Tumgik
#Alex: I must be in some sense of the word
shadowbriar · 3 months
Text
Matt Murdock - Scratches
Tumblr media
Pairing : Matt Murdock x (she/her) Reader Word Count : 2.2k Warning : Injuries, nothing graphics. Matt being dumb that he inflicts injuries to himself. A bit of angst I think. Synopsis : The lack of knowledge about her wellbeing is doing everything but put his mind at ease and Matt wasn’t sure how long he could live with such torture. Notes : Special work for my precious @basementsoup. I hope you like this Alex! ♡ If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕
Matt hated it.
He hated having to admit that he still needs her. That even after months of separation, the many helping hands he found and friends he could’ve come to, he still found himself scrambling back to her apartment. He hated that in the lowest moments in life, her soothing touch and gentle words were the only thing that helped him stay afloat.
But nothing beats the hatred he felt when he finally managed to get inside. He hated how there’s a new pot of sunflowers placed by the widow. He hated how the pictures on the walls are now gone, replaced with what seems to be mirrors and other wall decorations. He hated, the most, how his scent no longer lingers in the air.
Before he could drown himself deeper into the wallowing, the sound of keys jingling and door knob twisting were heard. His heart paced for a split moment. A short period of regret washes over him. Perhaps he shouldn’t have barged in tonight.
“Matt,” She called, surprise was evident in her tone. Her heart skipped a beat and Matt wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the reasoning for it; is she glad to finally see him again or is she hating their reunion?
“I broke your pot,” He says instead “I didn’t realise you'd done some redecorating.”
“Yeah, I, uh.. I needed a change of setting.” She answers as she takes off her coat, tossing her bag to the floor once she realises his bruised face “Oh, God, not again.”
Matt tries his best to suppress the blooming smile on his face as he feels her fingers examining his face, “It’s just a light scratch.”
“You always say that,” She protests “I can find you on your deathbed, bleeding away, and you’ll still say it’s just a scratch.”
“Has it ever been more than a scratch?”
Matt knew that she must be glaring at him right now. The change in her breathing is clear for him to tell that he’s bruised her patience. But even with annoyance and vexation boiling her blood, her care and worry for him will always overshadow it.
“Come, I’ll clean your wounds.” She says as she holds his arm.
A small kaleidoscope of butterflies flutters in his heart. She knew that he could navigate himself to the sofa. He only broke the pot because he wasn’t expecting any change of setting in her apartment but now that he knew, he’ll be sure to be more careful in moving around, so there’s truly no need of her to guide him this way. Yet again, why would he complain?
“What is it this time?” She asks as she went to the cabinet to get her aid kit “Fisk? Castle? Some thugs?”
“Would you believe me if I say I fell off the bed?”
She turns and eyes him with a glare.
“Alright, not the bed then,” He jests “Stairs. I fell down the stairs.”
“Not funny, Matthew.”
“What, can’t a blind man fall from the stairs?”
She lets out a sigh. Matt could sense her defeated shoulders from the way she dropped the aid kit, “You wouldn’t come here if you only fell from the stairs, Matt.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
Truth is Matt has tried his hardest to stop himself from seeing her. He’s fought every urge to jump out of bed at night and come to her. Every little thing in his life pushes him to get closer to her. Like a magnetic force he couldn’t seem to escape. He wanted to ask her what tea he should get from the grocery shop. He wanted to ask her if he should wear the blue or the red tie for the court trial the next day. He wanted to ask her if he could borrow some sugar though the trip to the grocery store is far closer than having to walk to her apartment.
Anything that happens in his life, he wanted to share it with her.
“I don’t want to have this conversation again, Matt.”
“I know,” He nods, licking his lips as he tries to show an apologetic smile “I’m sorry.”
Matt could feel the sofa shifting when she took a seat next to him. He could smell the water from the bowl on her lap and the rest of her aid kit that are now laid on the table. This feels painfully nostalgic. To have her tend his wounds yet for the first time, he knew that he won’t be getting the one true cure he needs — her kisses.
“Are there any other bruises or wounds than the ones on your face?” She asks as she begins cleaning his skin “One of these days you’re gonna need to get yourself a real professional help. Like a personal nurse or doctor. I won’t be here forever to help you.”
“Won’t you?”
“You’re not exactly the easiest patient to tend to,” She answers with a teasing smile “I’d say the chance is pretty high.”
“But I’m your only patient. You need a comparison to say that I’m the worst of your patients.”
“No one can be this much of a pain in my ass than you, Murdock. You know that.”
Matt only smiles at her remarks. He wanted to bask in this moment. To suffocate himself with her gentle touches. To hear the beat of her heart that has become his personal ballad. To know that no matter how far the distance between them grows, she will forever be his true north.
Her movement was put to a short halt when her fingers bruised his lips. He can’t see her but he hopes that the longing in his face is mirrored on her. That she misses the feeling of their lips touching. That she misses the feeling of his lips whispering sweet nonsense in her ear. That she misses him too.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” She says instead as she abruptly stands from her seat “If you don’t have any other injury, I think you’re good to go.”
Matt forces a laugh, “What just happened?”
“I don’t know, Matt, you tell me! What are you doing here?”
“I told you, I fell down the stairs.”
“Yeah, and you couldn’t have asked Foggy or Karen to help with your wound?” She asks, her volume slightly rising in frustration “Do you even feel those wounds? Because I know you have that superhero metabolism thing and I’ve seen you get worse injuries. You can’t just come here, spend half an hour to get to the other side of the city, just to get some bandaid for your scratches.”
Her heartbeat has gone frantic now. Matt could feel the frustration, the anger, the disappointment from all the words she uttered, but the most evident thing he could hear was how much she worries for him. How much she wanted to embrace him as she once did. How much she wanted to show him the love she hoards for him, even without saying it out loud.
It had been a few painful weeks leading up to their separation. He could hardly remember the last time he’s slept a wink. There’s always someone crying for help, someone screaming in agony, wailing in pain and despair that he just had to go out there and lend a hand. And even with all of his God gifted abilities, there’s only so much he could take before he succumbed to his demons. And unfortunately, this is one of the few battles he has to admit losing.
Even up till this moment, Matt still tries to convince himself that he didn’t regret ending things between them. It needed to be done. He had to make sure that the Daredevil and his business wouldn’t come between him and her. He needed to make sure that the enemies he made along the way would never find their ways to her. He needed to make sure that when the Daredevil himself had to make penance for his sins, he wouldn’t drag her along with him to hell.
And the only way he could save her is to cut the relationship clean.
But Matt is as much of a selfish man as the next person. He couldn’t keep away from her for too long. The thought of her moving on peels his skin when it should’ve given him the satisfaction and fulfilment. The way her shampoo no longer lingers on his pillowcase gives him nightmares. The distance that he thought would be her safety net soon turns into a limbo of anxiety and worry. The lack of knowledge about her wellbeing is doing everything but put his mind at ease and Matt wasn’t sure how long he could live with such torture.
“I didn’t lie when I told you I fell from the stairs,” He explains softly “I— I’ve been wanting to come and see you but I just— I don’t know how.”
Her heartbeat slows, completely focused on his words now.
“I thought about purposely messing up my laundry and calling you for help. I thought about using that wrong detergent for our— my blankets, but I know you’d never forgive me.” He confesses, a pathetic chuckle escaped his lips “I mean, I wouldn’t want to ruin those blankets, to be real. They’re precious to me. We use them for our movie nights.”
“So you figured you just fell down the stairs?”
He shrugs, a small embarrassed smile curved on his face, “I had to make sure you won’t kick me out and slam the door on my face.”
“You’re an idiot, Matthew.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do,” She seethes, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves and running a hand through her hair in frustration “You— You can’t just end things between us and suddenly barges into my apartment, begging me to clean your self-inflicted wounds. That’s not how things work, Matt. That’s— That’s cruel.”
And that’s when he feels it. The foul taste of salt from her tears slowly rolling down her cheeks. The night just keeps getting worse and worse, so it seems. It was never in his intention to make her cry though he’s got to admit that he’s done that one too many times. He only wanted to see her, to feel her touch one more time, not to cause an even greater pain to their gashing wound.
“What do you want from me, Matt?” She painfully asks, her voice cracks from the heartache “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
“Is that what you want? For me to leave you alone?”
A bitter laughter escapes her lips, “I want you to love me, but that’s clearly not on the table, so I suppose being left by you would be the best option.”
Carefully, Matt stands from his seat and walks toward her. He reaches for her face, feeling the wetness of her cheeks under his calloused fingers. It pains him to see her this way. To know that he’s caused her more pain than happiness. All because he thought he knew better when clearly he didn't.
“I love you. I’ve always loved you,” He confesses “It’s because I love you that I ended things between us.”
