toast," you posed, holding your glass up. Bucky mimicked your action. "A toast to…" Everything in your head sounded either very cliché or very sad.

"Whiskey," Bucky finished.

"Whiskey," you agreed.

Drinking at the same time, Bucky swallowed in two gulps while you struggled with a sip.

"Jesus fucking Christ it tastes like cat piss now and it did then," you whined, pouring the liquid left in your glass into Bucky's. He laughed at you.

After drinking that down quickly, Bucky reached across the bar and took your hand in his. "Thank you, Y/N. Really."

A toast to finding things that make us less homesick.

…

After the 1940 whiskey, Bucky came in more regularly. He stayed longer, despite the place filling with people. He even began to talk to the other regulars when they sat at the bar and argued with you about politics, the news, and kids these days. You watched him play devil's advocate, siding with the old men, sarcastically poking fun at you with a quick comment every now and then.

You weren't sure when it happened, but you realised Bucky had grown to be comfortable in the space. And there was something about that that made you ridiculously happy. Like, sunbeams bouncing around on the inside of you making you all hot and tingly and full of joy whenever he was there kind of happy. It was gross.

Bucky would walk in, sit, place his cap down and grin at you with his cute little teeth and sparkly blue eyes. It made your day without exception, and you started to notice more little things about him and how they made you feel. When he hooked his hand behind his ear it would make your stomach flip.

One time, when he was telling you a story about carnival rides and baby Steve throwing up, a loose strand of hair fell across his face and you immediately and unconsciously leant across the bar and folded it gently behind his ear for him. Bucky froze, and you went to apologise, but he spoke first. "Thanks," he said softly, with more meaning than the situation called for, then continued on with his story.

It was like that for just over a month. Then he stopped coming in. There was nothing in his final visit to indicate he wasn't coming back. Bucky just disappeared.

CLICK TO READ PART 2/2

#Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes/Reader #Bucky Barnes/You #Bucky Barnes/Y/N #Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes x You #Bucky Barnes x Y/N #Bucky Barnes fic #Bucky Barnes fanfic #Bucky barnes needs a hug #mine

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winter-fairy-seed · 4 years

Text

Deep Base

A small tale for my buddies.

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Sudden Bliss - Prologue

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Another boring day passed by. You could almost gag at the pristine white walls of the hospital room, feeling your nose scrunch at the off white curtains that you know haven’t been washed in the last year.

“Are they even supposed to be that color?”, you thought to yourself squinting your eyes.

You’ve spent most of your week in this small place due to another breathing attack, which in fact was not because of asthma, but an “illness not yet disclosed or confirmed”. You clicked your tongue, reminded of the look on the doctor’s face when your mother asked if they’ve found any new treatments. You sighed, staring at the ceiling annoyed, and leaned back into the fluffy pillow on your hospital bed-- one of the many gifts given to you by some old friends. You hadn’t seen them in a long time, going in and out and between home and the hospital. You sighed again, irritated at the depressing thoughts and turned your head towards the window.

The sky was very blue that day, though your eyes, sensitive to the light, mostly saw the burning white off the reflected windowsill. You hummed to yourself, starting to drift away into a daydream. Visual ecstasy of the mid-day sun reflecting off of cold blue water instead of a dusty windowsill. Fresh breezes on your face like hasty kisses from the sky. A lovely dress that danced in the wind as much as your curls would.

A soft knocking could be heard on the door, and a doctor with an unfamiliar face walked in, bowing respectfully but also out of apology as he assumed he had disturbed you. He did, but you quickly forgot about the image of dazzling waters when you saw he carried a large briefcase and wore a black laboratory coat. You sat up straight in your bed, no words yet traded, as another unfamiliar face walked in not too far behind. This time you were a bit embarrassed as the second person to enter looked to be around your age-- maybe older? You were already used to your regular doctors seeing you as a hot mess, but not this professional man and what seemed to be his well put together son. You began to slowly become self-conscious about how you looked-- having been in the hospital for almost a week, it’s fair.

“Hello, ____”, the doctor warmly spoke, standing straight. “I’m here today for your regular checkup instead of Dr.xxx. I’m a part of the team who investigates and does the research on your illness. I’ve come myself to collect some important data, so I’ll set my things up and if you’d please, let me know when you’re comfortable and ready.”

It was hard for you to process everything that was happening. Your Doctor nor your mother warned you of this, and you felt sort of betrayed. Not that it was really their fault...entirely… Surprise visits weren’t uncommon for your case and apparently as a child there had been many researchers and doctors visiting you from across the globe.

It was still a bit hard for you to speak, so you lifted your finger towards the boy with an inquisitive look, feeling a bit rude for having pointed.

“Ah yes! My Apologies miss ____. This is my son. He’s been trapped at my place since there was a fire in his apartment. He insisted he come with me to work, so here we are! I read that you’re 19, so I thought having someone around your age would be of good company.” The man, now with gloves on and a stethoscope around his neck rummaged through his case while telling you about his morning. “Yoongi...why don’t you introduce yourself?”

By now your finger lowered, your hand now lying on the blanket that warmly covered your lap. Your eyes briefly looked over the male, who was more concentrated on the walls than you. What he was looking at? Who knows.

“Yoongi?” The doctor asked, turning slightly as if to check if his son had left.

You looked towards the boy as a reflex of the doctor calling his name and this time he made eye contact with you. He nodded his head slowly, his eyes slowly trailing to the right in the process.

You nodded your head as well, pushing your lips together in a straight lined smile.

“Well..you both are quite quiet...but that’s not a bad thing.” The doctor giggled at his observation and rose from his desk. He walked towards the bed and extended his hand which held the stethoscope. “___, if you could turn around?”

Your eyes followed the doctor as he walked towards you and before he could even request you had your back slightly turned towards him, where he gently listened to your heartbeat.

“Good.” He withdrew his hands and placed the stethoscope near his belongings.

He proceeded to do all other basic checkup procedures and recorded his data. In the process, you couldn’t stop your gaze from landing on the boy—who was now hovering over the canvases you painted the other day. You were again self-conscious and decided to concentrate on the checkup. You could hear the faint sound of fingers brushing over the soft yet rough surface of the canvas and your eyebrows burrowed curiously.

A few more silent moments passed and the doctor cleared his throat and sat up after finishing the checkup.