Matt could feel the skin on her forehead scrunching, clearly from the confusion of his words.
“It was becoming unsafe for you to be with me. I made too many enemies, too many people that wanted to avenge their anger to me and it was only a matter of time before they knew about the one thing that would hurt me most and I can’t— I can’t risk that.”
“So I’m, what? A weakness?”
“Yeah. Yeah, you are my weakness,” Matt says with a nod “And I couldn’t care less about having a weakness, believe me I don’t care about my soft spots, but you..” He pauses, cupping her face gently as his eyes become glossy “You.. You, I cannot ignore. Just the thought of someone, laying a hand on you, hurting just a strand of your hair.. It drives me nuts. I care more about you than anything. So if staying away from you is the only option I have, if it’s the only way I can minimise the risk of harming you..”
A tear finally rolled down his cheek. It feels liberating to finally confess all of his reasoning, to finally let her know the cause of his discourteous actions, but there’s still no solution to their problem. There’s still a huge question mark for them to tackle and he wasn’t sure if he’s ready to reach that point yet. He wanted to still feel her touch, to hear her calling his name even if they’re filled with her venomous tone.
“Matt—”
“Tell me,” He cuts in, trying to recollect himself from the turmoil “Do you want me to leave? Would it be best for me to leave you be?”
“No, no I never want you to leave.” She answers as she pulls him for a hug, burying her face to his chest and wetting his shirt with her tears “Don’t leave me, please.”
Matt welcomes the embrace in no time. He pulls her close, making her stand on her tippy toes as he lifts her. He misses this. The warm scent of her perfume, the pressure of her on his body, the feeling of her heart beating against his chest. This feels like home. She feels like home.
“I’m sorry,” He whispers to her ear “I’m sorry for everything.”
“I don’t need your apologies, Matt. I just need you to promise you’ll stay this time.”
He nods eagerly, pulling her impossibly close to make sure that she hears him, “I promise.”
318 notes · View notes
deadbranch · 6 months
Text
Midnight in a Perfect World (1)
Author: @deadbranch Pairing: werewolf!Alex Keller x fem!Reader Summary:  A monstrous beast has been prowling the farm you inherited.  This is no ordinary large predator problem. Word Count:  1.8k Warnings:  18+ MDNI, smut later on, suggestive language, vomiting, use of firearms, nudity, impolite language. A/N:  I borrowed the title from the eponymous song by DJ Shadow.  This series will reference the hidden culture of werewolves among humans, but without overt use of A/B/O dynamics.
SERIES MASTERLIST
Tumblr media
MIDNIGHT IN A PERFECT WORLD (1)
Your night vision scope is phenomenal.
The creature in your crosshairs stops moving.  You would call it beautiful were it not so obviously dangerous.  Anything built like that didn’t evolve to be friendly or passive.  Whatever this is, it too closely resembles the beasts of lore and popular culture.
You’d chuckle at the absurdity of it were it on video.  Some kind of cryptid, deepfake nonsense.  Blurry, hacked up footage from a trail cam.
Not even close.  This is real.
You silently mouth the word ‘werewolf.’
As though sensing your presence, it turns toward you, front quarters pivoting first, followed quickly by a furry mass obscured by what must be its tail.
Nothing nearby for scale, but it’s huge.  It’s eyeshine picks up the moonlight as it cocks its head, then a hard shake, ruff glinting with a glossy sheen as it takes three steps toward you.
Despite great physical distance, the scope magnifies your alarm more than you’d expected.  You jerk backward but maintain your position.  The creature’s ears prick upward, eyes widening.  Half a dozen rapid steps closer.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck...
You pull the trigger.
Tumblr media
It’s male.
You can tell that much by its physiology, its more delicate parts facing skyward as you approach the unconscious creature.
You’ve had occasion to use tranquilizer darts, as expensive as they are.   The permit cost is worth every penny.
For living so close to the city, you see large predators frequently.
Some seasons are worse than others.  During drought years the bears become bolder.  They emerge from the mountains seeking food and water.
A wounded mountain lion ended up in your barn one night after killing your dog.
You didn’t tranq her.  You killed her with a 12-gauge turkey-load slug and buried the carcass behind the barn.
Whatever this is, it’s bigger than a screaming she-cat. 
“Shit.”
You set the butt of your rifle on the ground next to your feet.  You’d brought the 12-gauge just in case, still reverse slung across your back.  Plunging a gloved hand into one of your many pockets, you pull out a fist of heavy zip-ties.  Not exactly flex cuffs, but it’ll do for now.
Just long enough to call this in.
After trussing up the beast, you tuck a tractor tarp as far under his left side as you can.  Grabbing the ties above its paws, you tip him in the other direction to weasel him onto the reinforced section of the tarp.
No discernable smell.  Not a strong one anyway.  If you didn’t know better, you’d say he almost smells clean.  Like pine, dead leaves, rotting logs, moss, dew on blades of grass.  There’s something else though.  Something you recognize but the cogs just won’t align in your memory.
As wolflike as his muzzle and skull appear to be, you can’t help discreetly examining the tightly muscled shoulders and chest of what resembles a man.  Perhaps the largest man you’ve ever encountered unconscious, but not human.  His belly is completely relaxed in sedation, but you can tell how strong he is despite the loss of tension.
Of course, you peek at what’s below his stomach.  You’ve seen canid anatomy in dogs, foxes, wolves, coyotes, and even coywolves.
You’ve never seen one like this.  This can’t be right.
He has an almost human-like penis.  More than almost.  The longer you stare at it, you feel lightheaded.
Enough.  Drag his ass into the barn.
Tumblr media
Before shutting the door, you take one last look.  A steel bowl of water sits next to the motionless beast.
You’ll return shortly.  Those zip-ties won’t hold.  Especially with teeth like his.  He has enough strength and protective hair on his wrists, he could break free easily once he regains consciousness.  You find yourself thinking in terms of human anatomy and emotions as you consider what comes next.
He’s a beast. Not a man.  You’re not sure what he is.  As you walk through your mudroom door you decide to leave the tranquilizer rifle here.  If there’s trouble, you’ll use the shotgun.
As you grab the ten-pound coil of hemp rope from the cellar, you bound up the stairs and let your mind wander to your plans for tomorrow and thereafter.
The game warden will take care of this by morning.
Regardless, you need to place ads for the farm equipment and be ready for duty by Monday.  Who knows how long those will take to sell, but you don’t have much use for a farm.  You’re a soldier, not a dairy farmer.
Your train of thought derails abruptly.
Howling.  There’s howling outside.  Not just one wolf, perhaps half a dozen?  It’s hard to tell.  Opening the mudroom door, you stand on the top step and listen.  They’re talking to each other.  Wolves are known to communicate over long distances, but these sound much closer than you’re accustomed to.
After about five minutes of this, they suddenly stop.  You give them the courtesy of a few more sweeps of the second hand around the kitchen clock before you snap the light on at your shoulder and hold your Ruger at the ready.
The rope feels heavy and scratchy.  It will be nice to get this done.  Since nightfall, you surmise the temperature’s dropped twenty degrees.
A silly thought flits through your mind.
Should I have brought him a blanket?
The barn door feels heavy.  Need to grease the hinges.  You don’t want to pay to get it leveled and rehung, that’ll just be a waste if this place sells quickly.  And after the equipment is sold off, you won’t need to open the barn again.
The sweep of your light illuminates an overturned steel bowl, the straw beneath soaked.
No beast.
Your heart thuds against your lungs as you back away from the entrance, shotgun raised and fitted to your shoulder.  A pile of unbroken looped zip-ties lies in the damp straw.
Movement at the top of your vision prompts you to sweep the light toward the back of the barn.
A man is crouched behind an old tractor tire that’s leaned against the wall.  His eyeshine catches just so with the sweep of the light.  Like white fire.  That’s not human eyeshine.
“Who are you?”  you call out, shotgun still raised.
He raises his arms, palms facing you. He's naked.
“Doesn’t matter. I won’t cause any trouble.  Just let me go.  Please.”
“You’re going nowhere.  I’ll let the sheriff deal with you.  Where’s the beast that was tied up in here?”  Your breath catches in your throat as your imagination tries to entertain two possibilities.  The beast is lurking nearby, and you won’t be long for this world.  Or this man was…he’s…
“Can we talk?”
“I said...where's the beast?”
His eyes are blue, bright, almost too vivid.  He looks familiar.
It dawns on you abruptly, the smell you couldn’t place before.  It was some kind of cologne.  You remember this man.  You don’t know him, but you know of him.  He’s one of the platoon leaders from a few companies over. Foxtrot?  No, Golf company.  He walked past you in the mess and you thought he smelled nice.
“You’re…I know you.  You’re…”
“No.  You don’t.  Let me go.  I’ll make it worth your while.”
“I can’t see how.  You’ve got nothing to bargain with.”
You don’t feel guilty for glancing downward, the tractor tire obscuring the thing you’re most curious about.  Does it still look like it did half an hour ago?  Dammit.
“You recently inherited this land, correct?”
Against your better judgement, you let the muzzle of your shotgun drop a few inches.  Angrily, you raise it again.
“That’s none of your goddamned business.”
“I can help you.”  His brow creases as he sinks to one knee, then the other.  As he pitches over onto his side, he vomits into the straw next to him.  It’s not much.  He had a mostly empty stomach, by the look of it.
“What are you?”
He looks up at you from his curled prone position.
“I’ll tell you if you put the shotgun down.”
“Nope.”
“Then tie me up again.”
“Not doing that either.  I’ve no way to control you while I do it.”
Mild upset contracts his features as he realizes why he feels nauseous.
“Did you fuckin’ tranquilize me?”
“Yeah.”
He mulls it over as he stares up at the ceiling.
“Fair.  Well.  Go call the sheriff.  Or shoot me.  Just choose one. Can’t stare at each other all night.”
You realize you’re not willing to shoot him.  Not unless he tries to hurt you.  There’s no more livestock to come to harm either.  It’s just you and him.  You’ll have to let him go.
“I’m…going back to the house.”  You keep the shotgun muzzle pointed in his general direction but walk backward, through the barn doors.  The retreating light causes the eyeshine again.  White hot fire.  He blinks as he watches your retreat.
“I’ll just rest here for a bit, wait for the barfy feeling to pass, if that’s alright.”  He raises his voice as the distance increases with each step.
“What were you doing on my land?”
He huffs out a laugh.
“Hunting.  I was hungry.”
“Where are your clothes?”
“Don’t worry about it.  Go back in the house.”
You lower the 12-gauge and give him a hateful look you hope he can see despite the lack of light.
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll see you Monday.  If you’re still curious, I can tell you some funny stories.”
Perhaps shooting him would have been better.  A woman alone on an isolated farm shoots naked trespassing man.  What a mess.  It would take a lot longer to sell the farm.
“Fuck you.  I'll go to your CO first, then the MPs.”
You’re shouting at this point, so far away from him that he’s no longer visible, even the eyeshine.  He’s just a voice coming from the inside of a dark barn.
No response.
You can’t throw the deadbolt fast enough once you're inside the well-lit interior of the farmhouse.
Tumblr media
Alex gives himself about half an hour before he attempts to stand.
She’s pretty.  Smelled good too.  Very good.
He wishes he hadn’t also smelled the tang of fear on her, but it’s understandable.
Shit.
He’ll need to eat something before dawn, or he’ll be sick tomorrow.  Need to hunt.
Before dragging himself to his feet, he reinitiates the change.
A large dark brown wolf with gold-flecked hairs rises on its haunches, much of its body still anthropomorphic in shape, but covered in thick fur, with a head, ruff, and lower appendages that more closely resemble wolf than man.
Upon exiting the barn, he bounds away on all fours, melting into the forest as though he’d never been there.
Tumblr media
Next Chapter
Tumblr media
@smoggyfogbottom @athronebelow @argella1300 @jynxmirage @glitterypirateduck @sofasoap @lollycotton @writeforfandoms @tiredmetalenthusiast @miyabilicious @homicidal-slvt @tapioca-marzipan @chocolatestrawberry-poptart @gogh-with-the-flow @vide0-nasties @clownfishenthusiast @macravishedbymactavish @kiki-is-hyperfixating @rileyslibrarian @luciferstempest @quincessimus @luminousbeings-crudematter @oleworldblues @shadesofreyes @crunchlite @cathnoneofyourbusiness @b-lovedobserver @efingart @astraluminaaa @clear-your-mind-and-dream
321 notes · View notes
greynatomy · 7 months
Text
Espresso
Tumblr media
Alex Morgan x Fem!Reader
I really liked how this came about when writing. I was scrolling through tiktok and this came around again of andrew garfield describing emma stone (which is the most romantic thing to describe a person you love).
Let me know what you think!
-grey
———
All of the United States Women’s National Team players are in the conference room, just finishing up a meeting with their coaches. Everyone is split up in their normal groups with the younger players sticking together. But there was one thing that they all have in common. It’s the love of one particular artist.
“Ohmygod! It out in five minutes!” Sonnett practically yelled for the whole world to hear.
“What’s starting?”
“The documentary all about how Espresso was written and put together.”
“Wait! That’s today?”
“Yes, Ashley. Come on. Keep up.”
Emily sets up her laptop, refreshing every second until the documentary shows up on Netflix.
“It’s right there! Click it.”
“I am, chill.” She swats Ashley’s hand away.
———
“Now, ‘Fairytale,’ what’s that about?” The interviewer asks.
A smile instantly shows up on your face.
“Uh, it’s pretty straight forward.”
“But go into detail. From listening to it once, I know it’s about how much you love someone and always wanting them close by.”
“That’s basically it.”
“Give me more man.” You both laugh. “Who’s it about?”
“Uh, I won’t be saying who, but she was-is pretty special. I’ve known her since we were kids. I was a pretty shy kid growing up, kept to myself most of the time, then she shows up out of nowhere basically demanding to be friends.”
“Then you became more?”
“Then we became more. She helped me open up and like the song says ‘with you I lose all my fears,’ she was always there to help me get by.”
You are now sat on a stool with your guitar and perform the song that was just talked about. (Fairytale by We Three)
“Are you still together?”
“Oh.” You let out a breathy chuckle. “No.”
“What happened?”
“I actually have no clue. It’s been, what? Thirteen years.” You start giggling.
“What’s got you gigglin’ over there.”
“Nothing, nothing. Just the number, that’s all. Don’t ask me about it.”
“Alright then, let’s backtrack. You said you don’t know what happened. How is that possible to not know what happened that led to the breakup?
“I just never got the closure that I needed, I guess. I mean yeah, she said she just didn’t love me anymore, but what else? What did I do? What could I have done differently? Just those questions that I have that haven’t and probably never will get answered.”
“Do you know what she’s up to now.”
“Uh, yeah I do. Not to sound creepy, but I’ve seen how she is and she’s doing amazing. She’s moved up in the world. A true inspiration, especially to her daughter.”
“So she has a child?”
“Yeah. And she looks so much like her.” You give a sad smile, a tear slipping from your eye.
“She must be real special to you, even after all these years.”
“She was like a shot of espresso, she’s like, being bathed in sunlight, she’s incredibly energetic and enthusiastic and she had this sense of play and fun which was, incredibly exciting. And then just like the sunset that illuminates her beauty she left, while like a dark night I got pulled into darkness.”
———
Alex Morgan sat in silence throughout the whole documentary. She hasn’t caught up with your career like you had done with her.
“I’ve never been described as a shot of espresso.” Ashley breaks the silence.
“That was the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. Also very heartbreaking at the same time.” Rapinoe speaks up for the first time.
“But isn’t it weird that she’s still caught up on this girl after thirteen years?” Kelley questions.
“I don’t think she’s caught up, she just wants the closure she never got.”
“Man whoever left her just like that, we needa have some words.”
Alex excuses herself, saying she was tired and was gonna go up to her room. On the way to her room, she though about more of her life and the evens that happened in the past year.
She divorced her ex-husband after nine years, co-parenting—if you can call him seeing his daughter only when he feels like it.
And now that she’s thinking about it, the only reason she can come up with was not wanting to be the reason that you can express your love freely to the world. Alex isn’t out, she never was, never even planning to. That’s why she broke up with you because it wasn’t fair to you.
No, she just needs to tell you.
For closure.
Her thumb hovers over your contact, hoping it never changed.
Sunshine ☀️
Hi.
It wasn’t long until she got a reply.
Lover ♥️
Hey.
Sunshine ☀️
Would you like to grab a cup of coffee with me? To catch up?
Alex throws her phone on the bed, anxious to know what you would say. Her phone vibrating makes her grab her phone just as quick as she threw it.
Lover ♥️
When and where?
~~~~~
no part 2
354 notes · View notes
cuubism · 5 months
Text
part 3 of hob encountering dream outside their meetings (except there are 4 total parts now, lol)
--
Something, Hob thinks, somewhere between his third and fourth glass of whiskey, is terribly wrong.
In another life, he thinks, he would have wandered home drunk, morose, aimless, bereft of his strange patron—Dream—and sure he’d screwed it up. If you come, we must be friends. Well, there’s your answer, Hob.
In this life…
Dream gave his word. And… he is so serious, he is so austere, Hob does not think he is the type to break a promise.
I hope you’re alright out there, he thinks as he gets home to his flat, drunk, but not as much as he really wants to be.