“Alright! Everything looks good so far! You seem to be following the diet and the minimal exercise we’ve assigned you and it seems to be paying off.” he walked back over to the desk, rolling the swivel chair to and from the separate ends of the large table, writing and typing. You stare almost feverishly at the computer screen where he records his data, not missing some other tab that had question marks scattered all throughout a flooded document. He gets up swiftly and heads towards the door.

“Alright! I have some samples to pick up, and data to drop off! I’ll get the tools we need to run your blood test as well. It won’t take long but bear with me for about 30 mins. Keep her company ok?” Your mouth practically fell open as he smiled warmly, directing his son as he headed out the room with haste and a wave. You looked back towards the son who listened obediently and sat down to get comfortable.

You almost suffocated from the silence, feeling as though it was too quiet to breathe. The ringing of your phone broke the silence in the room, making you both jolt a bit. You swiftly grabbed it, seeing it was your doctor and answered it quickly.

“___? Hello~?” The doctor sang into your ear as your nervously breathed having to break the deafening silence.

The boy on the other hand didn’t hesitate to feel for his phone in his pocket, pulling out a pair of headphones in which he plopped in his ear. You felt relieved by the gesture, your heart slowing down from its relay race.

“Yea, hey Dr. xxx.” You sighed in relief hearing a similar voice.

“How are you feeling? Did you get your checkup? I’m sorry for the little surprise! It was a last minute split decision made by the team… But! Dr. Min is renowned as of lately for his teams research and study in the field. He recently came out with a book called Mysterious Illnesses and Where They Come From. A fine read if I do say so! It’ll open your eyes to a lot...most importantly it’ll give you hope! And--”

“Dr. xxx….. I understand. Thank you..” You chuckled slightly to yourself. She always got carried away but you loved to listen to her stories and updates. “I actually enjoy the doctor! He’s very efficient and kind, and most importantly--”

“He has gentle hands?” Dr. xxx says through the phone laughing.

“Yes. Very gentle so I’m, at the very least, grateful for that.”

In past situations, you’ve dealt with many doctors who were super rough and cared more about their research than your fragile body. They would stick the popsicle stick too far down your throat or would half-hazardly stick the butterfly needle in to draw blood. Dr. xxx knew you hated them and remembered each and every bad experience. That’s why she always made sure to pay close attention to your reactions and sensitivity.

“Where is Dr. Min now? Are you alone? Not going too crazy?” Dr. xxx giggled to herself reminiscing each and every sly comment that could come from your mouth, but was surprised to hear a soft “hmmm” instead.

“He’s gone….but his son is here…” You cautiously looked towards the boy, his bluish black hair falling over his eyes. “Is he sleeping?” You thought to yourself. Taking note at this way his chest rose up and down. And the delicate twitching of his eyelashes.

“Oh!...well that’s interesting...is he...cute?” the Dr said nonchalantly.

Your felt your face heat up at the question and you pulled your gaze from him and back towards the window where your mouth was left agape. Only breathing out slightly.

“W-...well…” you stammered

“I’ll take that as a yes” She giggled, finding her bearing again after a few seconds. “Well if that’s the case, Dr. Min must be a Love Doctor too!!! I’ll leave you to it! You deserve it after all those lonely months at home and there in that white room that seemingly gets smaller and smaller.

Face still flushed and in a daze you shake your head almost laughing. “Don’t say such hazardous things— one of these days my heart will really stop”.

“Hey! Don’t joke like that….” the Dr was silent for a second but then gave a small chuckle.

“Really though...I really hope you can make some friends?? Maybe painting will become easier again?” She says sorrowfully, but with hope in her voice. Your heart clenched tightly at her words, a tight smile forming on your lips.

“Yea...maybe….” you look down towards your hands. They were clean in the areas that would usually be full of paint and you sighed softly.

“Ok now, take care and call me if you need anything. Your mom is still working but wanted me to give you a call around the time the doctor was getting there. I’ll let her know everything went well, yea?”

“Yes Dr. xxx.” You feel a smile creep up again and you breathe out your goodbyes. “Thank you...bye”.

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After hanging up the call you rested your head against the blanket and closed your eyes, almost forgetting the boy until you heard the muffled sounds of a saxophone. Your ears perked at the highs and lows and you turned your body slightly looking towards the sounds. You noticed it was coming from the headphones of the boy. “Hmm…”, you thought to yourself.

Sitting up in the bed you picked up a random piece of paper off your desk and shaped it into a narrow jet. You stuck your tongue out a bit closing your right eye, aiming for the round blue head of the boy.

The paper plane drifted almost in slow motion and you slowly started regretting your decision, but by then it was too late as the stiff paper plane crashed into his head and plopped to the floor with a soft smack.

The boys head jolted a bit and he slowly lifted up his chin, eyes blinking the sleep away. You decided you’d be tough about it, trying to brush off the nervousness. He took out the headphone and stared at your with furrowed brows.

“Uhm….” you gulped slightly but continued without stuttering, “That music…”

He seemed to open his mouth a bit as if to have already understood what you said. He pulls the plug of his headphones and places them in his pocket with as face that reads “sorry”.

You stammer a bit with your words this time but manage to get out, “No no no, that’s not what I meant— I mean… what are you listening to?” Your gaze stays glued to the floor, only darting up when he makes slight movements. It’s a bit quiet and he doesn’t reply at first, so you take a longer peak and realize the boy's face has turned a subtle hue of red.

“That’s….that’s…” he seemed to be having as much trouble as you were speaking when suddenly he gets up from the chair and walks closer to sit in the chair on the bedside. Your stayed wide-eyed at his movement and boldness. You just couldn’t make out his character. “Was he shy? Was he bold? Did he not care? Did he?”, you asked to yourself.

“These are some projects I’ve been working on…” he said while rubbing the side of his neck with his index finger and pouting his lip a bit. Now this surprised you.

This time you weren’t afraid to stare at his face, yours heating up when realizing how handsome he was up close. He continued to look through his phone until finding a music file and pressed play

“My father told me you liked soft sounds…” he said, not breaking eye contact with his phone.

You wondered if that was information your Dr wrote in your files? Either way it was very considerate and made your heart warm in a soft way.

You leaned forward a bit to signal you were listening and a soft melody began to play. A muffled saxophone and sharp reverb hi-hats with small clicks here and there began to play with what sounded like a ball full of sand rolling across a wood floor. there was a deep oozing bass and you felt your mind ease and your hands relax against the soft fabric of the blanket. You began to sway your body back and forth. You almost jolted to a stop when you heard a soft hum coming from beside you. When you opened your eyes you saw the dark haired boy swaying as well, eyes delicately closed, slender fingers tapping against the chair’s arm. You almost forgot to breathe, watching how gracefully his hair brushed against his forehead.