Where is he, anyway? Why wouldn’t he show?
Despair over the matter tries to swamp him, but Hob pushes it aside. Dream. He has his name. Maybe he can find him?
He had never tried in the years since their happenstance meeting during the war. Had wanted to, on and off, but had respected his friend’s wishes on the matter. He had a promise to meet again, after all. That was enough for now. They had eternity.
Tomorrow he can go to the library. Maybe he’ll be able to find something in all those books of history and mythology, if his stranger is a god, like to appear there.
It’s a chance.
--
For days Hob studies, and mulls, and finds very little. His friend’s name is too common a word to easily search, and likewise too obscure to find in any mythology texts. Hob makes little progress, but he thinks on him more and more. Dream is in his mind like a waking nightmare; Hob keeps going back to his little shy smile on their parting outside the cafe.
He wouldn’t just not show up. He wouldn’t.
And then, several weeks into this obsessive spiral, Hob dreams of him.
--
Hob is sitting across from his friend, the setting vague, dark, he can’t make it out. Dream is cross-legged in a meditative pose, a loose robe draped around him, and he looks… gaunt. Tired. Hob remembers looking like that himself, during the darker periods of his life, but he would never have expected Dream to break his marble composure.
“Hob,” he says, with some surprise. Blinks starry, dark eyes. “You have been thinking on me very intently, indeed.”
“Of course,” Hob says. Wants to reach out to him but senses, somehow, that it wouldn’t be possible. “Where—”
“Time is brief,” interrupts Dream. Hob is not certain he even heard Hob speak; perhaps whatever this is is a one-way transmission, a message. “My power is contained; this is but a spare moment of luck and coincidence. I owe you much for breaking my vow to you—”
You don’t, Hob thinks, you don’t—
“—But instead I must make a request. As… friends.” He speaks the word as something still unfamiliar and rare. “Find Alex Burgess. Find me. Anything you desire, if it is in my power, in return.”
What an absolutely bizarre way of asking for help. Then again, it is his old stranger speaking. Hob should expect no less.
What kind of mess has he gotten himself into that kept him away from their meeting? What kind of mess could such a being get into?
“I will,” Hob swears. “I will. I won’t leave you alone.”
His friend’s gaze bores into his, glittering like the night sky.
“Hob,” he says, voice resonant and echoing, “be cautious.”
--
Hob wakes, tacky with sweat, shivers running up his spine. Dream, he thinks, scrubbing a hand through the mess of his hair. Dreams. Fuck. Was it real? It must have been. Dreams.
In the manner of dreams, much of the detail is hazing out, leaving only the strange echo of his friend’s voice, his starry eyes, a name to find, and a warning:
Be cautious.
Yeah, fuck that.
Dream never asks for help, at least not from Hob, though Hob privately doubts he asks for it from anyone. He hardly even shares mundane details of his life. Whatever scrape he’s gotten into now, it must be monumentally terrible to push him to do so.
Hob won’t leave him there.
Alex Burgess, his friend had said. That’s not much, but it’s a start.
--
Hob had found nothing using Dream’s name, but once he has Alex Burgess’s, it’s shockingly easy. He puts the pieces together in less than a week, and finds himself stewing in anger as a result. How had nobody done anything? Granted, nobody knew who his friend was, but as far as he’s managed to gather, plenty of people had seen him over the years. Nobody had stepped up?
Maybe, deep down, Hob is truly just angry with himself. He should have done something. Somehow, someway. For fuck’s sake, Hob had seen his stranger in 1915, less than a year—if the rumors are to be believed—before he disappeared. 
Shouldn’t he have known? Somehow? Some time before their scheduled meeting?
Nothing for it now. Nothing for it but to get him back.
--
For lack of very much ability to make a plan without blueprints or inside knowledge, Hob ends up throwing caution to the wind and simply breaking into the manor. Fuck those people. Hob has killed men before and he will again, and he doesn’t expect to feel sorry about it.
These are not innocent men, after all. And neither is Hob.
But he does heed Dream’s warning to some extent, only out of concern for Dream himself. Hob cannot afford to get knocked out or killed—temporary though it may be—when he has someone to rescue. 
To that effect, he leashes his fury long enough to break into the Burgess manor via a side door, rather than simply breaking down the front door as he’d really like to; he holds his anger by the collar long enough to catch a passing guard around the throat and demand, in a terse whisper, where the door to the basement is, and then knock the guard out and shove him into a coat closet; he tempers his rage long enough to crack open the basement door with a key stolen from the guard’s belt, to creep down the stone steps, to step out into the cavernous room. 
And then—
—it’s impossible for Hob to hold back his anger then.
But his instincts don’t let him slow long enough to taste it. Hob has not been a soldier for a long time, but the instincts—the instincts never disappear.
He knocks out one guard with the butt of his gun before the man can even grab his own weapon, then he levels it at the other, whose hands vacillate between surrender and fight. 
“I would think very hard about what you’re about to do,” Hob growls, and clicks back the hammer on his revolver.
Apparently, whatever unbridled fury the guard sees in Hob’s eyes is more frightening than the punishment his employer will dish out. He raises his hands in surrender, dropping his gun. 
Hob stalks over to him and, though the man raises a hand and shouts, “Wait!”, knocks him out cold as well. 
He grits his teeth, forcibly loosening his grip on the gun, and then, only then, does he let himself turn properly to Dream.
And his heart fucking… breaks.
Hob’s old stranger has always been a regal person. No matter the era, no matter how grimy the White Horse was when they met, no matter on what street Hob ran into him—he has always carried himself like royalty.
He still does, now, but by God is Burgess trying to break him of it.
Dream sits cross-legged in the same meditative pose as in Hob’s dream, but this time he is unclothed. Hob doubts that he subscribes to the same strict notions of modesty as human society, but that doesn’t mean it’s not still a violation.
Worse still is the cage. Small, tight, exposed on all sides—his friend is such a private person, Hob hadn’t even gotten a name out of him for five hundred years. This is— this is—
It makes him so incredibly angry.
Dream stares at him with wide eyes. He looks from Hob to the downed guards and back, his muscles tense, spine still rigid. He looks… malnourished, and Hob wonders if it’s truly due to lack of food, or more to lack of freedom.
“Hob Gadling,” he finally murmurs, voice muffled through the glass. “You received my message. I was not certain I’d managed enough power to get it through. I had but a short dream in which to try.”
“Yes.” Hob strides across the room to him quickly, steps and voice echoing strangely in the crypt-like, musty cellar. “I heard you.”
“And you came.”
Hob huffs, crouching down by the glass cage, examining it for rivets or seals or anything that could be cracked open. “No need to sound so surprised.”
“You are angry,” says Dream, watching him intently, delicate hands balanced on delicate knees.
“Yeah, not at you, though.” Hob groans in frustration. “Any way to break this thing open other than shooting at it?”
“Break the circle.” He points to the ring of symbols on the floor. “And I will be able to help you.”
Hob drags the sole of his shoe viciously through the paint. It’s so gratifying to watch it scrape off. Dream shudders, eyes falling shut, and then goes taut, each muscle in relief. Strength comes back to him, power shimmers over his skin. Hob lays a hand on the glass and finds it humming at higher and higher frequency, like the air inside is vibrating, suffused with power it can’t contain.
He jumps back just in time.
The glass shatters into a thousand pieces with a high ringing sound and a flash of bright light. Hob covers his eyes.
When he opens them again, Dream is delicately climbing out of the metal frame of the sphere, his power returned, each step measured and controlled. He looks more otherworldly than Hob’s ever seen him, hair standing on end, his gaze sharp and predatory. But his eyes soften when they land on Hob.
Hob rushes over to offer his arm, and Dream grips it for balance as he picks his way through the glass. Once he’s on safer ground, Hob offers him his coat, and Dream wraps it around his bare shoulders, eyes sparkling with a tiny smile like he finds Hob’s attempts at chivalry amusing.
“Are you okay?” Hob asks, then shakes his head. “Stupid question. What do you need, my friend?”
“I am free,” says Dream. Under his usual stoicism there is a hint of awe. “You have done more than enough, Hob. I thank you.”
“At least let me help you get out of here,” Hob says. He’s still worried that Dream might be hurt, or weakened from his imprisonment, even if he’s standing on his own feet now. “Can get you something to eat, or…?”
Dream looks into the distance, as if seeing, or hearing something Hob can’t. “I’m afraid I have much to attend to. My realm calls me. I have been away a long time.”
Because he’s been imprisoned for a long time. Jesus Christ.
Hob doubts he’ll be able to convince Dream to stay, or rest or anything else. His friend is stubborn, and too proud for such things, he thinks. “Still. If you need help with anything…”
“I require my tools,” Dream says, and Hob straightens up. “But I would not task you with such a thing. They are no longer in this manor and I fear there may be danger involved in retrieving them.”