You shook your head, closing your eyes tight once more wanting to enjoy the sounds until the very end, ignoring the nervousness. But what you couldn’t ignore is the feeling of a hand sliding up your arm softly to the sway of the rhythm. Warm breath brushing over the crook of your neck and small whispers in your ear. Your heart began to race and your swaying slowed and became more fluid. You bit your bottom lip, sighing softly.

“___...” you heard in the echoing distance.

You gave a soft “yes?” until you heard your name again but louder.

“___.”

You jolted back into reality turning frantically towards the boy beside you. His eyes were dark, but his eyebrow raised in question.

“Ah-- what, yes?” you say stammering for a grasp of reality once more, face heating up. You all of sudden want to leave the blankets as it’s gotten 20 degrees hotter than you remember.

“The music's over….” The boy held his phone in his lap once more, letting go a small breath and smile. He pressed your lips and nodded to express your realization. your face warmed up again as you must’ve been swaying back and forth before coming to. “It seemed that you liked it though...good”. He looked back down to his phone with a soft smile that made your heart skip a beat.

“Ah yes...I probably looked...insane” you stammered this time, removing the blanket and sitting up towards the window with your back facing him.

“Hmm.” Was all he said and a few moments later a small knock was heard and the black jacket Doctor was back through the door with more papers and equipment.

“Ah! I see you guys have finally gotten comfortable. Good! Nothing wrong with being slow to warm.” He smiles again, amused by his own comment and organizes his things. “Alright! Let’s finish this up quickly so you can get some rest.”

You nodded your head with a small smile and Yoongi moved back to his previous spot and placed his headphones in.

You glanced over expecting to see him relaxing and about to drift away into slumber, but this time, the dark eyes that gazed over you a few minutes ago stayed on you, hooded by his dark locks. Your face heated up as you looked away, the faint sounds of the saxophone ringing in the back...

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sopxhiea · 4 years

Text

Blitz

Alfie Solomons X Reader

| Prompt

“There is something between us and it is the most beautiful thing I have ever felt.”

a/n: This has been an unfinished draft for the longest time so it’s a lil dusty but i sure do hope you enjoy it :) stay safe

There was no noise in the room, no vinyl playing in the background like there usually was nor the sound of the breeze hitting the window. It was cold, colder than it had been in the last week but there was no rain. Rain made things better, mostly because the sky with all her might would turn the earth into a living hell and throw a tantrum for a day or two and release the weight that had been carried around in the clouds. It was better when it rained.

She needed to rain, too. The feelings that had been building up in her heavy chest made it harder for her to function. She’d tried to paint, to let the anger go like she usually did but it hadn’t worked, there was too much of it this time. She tried a few meditations but being alone with her thoughts was the thing that made it unbearable so it hadn’t worked. There was tension she’d been carrying on her back ever since the last time she had seen him. The only way to let that go was to talk things out, see him again and tell him exactly how she was feeling but she knew better than that. It was never conventional when it came to him.

She had played out many scenarios in her mind: maybe he’d found someone better or he had gotten tired of her, she had shown too much of herself. There were things she regretted, partly her fault. Parts of her that had never been seen before were given to him, he had been so gentle at the time but she thought that maybe, there was another side to him. She shook her head, her vision was getting blurry again and so were her thoughts. He would never hurt her, he wouldn’t be the one to turn away either, especially with the precious things she’d given him but she was forgetful.

It had been a tiring day, she had painted the new portrait a wealthy lady had asked for, traveled all the way to her house and got pampered by the luxury around. She liked her job, too much maybe but inspiration was vital and he was her muse. Now that he wasn’t around so much, there wasn’t many things she did want to do. Her mind seemed too occupied with the thought of him: the way he moved and the creases around his eyes when he would laugh at something she said. She thought about the way his gentle touch always seemed to find her, they were drawn to each other naturally, it had always been that way.

She missed him, she didn’t like that her daily moods were so dependent on whether she’d seen him or not. He used to have very little power over her, she still could hold herself but now, after all the time they’d spent together, a part of her was always with him and he felt the same way. Her eyes glanced around the dried flowers hanging on the walls, a sigh left her lips. She was good, she had everything she could’ve asked for but it wasn’t the same, it wouldn’t be. Not after the mornings where he’d bake something for her and make her wait because he knew well that she’d be too impatient to wait. There were times when she saw stars in his eyes and she did still, she just saw him less. He had been busy, he had his own work and line of things to deal with and she knew that but there was also avoidance from his end she couldn’t seem to shake.

He was scared.

She was too good, with each layer he’d peeled to see what truly made her, he’d fallen for her in a way he wasn’t able to comprehend. She was so good with him, gentle and loving every second that they’d spent and he had spent a lot of time and attention to break her hard walls until this point. He would always love her, there was a part of him he liked because of her. She’d shown him too many things to just ignore but he was scared because it was all going well, too well for his liking.

Alfie knew doom, he knew trouble and death and mourning. He knew the feeling of a bullet wound and he knew how it felt to lose someone he had given a piece of his soul to. He knew rejection and fear but he didn’t know the kind of love she was giving him. He didn’t know that a person’s smile could be brighter than the sun and he didn’t know just how much he could truly love a person. He didn’t know of the kindness she gave off, he didn’t know of the small caresses of her hands around his, he didn’t know safety and love and reassurance.

He had forgotten all those things and now that she was reminding him of those, it seemed too good to be true. There were certain things he had learned from being able to stay alive till now and one of them was that if something seemed too good to be true, it usually was. She waited for him once again in the empty room. The tips of her fingers were frozen but she didn’t mind, even though she knew he wouldn’t be there to warm her up like he usually was.

After a week or so of walking around her studio, working extreme hours both to finish the painting that was due soon and also because she knew she’d be alone when she went home, that he wouldn’t come knocking any time soon. It was night time, not late enough for the stray dogs to come out but enough for everyone to go home and relax at the warmth of their cozy houses. She sighed, she hadn’t realised how late it was because she had been so set at finishing the painting that she hadn’t realised just how dark it had gotten.

Gathering her things and supplies she would need to throw away, she slowly made her way out. It was a chilly day but it was also spring time, she had been waiting to see the blossoms around the city and they were already decorating a few trees. Hugging her body, she walked in the quiet streets and debated on what she’d have for dinner. She didn’t cook as much these days since Alfie wasn’t around and she didn’t really like the hassle of cooking when it wasn’t for him.