Hey, Hob thinks, with some indignation. I can handle some danger, thanks very much.
“But first, I have other business to attend to,” Dream continues. His eyes flick upward at the sleeping manor inhabitants on the floors above. “You will face no resistance in leaving.” He turns his gaze briefly to Hob, eyes softening in gratitude. “Fare well, Hob. I shall not forget this.”
Then he turns to go, darkness swirling around him.
“Wait!” Hob grabs his arm. Dream looks down at his hand, but doesn’t pull away. “Will you come back? I— I want to make sure you’re alright.”
Dream’s lips tip up in a half smile. “I will be alright once I have returned to my realm, and regathered my tools. But. Very well. I will come to see you, once I have finished that business. Thank you, Hob.”
And then he’s gone from under Hob’s hand, gone into the night, and Hob sighs, alone in the quiet basement. But really, he shouldn’t have expected anything else.
201 notes · View notes
valsunrye · 9 days
Text
Tumblr media
(update)
People have "supposedly" (we are unsure if this is true) doxxed Alex Kister along with her parents. Tumblr, TikTok, Reddit, and Twitter are currently virtual battle grounds on the TMC side. Specifically, Twitter and Reddit. Despite my own siding with the victims, I think that the situation has started to reach dangerous territory and spiral out of control due to the reckless behavior of some. The internet still hasn't received an official response from Alex, and we may not if things continue to be escalated in this way. Although, I've heard from (unreliable) sources that Alex is still currently working on her response and will soon enough complete it, if true, we'll see what that brings.
Please understand that even if what Alex has done was terrible, doxxing under these or any circumstances could very well get a person KILLED. Some say that the document by Stirring contains some transfemmisogynistic or transphobic wording? towards Alex, along with Stirring's Tumblr post. Stirring has stated himself that he does not consider himself a victim of Alex. A lot of people keep spreading misinformation about the original document; important clarifications or additions on the situation by some involved keep being deleted, which only adds to the confusion. And due to it, people in and out of the community are becoming more angry and hostile towards each other over this.
Tumblr media
And as of the 21st, Stirring has also tweeted out a small apology for what may have been the misuse of the word grooming in his post (pieces of which will be shown next). He has clearly clarified that both himself and DB are adults in said Tumblr post, along with taking responsibility for not doing so off the bat. And in saying that, this seems to clear up the fact that the messages with sexual comments from Alex, the screen recordings of which were posted by StirringJuice on Twitter, are all between adults and not minors as some might've initially assumed. 
Tumblr media
Although this MAY (very unsure of this) not have been grooming in a traditional sense, Alex's interactions with her younger audience were still highly inappropriate as well as concerning. Alex has misused her platform. And her victims have still been hurt by her. As someone who's been through years of what may have been emotional abuse? irl and was only recently able to almost completely acknowledge it due to myself often defending the one who did it in my mind, those who defend everything Alex's done concern me. It's hard to even get yourself to realize that someone who was once close to you has hurt you, nevermind saying it to an entire online community, only to have people try to deny it ALL. I can't imagine what that must feel like.
Tumblr media
Some of those staying neutral/wanting to hear both sides and etc., have been harassed, given death threats, and accused of a miriad of things as retaliation, things that can actually RUIN someone's life and put them in jail; things that they hadn't even done. A person was infact going to end their own life over the situation due to this harassment and real life issues they faced, but luckily enough, they were just in time stopped from following through by a family member of theirs. The people on the other side aren't necessarily all the "evil, awful, parasocial "monsters."" You see them as, some of them haven't even seen a singular volume of TMC, nor know who Alex is. Do not commit actions online that could result in any real life deaths. This is unacceptable.
Realize that no matter how much evidence you may place down on the metaphorical table, skepticism and questioning by some will always be something bound to happen. One cannot simply attack, harass, give death threats to and attempt to doxx others for it. I myself do not condone doxxing. The amount of danger you put on someone's life and those around them by doing so is immense, it's abhorrent. This has been one of the worst fandom responses I've seen in quite awhile.
Tumblr media
The Mandela Catalogue is not fetish material! This was confirmed as misinformation by StirringJuice, so stop saying that it is because it is not. As it is with many of my other interests, I'll be separating the art from the artist, so I will be staying in the community. (art ≠ artist) If you want to cut off association from TMC, I understand. But if you do not and people are pressuring you, know that I support you in staying. You do not have to force yourself to leave. Other fandoms have had similar issues with creators in the past. I could list multiple examples, but I won't.
If you want to delete your fanworks, do not pressure others to do the same. And if you're not completely sure, you do not have to give up on your AU's, delete all artwork, hcs, or destroy any merchandise you may have bought; doing so will not bring back any money spent. I believe that you do not have to give up your interest as long as you no longer support Alex financially. Your fanart and edits (perhaps you can attempt to pirate the series for those as others pirate the game Omori also due to the creator), etc. make her no money, so do not destroy your creations and hard work unless certain that you want to. You don't need to leave this fandom if you do not want to. 
Dear TMC fans, fictives, coping links, kinnies, and everyone else out there in the community, this isn't your fault at all. Please don't beat yourself up over loving, having loved, or hyperfixating on a fandom. Sources and interests don't make us bad people by association; no matter what anyone else says, remember we are not the creator, like what you like. I know the situation is stressful; stay strong. If people harass you, block them. If mutuals unmutual you due to fear of being associated, they were never there to stay in the first place. The real ones will stick with you through this; trust me, I know. My own who matter have not left me. 
I know you're scared, perhaps sad, disappointed or extremely angry but I believe we'll get through this.
And remember, although awful, this will pass.
🫂
Big hugs. I love you all♥️ -Eve
80 notes · View notes
mywritingonlyfans · 9 months
Text
Stitches. // Alex Turner X Reader.
prompt: alex getting some stitches by you (med) after a gig episode. (it's a first meeting short-fic)
words: 1,7K.
Tumblr media
His expression was filled with tension, an awkward smile pleading the curly-haired man to rescue him from the situation. His long legs fidgeted uncontrollably, as if he were trying to dig a hole in the ground.
"Alexander?" you addressed him, seeking confirmation from the man beside him. They appeared slightly older than you, exuding a coolness that was hard to ignore. "Well, I suppose you're the one in need of stitches, right?" you smiled, trying to convey a sense of calmness through his concerned, chocolate-colored eyes.
Your voice carried a friendly tone as you held his chin gently in your hand, examining the dried blood on his brow. His face nuzzled into your palm, eliciting a sweet smile from you as your eyes met his. He resembled a golden, vulnerable puppy, scared like one during a New Year's fireworks display.
"Is this goin’ to ‘urt?" His eyebrows softened, and you had to suppress a cute sigh in his presence.
The man patted his shoulder, assuring him of his presence. The smile was no longer on his lips, but he remained adorable. Dressed in a blazer and a crisp white shirt, he was undoubtedly feeling hot inside, yet the adrenaline prevented him from realizing it. His face was perfectly sculpted, with a well-defined jawline, and you found yourself fixated on the small scar near his eye, becoming somewhat obsessed with it. They appeared casual yet sophisticated, a captivating sight to behold.
"Not much, it'll be quick!" you reassured him, wetting a piece of cotton for his wound.
"He's not exactly the brave type," the man commented. You chuckled, though Alex didn't seem too pleased about it.
"Yeah? I must admit I wouldn't want to be in your shoes right now, but I promise to make it as painless as possible."
"Thank you," he swallowed, growing increasingly tense.
His friend maintained a smile on his face, as if silently declaring his correctness. Judging by Alex’s expression, he was probably right.
You introduced yourself to him, and he appeared pleased by that, prompting himself for you to lift his face with your thumb. It seemed he was genuinely happy to know your name, although it could have just been your imagination playing tricks on you.
He was about to repeat your name, but you acted faster and pressed the cotton to his wound. He shivered, suppressing a groan. It was so adorable that you almost wished you hadn't interrupted him, as you longed to hear him say your name out loud. Even if only for a single time.
"I'm sorry," you wrinkled your nose. Patients in pain weren't your favorite thing, especially when their well-being rested in your hands. "I promise this is the worst part, you'll soon be numb and feel nothing."
"Yeah, Al. The doctor is pretty, they won't kill you if you don't ask," the man chimed in, causing Alex to blush and sending a delightful tingle through your body. It wasn't a vulgar remark.
"Uh, I'll ask you to close your eyes, I think it'll be better that way."
"Don't mind him, he's just trying to distract me."
"I see. Do you think it's working?" You continued the conversation. Theoretical classes had taught you that talking to patients could help them endure pain a bit better. Alex wasn't a child, but in that moment, he seemed just as nervous and restless.