She was about to turn the street when she felt a hand on her shoulder which made her turn immediately. After a couple seconds of blinking and with the help of the street lamps, she saw the soul she so badly missed. It was absurd. She had been dreaming about him for the past two weeks and now he was right there, standing next to the pavement with a worried look on his face. Her expression didn’t change, for all she knew this could be a dream so she waited.

“What the fuck are you doin’ out here at this hour, luv?” he spoke, a little bit more loud than usual to make sure she heard. She pinched herself, finding it hard to believe that he was finally here next to her.

“What is it to you?” she spoke, her voice was low. She was angry at the man and there was no questioning why. She didn’t want to argue but he hadn’t been around much and she needed to ask why, that meant arguing with Alfie.

“What the fuck do you mean, eh?” he spoke, almost shouting as her eyes landed on his car, he must’ve been going around. “I’ve been at your fucking door, yeah, for the past week..” he breathed out, anger and confusion in his eyes as he took a step closer. “..trying to fucking reach you, right, but you suddenly became too fucking busy!” he said, she watched the way he moved.

She hated her heart for this but she had missed him too much not to take a look at him at that exact moment. He was wearing his usual attire, his coat had to be washed but his shirt was unexpectedly clean for the time they spent apart. She looked at his handsome face, now scrunched in the kind of pain that came from the inside. She didn’t like to see him this way, it upset her and it upset him even more that she wouldn’t talk at that exact moment. She blinked, realising she hadn’t spoken yet.

With a shake of her head, she opened her mouth.

“I...” she said, her voice was lower compared to his, she wasn’t going to shout like he was. “You’ve been gone...for almost three weeks now.” there was guilt in his eyes as she spoke. “You didn’t say anything, didn’t call more than twice and didn’t even bother to talk to me..” she spoke, shaking her head in disbelief.

He could be so cruel sometimes. She chuckled at him out of anger. There was this attitude he covered himself with sometimes, he wouldn’t care nor do anything. He had done it when Tommy had threatened him the first time but he was nervous underneath it all. She didn’t like it when he did that, she hated it when he used it against her to show her just how daft he could be. She threw her hands in the air.

“For god’s sake, Alfie!” she said, frustration peeking through. “You didn’t tell me anything! Only came to see me once and didn’t even have the courtesy to kiss me goodbye when you left that day!” she said, tears in the corners of her eyes that had formed out of anger.

“Dove, I was fucking busy, alright?” he said, making her scoff.

“Busy to kiss me? You were fine all the other times you kissed me at work when a pile of papers were sitting at your desk!” she said, eliminating the excuses.

“What is it?” she whispered with a soft voice.

It was something else, something else that she wasn’t able to point at. She knew it had to be something else. He had been distant, not only that but he’d been avoiding her. There had been one too many half-assed kisses given from his end. She didn’t mind the worries or the scares he’d have about the relationship, she knew him well enough to realise that he would question things when they were going well.

It was the way he spoke, the way he would avert her eyes, the way he’d barely kiss the top of her head when leaving. She had realised them far too long ago but she had been busy with the things of life, she had found excuses not to go there simply because she didn’t know if she would be able to take his temper. She was scared, too. It wasn’t like she didn’t have her own fears but she knew how to handle her own demons when it came down to it, mostly.

Alfie needed someone to help him chase the demons down, she had seen him drown in his self-worry before and he was doing the same thing, it was just a different matter at his hands. She sighed, looked at the man before him just with as much love as she’d done the first day she’d seen him. It would be easy to run away, to start fresh and not far from here either. She would have it easy, she had her own connections and her own business but her heart would be staying here so there was no use of moving.

After spending so much time with him, after getting to know him so well: she had become a part of him and carried a part of his soul with her always. It was the way he laughed, the creases around his eyes when he would chuckle at her silliness. It had been the way he baked for her, the way he cared and the way he would gently handle her fragile heart that made him as important as he was to her and there was no denying that no matter just how far she would travel, she would always find her way back to him.

“Dove, it’s..” he spoke, unable to find words to form.

What was he supposed to say? He was scared that this was going all too well because it felt like she was about to leave him for someone else, he didn’t understand why she was still here. She was his heart and soul but it bugged him just how good she was to him, things usually didn’t go well for Alfie in life. He wanted to marry her, to wed her and call her his bride and he would buy her every dress she wanted and take her to the fanciest hotel in a different country but he was scared.

He had been to war, he had committed too many sins to be having something as good as her in his life. She was a light in the dark place he had around him and it was all out of a fairy tale. He loved her, maybe too much. His own mother would’ve loved her too, and she had very high standards. She was the cure for his misery and the match for his wounded soul. He didn’t want to let her go but he didn’t know how to make her stay either.

“Spit it out.” she said, she was not messing around. She had been tired of this game of push and pull, there was no other way but to talk her feelings out and it was exactly what she was going to do. “Alfie, baby, look.” she cooed, making the man twice his size just crumble with her sweet words. She didn’t usually call him baby so he was a sucker for when she did. She wanted to do this the kind way, it would be the hard way but it was worth trying because it was Alfie, her Alfie.

She was tearing up now, there was no way of going about things but to address just how miserable she was feeling.“There is something between us and it is the most beautiful thing I have ever felt.” she spoke with a trembling voice. She needed him to know.

“You can’t just...”she sighed, throwing her hands in the air with a worried look. She was crying, he hated when she cried. “You can’t throw this away...” she talked, finally done with what she was saying.

She chuckled at him this time. he was looking so vulnerable. He reminded her of a lost puppy and she found it adorable until when she saw his lips trembling. There was shock in her eyes while the man before him cried silently, there was no noise but just tears flowing down his eyes. She took a step closer, her hands finding his cheeks while she kissed the tears away from his face. His hands kept her in place, not wanting her to get away.

“I’m sorry..” he spoke into her hands, tears present in his eyes still.

And it was all forgiven. She didn’t need to hear why he was sorry, she didn’t need the detailed apology to know what he was feeling. Their souls were one, no matter just how distant they sometimes felt from each other.

The old man was grumpy most of the time, he was messy and careless. He forgot to do things, he wasn’t the most forgiving and he usually got annoyed too fast. He was angry and didn’t hesitate to do bad things, things Y/N still wasn’t able to muster.

But he kissed her like she meant the world to him. He made her breakfast and read to her, massaged her when she was stressed. He drew her baths and kissed her goodnight and good morning. He was happy when she was around.

He was happy because she was hers.

All her anger seemed to fade, she felt guilty for being so harsh on the man. Sure, he was also to blame but she knew better than to get angry at him. It was easy for him to get riled up anyway, there was no point in pushing it.

“It’s fine...” she whispered against his face. He felt her warmness around him, feeling home again.

She knew it was going to be hard, they gad to work on trusting each other more and they needed to talk some things out, the old man had entirely too much on his mind and it bugged her that she kept it to himself.

He wrapped his arms around the petite woman, she got lost in his smell she so badly missed while his soft caresses met her locks. She held onto him, more than she usually did as she felt him kiss the top of her head.

She was home.

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haloud · 5 years

Text

prettiest thing i ever stole

A malex outlaw au --- ao3 --- rating: m

shoutout to @seeaddywrite and @christchex for the beta!

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

Jesse Manes was a mean bastard, and the whole town knew it. A military man down to his bones, he got shunted to the side for every single promotion after it came out he was hitting his wife. The years went by, and the man got meaner. Their mama left, and none of those boys of his grew up quite right, people said, and the town was glad to see them ship off too, one right after the other.

No one blinked an eye the day Manes turned up dead on his kitchen floor, a bullet in the back of his head. They turned up at his graveside and said he was a hero, then they turned up at the bar and said it was only a matter of time.

Alex Manes disappeared that same night, and people talked on that too. Either he was the one who did his old man in, or whoever did it did him in too; but that talk faded fast. Nobody was interested much in gossip about the littlest Manes boy, a subject all kinds of played out around the watercoolers of Roswell ever since word got around he was kissing on boys out behind the school.

So the Manes family legacy went like that. If Alex had been around to see it, he would’ve wished Jesse wasn’t dead after all, just so he could’ve watched it happen. Or maybe he would’ve made the town pay in blood some more for forgetting the ugliness they let go on right in front of them for all those years, thinking it wasn’t any of their business.

Alex wasn’t there to see it, though; he was busy leaving his family name behind for a boy in a beat-up pickup truck.

----

The gun came from foster number seven, a prepper freak with so much artillery he never even missed one little 9 mm. Michael locked it in the glove box, and it made his safe place feel a little more safe, made him a little more on the level with some of the ways the world wanted him hurt. He waited in the dark that night for the man to come after him with even more firepower, but the sun came up with him still alive, still armed.

That man had an accident while cleaning some other gun a few days later; Michael heard about it on the radio, since he hadn’t been back to that house. At sixteen, Michael had stopped caring where the foster system might put him next--at this point, it barely even mattered. Besides, who could care that a man was dead when that was the day Alex Manes actually noticed him in pre-calc? Their eyes locked as they jostled to beat each other for the one good desk in the back of the room, Michael’s ringed in a greening bruise, Alex’s ringed in heavy liner and concealer a shade or two too pale.

They split the desk after that; they split the textbook more often than not, because everything Alex owned was military-grade tidy, and Michael mostly lost things or just never had a chance to have them at all. They shared other things, too; food, homework, headphones, just once, when Alex followed Michael to his truck, crowded him into the bed, and held his legs in his lap so he couldn’t run away.

Then they started sharing words; then they shared a tool shed, and hands and skin and eager bodies..

Jesse Manes came to take that from them, and he took. He stole it, stole the most precious thing either boy had ever held, ripped them apart like it was his god-given right. He left Michael mangled on the dusty floor, and he dragged Alex out by his hair, back to the house he kept so clean and gleaming and pure.

But Michael stole for a living; stole to feed himself; stole to keep gas in his tank and clothes on his back. And he never got caught. And he’d never shot the safety he stole, but it turned out he didn’t need two hands to do it.

Alex stood in all that mess, blood and brains decorating the salmon-colored tile, sprayed high up on the gleaming stainless steel appliances, on the white walls. Looking at Michael like somebody who cared might’ve named him after an archangel, he wiped down the kitchen of fingerprints and evidence, quick and methodical, then he vaulted himself into the driver’s side of Michael’s old truck without even asking permission.

The only reason that house didn’t burn was because they couldn’t find the matches.

They cleaned up at a rest stop with soap and gauze Alex lifted from a Walmart that sat alone and hulking by the highway, and with Alex holding him it was okay, a little, for Michael to shake apart from the killing, for him to gag and howl and almost piss himself from setting and binding his hand the best they could.

Throughout it all, the whole horrible night, Alex stood sentinel beside Michael, who succumbed quickly to exhaustion and delirium, and he thought about the war he wasn’t going to fight anymore, and he relived again and again the crushing smack of the hammer, and the ringing crack of gunfire, and he held Michael’s head in his lap, and he smiled.

“Who taught you how to shoot a gun? Because you kind of suck at it.”

“Taught me? Nobody taught me, but you can learn an awful lot just by lookin’.” Michael smiled a lazy smile—he’d took some painkillers a while back, and without the hellfire in his hand and up his arm, he almost felt good. He glanced aside and let his eyes travel the length of Alex’s lean body, and he thought about how under all that black he looked like the boys in the magazines.

“Well, someone ought to. Teach you. Otherwise you might kill somebody someday.”

The light pleasure in that voice, the prom-night twinkle in those dark, dark eyes: it made Michael shiver.

Michael shot Alex’s daddy dead, and it felt good, felt so good he knew he couldn’t do it again or else he might never stop finding men with loud voices and heavy hands to put down in the ground.

Michael shot his daddy dead, and now Alex lounged against the cracked leather of his truck’s bench seat with his knees spread wide apart and his lips all smeared with sticky clear gloss, and he held that gun unloaded in his lap. That gun that was still hot the first time he touched it, when he eased it out of Michael’s shaking hand, when he fumbled on the metal and let it burn them both, brand them both at the very same time.

Over the years, in placement after shit placement, Michael had learned the ways men die and left them for dead too, quiet ways and loud ways, damn tragic and damn deserved. They choked on vomit in bar back rooms; they slipped away on the streets when winter came down. They huddled behind laundry machines that roared like trucks on the road, that shook like the whole world was ending, until the man stopped yelling and the screaming stopped and only, only silence followed, ringing, and his crying was broke so when he slipped out the back the night was quiet too.

He’d been quiet too long, now, so Alex filled the silence for him.

“Actually, don’t learn,” he said. “You should leave that bit to me. I was taught, after all.”