"I think so, actually. Your presence helps. I thought I'd find someone older and grumpy." His brows twitched, and a tear trickled down his face. Why did it feel like the pain was affecting you too?
"Shhh, love. It's alright, we're almost done," you whispered, gently pressing your fingers against the sides of the wound to check if he felt anything. Fortunately, he didn't. From that point on, he would be fine.
"I wish I could say that your kindness and gentleness are calming me, but I'd be lying, although I truly appreciate it." He smiled sweetly, almost tempted to open his eyes but then deciding against it.
"Keep them closed, I like your long lashes." You felt a chill run down your spine after saying that, but it was so honest and spontaneous that you would have felt bad for not mentioning it. After all, you wouldn't see him again. "They look good on you," you added, placing your hand under his neck and twirling a lock of his hair around your fingers. Maybe you were overreacting, but you wanted to savor this moment and hold him a little longer. The man smiled back at you, having read you like a book. You couldn't help but feel a bit embarrassed, yet pleased.
"Aren't you too young for that? I'm not judging, just curious," the curly-haired man asked as soon as you looked at Alex. His cheeks were flushed, along with the tip of his nose. God, you wanted to kiss him. At least you wished you could do it once.
"It's okay," you avoided looking at his friend. "I'm in training. I've stitched people up before, but if it makes you feel better, I can get someone else to do it for your boy." Your voice revealed your nervousness. You hated to entertain the thought, as it was disrespectful, but if someone didn't want you to touch their body, you wouldn't be the one sewing them.
"No babe, I didn't mean it like that. Alex looks good with you. It was supposed to sound like a compliment. It looks like you've been doing it for years," he quickly clarified.
You let out the breath you were holding and refocused your attention on making Alex feel better. "Then, thank you," you glanced at him and could see that he never intended to belittle you.
"He's not mine, he's just in a band with me," he said, keeping his eyes closed and lightly touching your white coat. He squeezed the fabric slightly, his hand grazing the skin around your waist. "That's how it happened, by the way. It was crazy but kinda nice. How long will it take?" He swallowed dryly, making you chuckle as he held you a little tighter. You didn't think they were actually together, but you found it adorable that he thought so and took it lightheartedly. His urgency in making himself clear that they weren't together gave you hope, as if there was something potentially more to come.
"Just a few more," you muttered. "So, are you in a band? What do you play? And what exactly were you doing that led to this?"
His nose twitched into a smile, making you feel better, knowing you were managing to distract him. "I'm a singer and guitarist, and I got a little too excited with the microphone stand while I was singing. It's usual, but, huh, this time it didn't turn out so well as you can see," his friend babbled, looking at you and whispering, "He's a bastard." By his movement, you understood that he had kicked the object at some point. You nodded, playing along.
"I'll guess you guys are a rock band, huh? It doesn't seem like a very smart thing to do, but I think if I could, I would try too," you took a step back, analyzing your artwork on his pale skin.
"See, Matthew? It's a normal thing, you should try!" he spoke in a funny voice, sounding like an inside joke between them. Matthew rolled his eyes at him.
"Well, we're done," you held onto his shoulders, studying him. He smiled broadly, letting his chocolate-colored, lazy eyes meet yours. He looked even more attractive when you could see his light, relaxed smile. "You look good!"
"You look good too!" his attention remained on you, causing the entire room to go silent around you until Matthew coughed exaggeratedly.
Your cheeks flushed with warmth. Alex was something else. It had only been a few seconds since his hand was on your waist, and you already missed it.
"You could come to one of our gigs if you want," Matthew suggested.
"Yes, please. You'll love us!" Alex exclaimed, as if you had never stitched him up.
"Promise me that if I go, you won't scare me by trying to get hurt again?"
"I promise, no jumping around or kicking things when you're watchin’ me," he held up his hand, giving you his word.
"Then, fine. I'll keep that in mind. What's the name?"
"Arctic Monkeys," he got up, and your mind went dizzy with his height and essence. It certainly wasn't what you expected, but it wasn't a bad thing. He looked like a cute, not-much-tall, pudding mess. "I'm Alex. You can call me just Al, luv" he took your arm, placing a quick kiss on your head. You resisted the urge to hug his torso.
"The singer and guitarist, I'll remember that, you'll see," you were smiling like crazy.
"Just contact me, I'll be glad to see you again," he said happily, following Matthew, who was already by the door. "And you're really good at what you do, like this whole mini medical genius thing that you are, really good." You nodded, mumbling a simple 'thank you' while watching him walk awkwardly but cute to his friend. Your whole mood was radiant, and you felt like you could work another shift wearing that smile.
"Uh, excuse me," you were taken out of your reverie. You put your hand over your mouth so you wouldn't look so silly for smiling at nothing. "My bastard friend told you to contact him, but he forgot to exchange numbers with you." He added, waving a small paper in front of you. He was clearly enjoying the situation. How could you forget that you needed to have his number?
"Oh, yeah, thank you."
"And don't forget to call him. Don't make me come ‘ere with him again," he blinked as you nodded fiercely at his words. 
He wouldn't have to.
...
taglist: @ohladymoon @indierockgirrl @bloo-wisteria @bellaturner @cosmoschaotic @nikisfwn @andrews-lovr
211 notes · View notes
piratefalls · 2 months
Text
Tumblr media
this time i finished a book and wrote some psych au and caught up on a shit ton of fic, and yet i still almost put the wrong banner on here. happy reading!
masterlist.
Set In Platinum by cricketnationrise
“So,” Alex says, plopping down on Henry’s couch. “You said some things on my channel are more achievable with a partner.” Or, The camboy!Alex sequel.
diamonds are forever by rizcriz
Henry shakes his head. “James Bond is fictional.” Alex raises his eyebrows. “But . . . ?” Gaze slipping to the ceiling, Henry nods once. “It is not . . .” He says, making a face as his eyes meet Alex’s again. “Dissimilar to James Bond.” Alex nods. “So . . .” He trails off, the information still processing. It’s a bit like his mind is buffering as he makes sense of it. It’s so little information, yet so much all at once. Like someone’s thrown an encyclopedia at his head and given him a cliff notes explanation expecting him to know it word for word. “That would mean—I’m dating James Bond?” He blinks, sitting up straight. “Oh my god,” he exclaims with sudden realization. “I’m a Bond Girl.” 
Happiness I Seek by MayQueen517
A sick day in the Brownstone === “It really must be serious if you’re admitting you’re sick,” Henry says, grinning weakly when Alex groans, shoving at him.
the clementine thing by saintlynomenclature
And, really, it doesn’t matter whether or not Alex explains it to Liam and the rest of his friends. They’ve never really discussed it between themselves through the years. Slowly, Alex had gone from asking Would you please peel this for me? to Please? to silently extending the citrus without any comment at all, just a soft smile. It’s one of the things that make them Alex-and-Henry; the silent conversations and the contentment in each other’s company. Now, as Alex starts to flourish through his position on the lacrosse team, his slew of AP classes, and his role in student government, getting him to slow down at all is a feat. The only way that Henry can do it, guaranteed, is by one of those innocuous little fruits. There’s nothing Alex can’t do—surely, he could peel a fucking orange if he felt so inclined—but Henry delights in being able to do this for him. - Five times Henry shares a clementine with Alex, and one time Alex returns the favor
(Not) A Cinderella Story by LolaLand
Henry is very much a prince. Alex is very much not a princess. OR Prince Henry isn't a fan of royal duties, and Alex isn't a fan of the monarchy (or their non-disclosure agreements).
our world, mine and his alone (the midnight train to go) by firenati0n
The posh accent hit Alex first, and he felt something curl in his gut. One of his amygdala brain worms did a little wiggle. He was unprepared for what was to come. A pair of criminally long legs entered his vision, effectively vaporizing most of the brain worms (that's a first), except for the ones slowly starting to chant shoulders and thighs and hair and legs and thighs and Alex couldn’t do a goddamn thing to stop his increasingly horny train of thought. All trains had left the station. Or, Alex asks a stranger to crack his back like a glow stick. Or, an overnight train meet-cute.
A Little Space to Think by allmylovesatonce
A surprise visitor sends Alex into a spiral about his future, specifically, his future with Henry.
I kiss the photo every night so you are in bed with me after all by imaginentertain
Following the election, the boys are back on their relative continents and back to their lives. And it sucks. It may only be a month until New Year's but things are different now: they're out to the world, Alex is the official suitor of the Prince, and they're talking about New York and the Brownstone and Law School. Alex misses Henry. Out loud. He's allowed. "Sure you'll find something to keep you busy." Henry will regret saying that. Probably.
of hubris and fowl by maxbegone
"The bird fucking bit me," Alex tells her before she can get a word out. June blinks. "What?" "And I'm bleeding." "What?" She repeats. Alex just holds up his hand, the bundle of tissues now somewhat sticking to his wound. "Alex," she starts, exasperated, "what the actual fuck?" On the evening of Wednesday, November 27th, 2019, the First Son of the United States, Alexander Claremont-Diaz, sustained minor injuries after contact with a wild turkey. Out of abundance of caution, Mr. Claremont-Diaz was transported to Walter Reed Medical Center for evaluation and treatment, as is protocol after contact with a wild animal. Or, Alex is dramatic, (definitely) antagonizes a turkey, and everyone thinks he's overreacting.