“You don’t have to—"

The words cracked out like a question, Michael’s voice flinching and young as he kept his eyes trained on the crumbling gray asphalt instead of on the beautiful boy beside him. If he touched the gun again, he might do something awful, like cry like a little baby. But he already made a choice with no going back. With Jesse Manes dead, Alex’s options were unlimited, the whole world big desert-sky blue, and Michael’d drive him anywhere he wanted, anywhere at all, for nothing more than a look from those dark, dark eyes.

“I know I don’t have to. Most people will give up anything at the threat they might get hurt. No bullets needed, just the suggestion of them. But you should leave it to me anyway; I’ve got steady hands.”

One of those steady hands touched Michael’s knee, light at first then, when Michael didn’t pull away, solid and hot and heavy, thumbnail worrying at a thick ridge in the stitching. They flashed past a faded green sign: fifty-two miles ‘til Farwell and the state line. They had three nights’ motel fare in change and small bills stuffed underneath one of the back seats and all else Michael owned in a fraying duffle bag.

In a couple hundred miles or more, they’ll be out of the desert proper and out of gas and out of money, and they’ll coast into a rickety dead-end gas station where Alex will swing his long legs out of the truck and hop down off the seat, and his too-small t-shirt will flip up at the back and reveal the gun tucked in his waistband. But the attendant will be passed out in a puddle of Jack, not even coming to when Michael shoves him over out of his seat just to check if he’ll pop up swinging. Alex will linger over the counter, hand behind his back, and when the man stays still he’ll lick his lips and keep his hand on the gun regardless.

Michael will clear out the till, and someday they’ll call it a beginning.

But before all that, Michael tipped his head back and closed his eyes until Alex’s stroking hand put him to sleep. It was less comfortable than what Michael wanted, which was to pull off under the stars and zip them both into his sleeping bag, knocking knees and breathing each other’s breath and trapping himself in a cage of vinyl and muscle and bone. It wasn’t what he wanted, but Alex let him sleep ‘til Texas, and the nightmares never came.

When he woke they were stopped, the truck wedged into a parking spot in between a nondescript sedan and a busted-up camper in front of the Ala-mo-tel. Alex had the gauze mitt of Michael’s left hand cradled in his lap, just where the gun was sitting hours and hours back.

“I didn’t mean it like that, about your hands,” Alex said as soon as Michael’s eyes rolled open, before he could even make them focus on how gentle Alex held him. He must’ve been waiting for who knows how long that he couldn’t stop the words from falling out as soon as he detected the tiny rhythm shift of Michael’s breathing.

“’S fine,” Michael managed through his gummy throat, and he groped with his fingertips for the water bottle by his foot so he could snag it without moving an inch away from Alex.

“It’s not. But we’re going to be. We’re going to be okay.”

They got a room from a guy who didn’t even glance at Michael’s shitty fake ID, a room with a shower and no roaches they could see. They sat on the bathroom tile and let water get all over the floor so they didn’t have to be apart for even a single second, not even to get clean. Alex curled his elegant hands in the hem of his black t-shirt and stripped it off slowly, stomach and chest flexing in the washed-out fluorescent light, and the collar raked through his hair and made it stick up in the back. Michael watched, mesmerized, as Alex popped the button on his jeans next, slid them down his legs and slid his briefs down at the same time, until he was standing there naked and raw in a way he hadn’t even been their first time.

“If you take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Alex said, face half-turned away as he checked the heat of the shower instead of looking Michael’s way, and Michael reached out for him, wrapping his fingers around Alex’s ankle, making him jump when Michael touched a gentle kiss to the delicate skin behind his knee.

“I’ll only need a picture if you’re saying you’re not gonna be mine from now on,” he said, following the kiss with the tip of his tongue, tasting salt and the slightly coppery tang of water out of old pipes.

“Oh, I’m yours, alright.” Alex stayed staring in the middle distance, but he smiled then, and reached down to twine his fingers in Michael’s hair. “Finders, keepers.”

Once the water got hot enough, Alex held Michael’s head under the stream and scratched his chipped black nails over and over again through Michael’s curls; he soaped them both up with his shirt, careful, so careful not to get Michael’s dressings wet. Michael kept his eyes open the whole time, and let them sting.

“D’you think they’re looking for us?” he asked, right after they turned off the lights and both their heads hit the pillow, so close he could feel the leftover heat from the shower radiating off of Alex’s skin. He shifted closer on the scratchy sheets, until their foreheads rested together and he could press his lips to Alex’s damp cheek instead of waiting for an answer.

“We’ll know soon enough if we start hearing about a murder or reading it online, but I’m not scared.”

“You’re not?”

“Nah. He was gonna kill me anyway. Either right there or by letting somebody else do the job in basic. At least this way I’ve got you.” Alex’s hand closed around Michael’s good wrist, and he whispered, “Let me show you, let me show you how you don’t have to be scared.”

Alex could have told him all about the plans his mind ironed flat and neat while Michael slept, haloed in evening sunlight with his cheek mashed against the window. He could have fetched the gun and stripped it right there on the stained bedspread and showed Michael everything his daddy taught him about killing. There were a hundred different practical ways Alex could have spent what could’ve been their last few hours, but he spent them another way instead.

He threw his leg over Michael’s hips and bore him down, down onto the squeaking box spring, steady hands slipping on his skin to touch more of him, all of him, rolling their hips together and holding Michael, his Michael, holding him tight with his hand splayed all across Michael’s freckled back while Michael shivered and shook and spent between them. And then he kissed them back to sleep again with lips that were sore and bitten and chapped, but he couldn’t stop smiling, because he knew that he was holding on to Michael’s wrists, and the hands that killed his daddy, and only kisses would bruise his mouth ever, ever again.

---

“I’m not scared,” Michael said two weeks later, in the bed of the truck while Alex knelt up behind him to cut his hair. “We make a good team, don’t we? I thought—but I’m not scared anymore.” And regardless of the scissors in Alex’s hand, Michael settled back against his thighs and tipped his head back to nuzzle into his stomach.

Yeah, Michael thought. He thought about futures; he thought about consequences. He tried to get Alex to go outside of Canyon, tried to leave him the truck and all the money and just one kiss for the road—he laid out a whole road map he saw for Alex’s future, a future where Alex left him behind, a future without him in it. And when he spoke he spoke with shining eyes and shaking lips and his hurt hand cradled to his chest, right over top of his heart.