Trying My Patience (Try Pink Carnations) by chamel
Unfortunately for him, the only things more beautiful than Alex himself are Alex’s cakes. He’s the most in-demand cake artist in the city, and as such he books a lot of weddings. Many of the very same weddings that simply must also have Fox Florals arrangements for their centrepieces. Weddings like, apparently, this one. (Or, Henry the florist and Alex the cake artist are forced to collaborate last minute at a wedding job, make a mess, and learn some things about each other in the process.)
Balls to the Wall by inexplicablymine
“He looks kind of like a cross between a sickly Victorian orphan and the personification of the bubonic plague. I feel like I should be walking in with a Medico Della Peste plague mask and a stick,” Alex says into the phone while wearing his version of a hazmat suit (last week's sweats that need to be laundered expeditiously). He looks out into the carnage of his sleeping bedridden roommate in dismay. So maybe he doesn't need to rob a bank, but robbing a Starbucks for Henry’s happiness might be in order. He rips off the rubber gloves and grabs his shoes. “Fuck it, we ball.”  Or Alex is willing to go to great lengths in order to make Henry happy, great lengths indeed.
We'll Get Together Then by absoluteaudacity
5+1 times Oscar was a good dad to Henry (ft. Abuelo Oscar)
cherry shampoo and a kiss or two by viciouslyqueer
“You underestimate my stubbornness,” Alex says defiantly with a small smile. “Plus, I really need to wash my hair because it’s downright filthy, I just... can’t bring myself to actually leave the bed and do it.” Henry hums thoughtfully, a plan forming in his head; he can do something about this. He leans down to press a kiss on Alex’s forehead. “I’ll be right back.” — Alex is on his period. Henry takes care of him.
i'm in the back seat (of my body) by stevefuckingharrington
He pulls out his phone for a moment. Google’s “voice fine but can’t make myself talk” and then adds ‘ADHD’ on the end for good measure. He scrolls and few moments later he finds it. Going nonverbal is like walking barefoot on pins and needles when everyone else but me came prepared with steel-toed boots. Alex clicks off his phone and tosses it on the bedside table. Maybe, he thinks, he should’ve got that autism assessment. (or, sometime between christmas and new year, alex goes nonverbal during a party.)
Room For Rent (Sex Dungeon Not Included) by everwitch
When Alex comes, he only knows two things: that he’s good, and that he’s Henry’s. And that’s all he needs to know. Alex’s housemate has a sex dungeon. It’s pretty much exactly what you’d expect; whips and bondage gear and a chair that looks like something a gynecologist would have use for. Alex, being the chill, sex-positive guy he is, is of course extremely cool with this. Totally normal about it. Enthusiastically supportive, even. But as Alex watches Henry invite a steady stream of men into his dungeon, he develops one tiny little issue with the arrangement: he desperately wants to take their place.
love's a game (wanna play?) by theprinceandagcd
“Fuck, marry, kill?” Alex suggests, mostly joking. Nora kicks gently at his thigh. “That could be fun.” “Wait, I was ki-” “Celebrities only or are we allowing real people?” Probably-Samantha poses. “Celebrities are real people, Samantha,” Pez says. Alex pushes down the rush of satisfaction that he had remembered her name correctly. “Non-celebrities should be fair game,” Alex insists, and Henry’s gaze meets his before quickly darting away. There’s a slight flush to his cheeks, like maybe the drink in his hand isn’t his first. Or second, even. Jesus, his face is pink. --- aka, FMK as a plot device
Palatial by floatingaway4
With a smirk, Alex holds out his other hand, palm up.  “I’m not giving you twenty dollars,” Henry says with a laugh.  “We had a bet, sweetheart.”  Henry grabs Alex’s outstretched hand and pulls him in for a quick kiss. “You had a bet. I ignored you.”  “I really thought we were gonna get all the way through this one without her saying ‘palatial’ but she pulled it out right at the last minute.” He slides a finger into the belt loop of Henry’s jeans and yanks him close. “You know, I really do forget, every once in a while, that you’re a prince. Good thing I have the New York real estate market to remind me.” 
Seven Minutes in Heaven (Reversed) by TheAmberFox
'Tell him, you idiot,' Nora mouths at him, and Alex grimaces. He’s been over it with Nora so often and somehow, she is convinced that there’s a 99% chance that Henry would react positively. Alex can’t see it. He can’t even see 1%. Ever since they’ve started college together, Henry’s not dated at all. He has talked about the women his family has tried to push on him as “reasonable matches” though. Alex, on the other hand, has tried distributing his attention equally throughout the dating pool and failed miserably. How can he focus on anyone else when Henry – the sole object of his heart’s desire – is right there? If Liam could see him now, he’d probably laugh his head off.
Once I get a taste by clottedcreamfudge
“Please,” Alex begs, on fire with a clawing desperate need. “Fuck, please, I’ll do anything. Henry.” Henry, entire body rigid with tension, slowly shakes his head. Alex sees his mouth – red from where Alex has been kissing him, biting him, well on his way to eating Henry alive – form the word no, even though he can’t hear it past the blood rushing in his ears. Then Henry turns and leaves, and Alex digs his fingers into the cheap plywood of his own desk as he tries desperately not to fall to the floor. Which is not, as it turns out, where this story starts.
Sweet Dreams of Holly and Ribbon by villageidiot
He falls asleep on the loveseat, Nora and June curled up on the couch across from him, as a terrible Hallmark Christmas film plays in the background. It’s the fourth night of sleeping alone—Henry taking care of some business back in the palace—and he’d rather wake up cold and cramped across from the two of them than alone in his own bed. That’s how Alex falls asleep. That is not how he wakes up.
maybe take me into your room by smc_27
“This is kinda boring, ma.” She pats him on the cheek, leans in a little closer, and says, “Find something to do, darlin’. You live here. You can’t leave.” She’s not exactly right, but he isn’t going to argue. Plus, her main advisor, Zahra, comes over. Alex is already a little afraid of her, so he doesn’t feel the need to draw attention to himself by smarting off at the mouth. She’s still talking to him when he spots this really beautiful guy about his age, and fuck, wow. Okay. “Not him,” his mom says into his ear, and he doesn’t even… Look, if she knows about the few guys he made out with at parties in Madrid last year when the opportunity arose, this is the first he’s hearing of it. “His dad is the British ambassador. I can’t have you breaking hearts and causing an international incident.” OR: Ellen Claremont is the US ambassador to Canada. Arthur Fox is the British Ambassador to Canada.
All the Lonely Starbucks Lovers by @kiwiana-writes
“That floor doesn’t look like it’s very comfortable on your knees, is all.” Henry leans forward, scooping out a piece of brownie that got under the counter, somehow. “I wouldn’t worry about that—my knees are quite used to it, I assure you.” A ringing silence follows this pronouncement, during which Henry focuses very hard on opening a trap door directly into hell with the power of his mind. Or, five times Henry puts his foot in his mouth in front of his customer crush, and one time he puts his dick in his customer crush's mouth instead doesn't.
treading water in the deep, just waiting for the tides to meet by anincompletelist
Alex can’t remember his first words. He can’t recall the melody to the lullaby his parents often sang at his bedside to get him to sleep, nor the name of his sister’s imaginary friend that they had tea parties with on the floor of her bedroom. But he knows they existed. That it all happened and that each of those little, seemingly insignificant moments had built him up and formed him into the person he is today, even if he can’t recall every one of them perfectly. But he can remember, as clear as if it’d been only moments ago, the day that he found out what the red band around his wrist meant, imprinted underneath his skin with a small gap right over his pulsepoint, waiting for the day the ends would meet. 