But Alex watched him; watching him was the only habit Alex had left. He flinched at slamming doors; he flinched at sirens in the distance, and Alex watched and Alex knew him, as well as he knew himself. So when he offered every night to turn himself in so Alex could get back home and graduate and get his life back to any kind of normal place—every night they were at a motel Alex would walk out the door, and every night they were in the truck he walked down the road. He walked away and he counted to one hundred, and then he turned around and walked back, to the sound of televisions blaring behind cardboard-thin walls, to the sound of cicadas screaming.

Every night, Alex walked back, and Michael would collapse against him with red-rimmed eyes and only one hand that could clutch his shirt like a scared little kid, and every night, Alex said, “This is all that’s going to happen if I go home or if you run away. Me coming back to you.”

And Michael folded into Alex’s chest like a collapsing star, like a branch on a rushing river caught against a rock.

In the early evening, Alex kissed Michael’s forehead and set the scissors aside in favor of draping them both in the battered old sleeping bag, making them cuddle up tight so it fit around both their shoulders. The sun was starting to set, but it still looked high off in the distance with the world laid out flat and gold and swaying as far as the eye could see but for the violet smudge of the mountains on the horizon, and for a moment Alex pretended he had no idea where they were.

They talked all through the deepening blue and into the lavender dusk. They talked of how to go about stealing a guitar next, and the songs they would play for each other. The bottoms of the clouds caught fire, and Alex practiced chords on the inside of Michael’s thigh, and Michael said that if Alex wrote him a song, he’d steal the money and get it tattooed, right there.

The stars came out, dizzying and bright.

They kissed in the cold night, Michael’s shoulders naked against the icy metal, a sharp counterpoint to the feverish pounding of his heart. They kissed until they couldn’t anymore, too shivery and sensitive to go on, and then they made up their bed in the back of the truck and found themselves kissing some more.

They slept out in the open; they slept in each other, all closed in; and they called it home.

Jesse Manes was a mean bastard, and his boys were too busy being war heroes to come to his funeral. If they’d been there, someone might’ve cared enough to ensure the investigation went right, that justice got served—for a Manes definition of what justice might be. But the town buried him instead, and then they moved on a little happier, all around.

Michael and Alex moved on too. Alex started reading crime statistics reports, but the needle didn’t shift at all. The gun stayed in the glove box, except when somebody just needed to see reason. Michael’s hand got better, though it never set quite right, and sometimes Alex would kiss his crooked fingers and have to go off on his own for a while.

He always came back to kiss Michael’s crooked hands again.

---

Once every year, Michael and Alex came home to the desert, to sit under stars just unlike the stars anywhere else in the world, and Alex would play music, and Michael would hum along.

And Michael would say, “I bet I could build us a house here; I bet I could do that for you.”

And, every time, Alex would reach for their almanac, and find their next destination, with stars they’d never seen before.

#malex #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic #guns cw

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kinkymagnus · 4 years

Note

Henlo!! I love your blog so much 😍 it gives me life and makes me happy when I have a bad day. I was wondering if you had any headcanons about Malec’s first time or something where Magnus is a nervous wreck cause he has to tell Alec that he’s trans? Thank you and sorry for the bother 😭♥️

y’all it is a CRIME how long this has been in my inbox, im really sorry and ur not bothering me at ALL i just love this ask and wanted to do it JUSTICE 👏

also im!!! so flattered!!! aaaaaAAAA im glad my blog can cheer u up :)

okokok so trans magnus + malec’s first time + magnus being nervous about coming out lghkjgfh

ok i have no fucking idea why but i’m making this twi malec. i’m just. in the mood for twi malec i guess. fuck it amiright

magnus is just. he has a lot of secrets. there’s a reason he hasn’t gotten close to anyone in a long time, there’s a reason he only talks to two or three people who actually know him, there’s a reason he hasn’t been how he used to be--out and about, flashy and showing off and wearing armor made of glittering beauty and colorful silks and bold makeup, instead of comfortable cardigans and twitching hands and quiet.

speaking of which: def headcanon twi magnus wasn’t always the way he is in that episode. he was a lot like canon magnus once upon a time, charismatic (well, he’s still charismatic, but like, in that bold flashy way, you know?) and open (closed off, but with the illusion of having all his cards on the table) and bold

anyway. there’s a reason. lots of reasons. mostly all the secrets he hides.

the fact that he has magic, that he’s immortal, a dusty relic of a time long gone, of an age past, clinging on past his due date. he feels like he doesn’t belong in the modern world, like he should have died with the shadow world, like he should have been sealed out with all the other demons.

the fact that he is a prince king of hell, son and slayer of the greater demon asmodeous himself. even tho he’s sealed it all away, he has a huge amount of power, both from just. originally being the son of such a powerful demon, a fallen angel, and also from managing to kill one.

i don’t think it fits with canon twi lore but i don’t care, i’m saying twi magnus was involved in the sealing of the realm, and he managed to kill asmodeous and basically absorb his power, so a) he actually did this huge incredible feat that changed the whole world, whether on purpose or not i’m not sure yet (it has something to do with asmodeous, but i’m not seeing the whole picture yet) and b) he’s actually. more powerful than canon magnus. it’s partially why he sealed away his magic for so long, he was afraid of what that power could do.

honestly i dont have this super well thought out but i like the potential

but anyway! barely related to this! let’s get back on topic!

and. the fact that he’s trans. a decidedly more mundane secret, but still one he keeps close to his chest. he’s lived through a lot of eras with bad very transphobic times? like he’s lived through places/times with very accepting atmopshere, but he’s also lived in like, victorian england, you know? and canon magnus had a chance to be more out of his shell and open in the modern world but this magnus has completely closed himself off. he mostly talks to people other than his close friends to give them a tarot reading. he’s not like, totally cut off, i can’t imagine him like. not helping people. you know. idek. but the point is he’s more isolated. canon magnus was closed off in a lot of ways, but still surrounded by people. he had a job to do, people to protect, and parties to attend. not to mention going to pandemonium and stuff. twi magnus isn’t really doing that. man i really went on a tangent here but the point is i feel like that would contribute to how he feels about being trans. feeling isolated, having less friends to be open with and to help him you know? in my experience it’s a lot harder to feel like. valid? without that sense of community. even with a few close friends, it’s hard. if you’re “passing”, which magnus is, it feels like a secret.

the point is! i am getting so off track! magnus has got layers and layers and layers protecting him, both literal and metaphorical (he doesn’t wear the more flashy and revealing clothing canon magnus occasionally favors, preferring thick and comfortable sweaters and cardigans and stuff like that. bonus headcanon: whatever happened that ended in asmodeous dead and the walls of the world sealed, it left magnus with more scars. not to mention top surgery scars he may have, or even just hiding a binder, or using thick layers to disguise small tiddies since binders are great but you can’t bind all the time or every day for centuries and still be like, healthy. anYWAY)

and when he starts dating alec despite that little cautious voice in his head insisting he needs to not get attached, alec begins to just. effortlessly peel those layers away

he’s so blunt and honest, unlike people who have lied to and manipulated magnus in the past (CAMILLE, anyone? i feel like she’d still be a thing in the twiverse. also asmodeous, albeit in a different way) and he’s gentle and loud and bold and he’s funny and sweet and he just. fucking cares about magnus.

when he finds about magnus’s magic he’s like “oh my god that’s so cool” he just fucking accepts him so easily!!!

and even when magnus ends up tearfully confessing he may or may not be a literal king of hell (or, one of the hell dimensions) alec’s like “damn, i’m dating royalty?” and maybe makes a joke about not everyone getting to make a king scream with pleasure and magnus is just so relieved???

but that’s later

anyway

they haven’t had sex yet and magnus is just like. he feels like inevitably this relationship is gonna fall apart. he has too many secrets, too many hidden parts of himself that if he ever shed light on, alec wouldn’t see him the same way

and as much as he wants alec to fuck him, as much as he wants to be in bed with alec and cuddle with him and have sex with him and show him everything, he feels like he can’t, it would be the beginning of the end

he keeps pulling back just as alec begins to initiate, and alec never pushes but wonders if he’s doing something wrong, or if maybe magnus is asexual, or just doesn’t want to have sex for other reasons, and eventually he broaches the topic with magnus and magnus is so surprised alec noticed something is wrong (he expected alec might confront him over not “putting out” but alec doesn’t seem to care about the sex--he makes sure to emphasize while he is attracted to magnus and would lvoe to have sex with him if that’s what magnus wants, it’s by no means a requirement--but more about. magnus. and communicating with him.) that he just blurts out i’m trans.

and alec kinda blinks at him. his beautiful, wonderful, nervous and scared boyfriend. and he ends up blurting out oh thank god. because he would be more than okay with magnus not wanting to have sex--he’s super gorgeous and absolutely smoking hot, but alec doesn’t ever like, want to have sex with him unless magnus wants to. obviously. but he was honestly worried it wasn’t magnus but him, that he’d done something wrong or wasn’t attractive or something, and honestly worrying about something being wrong with him was not a feeling he was used to. then he realizes how bad that just sounded, and he’s like, aaaaaaaAAAA WAIT and ends up panickedly rambling like i mean sorry i just was kind of worried i was doing something wrong but like, i love you so much and you being trans changes nothing about that, and if you never want to have sex that’s totally okay and i love you, but if you’re worried about me still being attracted to you that’s not a problem, but-- and magnus is like y-you’re not?? but you’re gay! and i’m-- and you know that feeling of like. internalized [insert form of bigotry towards yourself, in this case transphobia]. where you think something bad about yourself. and if you think about it you’re like “no that’s transphobic i would never think that about anyone else” and your brain is just like “yeah it’s true about you tho” that’s this. magnus is like. i’m not a real man, how could you be attracted to me? and alec (not to be all Cis Savior, but look, magnus deserves a loving supportive boyfriend who comforts him and shit, okay! i am PROJECTING) is like yeah i’m gay and you’re a gorgeous, beautiful, stunning man?

and they end up talking it out and get it sorted that yes, magnus does want to have sex, but it would be okay if one of them didn’t want to, magnus being trans does not make alec unattracted to him, it’s okay, they’re okay, because malec are Kings of Communication,

ANYWAY

ACTUAL FIRST TIME

probably not the same day, that day they cuddle and talk

but like later

>:)

alec is just so gentle and reverent y’all. like. them big hands on magnus’s body, all warm and gentle and magnus is like oh fuck this is nice

they do have to kind of communicate boundaries--alec’s asks if there’s anywhere magnus doesn’t want to be touched because dysphoria (or any other reason) and vice versa, magnus trying to be like “you know if you only want to fuck my ass or have me wear a strap-on or anything like that it’s fine, i understand you’re not necessarily attracted to those parts of me” and alec’s like “we’ve established that you would enjoy me eating you out and i WANT TO EAT YOU OUT”

their first time probably is pretty simple, “vanilla”, idk why but im thinking they just exchange oral sex tbh like magnus blows him and then alec eats him out

also magnus cums pretty fast bc he hasn’t been touched like this in a long time and he’s very embarrassed about it but alec is like “damn that’s hot can i try to make you cum a few more times”

ok but imagine their first time it’s just alec holding him down and eating him out until he sobs and squirts? yes

anyway tho they have like, lots of “other” first times too like. first time alec fucks his pussy. first time alec fucks his ass. etc.

first time alec slides that Thick Dick balls deep into magnus’s cunt he’s for sure immediately on the edge of orgasming he’s so full and it feels so good--

and alec’s like holy SHIT bc he’s warm and wet and tight and he clenches every time alec praises him or dirty talks him and it feels amazing

first time alec fucks his ass is also very fun for both of them ;)

it’s just a good time all around folks communication and magnus getting pounded the way he deserves :’)

not to mention when they first start getting into kinks

alec, carefully broaching the topic of bondage: how would you feel... about handcuffs?

magnus, barely looking up: mm, padded or not? and what kind of padding? the normal kind hurt my wrists after too long and not really in a nice way, so i like padded. furry can get a little itchy sometimes but they look real nice. also, are we talking above my head to the bedpost, and if so, am i on my stomach or back? because stomach is a little uncomfortable. or like, behind my back? especially bent over, mm. good view for you ;)

then he like looks up and realized he’s said all of this very casually and alec’s looking at him with 1. shock and 2. lust

like. “i wasn’t expecting this, but i really should have, and now i want to bend you over and tie you up and fuck you hard”

and he blushes just a lil bit like o shit i just said all that and alec’s like “padded it is. behind your back or above your head... hm... both have potential, but maybe the latter? i love you on your back under me, i can see so much of your beautiful body and all of your gorgeous face :)”

and like TOYS

aaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAA ANYWAY

#trans magnus smut #twi malec #twi

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