Dream a Little Dream Of Me by affectionatelyrs
They’re no longer in the garden. There’s no grass, no flowers, no fireflies. Only stars—hundreds upon hundreds of them in an otherwise vast sea of darkness, dazzling and twinkling and here. “How—” “They came here for you,” Alex says, his voice light. “It’s what you desired. So, I asked them to come and shine. Just for you.” “But won’t the world need them?” Alex shrugs and simply says, “You need them more.” - Or, Five times Alex visits Henry in his dreams during his dark days, and one time he does so in the real world (and stays)
love left a permanent mark by HypnosTheory
Henry clears his throat and answers again. “I’m a bit nervous. About the needles.” “Thank you for telling me,” Alex says, voice dipping low. Henry wouldn’t move from his spot on the couch if the apartment was on fire. “People aren’t afraid of the needle. They’re afraid of the pain. But you’re not scared of that, right?” -- Henry decides to get a tattoo. It comes with more than one kind of aftercare. (Finale to the only thing on my mind series)
say you'll see me again (even if it's just in your wildest dreams) by coffeecatsme
“You should ask her to dance.” She nudges Alex, and Alex pretends there isn’t a flush rushing up to his face. He opens his mouth to mention every single fucking reason dancing with the blonde is a bad idea—she looks about a foot taller than Alex, objectively uncomfortable for some fucking reason, and Alex is against royalty on, like, principle—but then June nudges him again with widened eyes. “Come on. You know you want to, and I’m sure she’d appreciate it. None of the other fuckers are asking her because of how tall she is.” For a moment, Alex glares at her. Then, he downs his champagne, shoves it in June’s face and tries to smooth his jacket. “You fucking owe me, June,” he says and ignores the brilliant smile that appears on her face. “Don’t act so fucking upset about it.” Or, 5 times Henry is too scared to come out to Alex and 1 time Alex gives him the courage. Or, 6 times Alex slowly falls in love with Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, for exactly who he is.
as always, let me know if you want me to tag you, and see you next week!
tags: @starkfridays, @stilesgivesmefeels
67 notes · View notes
snowydragonscave · 6 months
Text
Tumblr media
Trust
Kara didn’t know why it started happening.  Why they’d started to check in with one another?   And not just during some world ending crisis.  Because they hadn’t really done that, not recently.  Everything had been so off.  And then she had gotten trapped in the Vrrosh Dokhahsh and everything seemed to move forward for her. What she wanted became clear as the Jewel Mountains. She had lived through every dream and every nightmare. It was…flipping through a rolodex of every possible fear, every possible life, every possible fight, every possible kiss. It was both better and worse than anything Mxy had shown her. 
She believes the emotions could not have moved as far forward for Lena.  Kara knew they still needed to have that talk. That she wanted to apologize for everything.  She had to say those words. Those short words that carried so much weight, so much shokh. And also to express her gratitude to Lena.  Yes, she had thanked her in front of the team, but, Rao, Lena had gotten her through in so many other ways.  Ways that…
And here they were again…coincident.  Kara listened to the room, to the world really, she had started to unshackle her powers, let them integrate more into herself, it had been more of a relief than she expected.  It felt as if she had finally allowed the flaming part of her shesur back into her body. She was hearkening now, but all of her attention was on Lena and her reaction. She could hear her heart softly flutterly, her shallowing, the quietest of sighs, and then her hair shifting as she turned to meet Kara’s eyes. 
There was no pause, no hesitation, as if they both knew their eyes would end up meeting across the room, the cosmos, every damn time. Kara gave her the softest most reassuring smile before turning to Kelly who was explaining why she wouldn’t be at the tower.  Then suddenly Kara was laughing uncontrollably, “It’s Nyxly, I can’t stop it, she’s so happy.”
The team listened to and watched Kara’s unnerving laughter.  Eventually she was able to stop and they were trying to figure out what had happened. 
“She could be causing mayhem or destruction.”  Nia pointed out. 
“She could be watching 3rd Rock from the Sun and cackling.” J’onn added. 
The humans in the room all looked at him with raised eyebrows.  “What? I laughed while watching it.” 
“As did I.” Kara smirked, holding back laughing too hard again. 
“Well, there is nothing we can do about it now, so might as well get a good night’s sleep, as it could be something far worse…” Alex said through a yawn. 
Soon they all had filed out of Kara’s loft but Lena. The concern was clear in her eyes as she carefully put the jenga pieces back in the box.  
Kara gently floated over to the living room, after putting some music on, and sat next to her, starting to put away the trivia pursuit game.  The silence was comfortable, amiable. 
“It’s going to be alright.”  Kara kept her eyes on her work, but she softly nudged Lena’s shoulder.  
Lena let out a sigh.  When Kara was done she grabbed both games and supersped to put them away and gathered the wine bottle and popcorn from the counter and brought them to the living room.  
As she poured Lena another glass so many aovehms washed over her.  She focused her hearing on the birds going to roost for the night.  The soft coos calmed her roiling senses a bit. 
As she watched Lena take a sip of wine, she froze.  Contemplating as Lena rested the glass back on her knee.  Then Kara was melting onto the floor, before Lena. 
“Kulahn zhalishness rrip w.”  Kara’s eyes are embedded in Lena’s and she repeats the phrase as if she had been praying it for days. Lena doesn’t move but her heart does a soft flip that Kara must hear because she only breaks the eye contact to steadily, but softly pull Lena’s hand toward her lips.  She proceeds to gently kiss each of her knuckles as she repeats, “jolum non rrip w.”  
She paused to meet Lena’s eyes again and in English, “I am so sorry.  I was wrong and hurtful.  I am sorry. You mean everything to me.” 
Lena takes a calming breath for her fluttering heart, her loud pulse.  She knew they needed to have a real talk but she could not think of a way to get past the detritus they had scattered within and around themselves, especially not when they were so busy with trying to stop Nyxly.  And part of her was not sure she wanted to talk.  She had been enamored with how they had been with one another since Kara’s return. They were…in accord with one another, as they  had only experienced in inklings before. She had been too frightened to break their fragile, harmonious union. 
But, Kara, once again surprised her and took the first step and Lena had no response other than to lean forward and brush her fingers through Kara’s hair and down her scalp until her fingers were tangled at the nape of her neck, feeling her slow and steady heartbeat.   At this gesture, Kara moved and leaned forward to place a reverent kiss on the back of Lena’s hand and then she slowly turned her hand over and kissed the palm of her hand. “jolum non rrip w, nahkluv,” she whispered, her lips never leaving Lena’s palm. Lena could not resist cupping Kara’s cheek as they sat in the quiet of the apartment. The soft jazz Kara had put on the only sound drifting between them for some time. 
I was inspired once again by CSIRJen on twitter and her amazing gifs. This was just an odd little idea that came to me. 
128 notes · View notes
hunterscabin · 10 months
Text
This Baby Will Have A Father Part II
Summary: The boys have a surprise for Y/N that they hope will show how deeply they love and care for her.
Pairings: Reader x SPN Cast
Warnings: Unplanned pregnancy, reluctance to accept help and gifts, mild panic, fluff, ALLl of the fluff.
Word Count: 1.6k 
Author’s Note: This is the second and, what I had planned to be, last chapter of a mini series, but writing all of this fluff has been a nice distraction from the real world. If there is any interest, I’d gladly consider writing more. 
Part I
Tumblr media
At nearly six months pregnant, exhaustion took on a whole new meaning. The ten to twelve hour work days you once conquered with ease now left you completely drained and lethargic. You were lying on the sofa in your trailer, contemplating how you used to manage a night out after filming, when a small slip of paper caught your eye.
You sat up, reaching toward the coffee table with some effort, and quickly recognized the handwriting.  
Meet me in my trailer. - Jare
While walking across the lot, you contemplated Jared’s note. You weren’t sure of the reason for his note, but your mind had wandered to the point that you began silently praying the boys had enough common sense not to prank a woman approaching her third trimester.
Jared must have been watching for you, because his door swung open before you reached the trailer’s steps.
“Y/N/N!” Jared beamed, ushering you into the small living space where Jensen, Misha, Alex, Rob, and Rich were eagerly awaiting your arrival.
“It smells like trouble in here.” you cautioned, leery of the knowing smiles plastered on their faces.
Misha stepped forward and took both of your hands in his.
“You know we all love you, right?”
“Yes.” You squinted at him suspiciously. “What is this, an intervention?”
“No.” Misha laughed. “We’re so excited for you, Y/N/N, but we also know how much goes into raising a baby.”
“It’s exhausting.” Rob concurred from the sofa.
“They take all of your time and energy.” Rich agreed.
Misha saw a tinge of fear flash across your face.
“We’re not trying to scare you,” he soothed, rubbing his thumbs over the back of your hands, “We just know that you have a hard time asking for help, even when you really need it.”
“And you’re gonna really need it.” Jensen stressed.  
“We weren’t kidding when we said you don’t have to do this alone.” Jared added. “We want to be with you, every step of the way.”
“And we’ve put something together to show you how serious we are.” Rich announced, proudly handing you a small scroll that was neatly tied with a thick, white ribbon.
You loosened the bow, unfurled the ivory card stock, and read the cursive heading. 
“This is a binding contract, for all who have signed, detailing the ways in which we plan to care for and love Y/N and Baby Y/L/N.”
You looked up in disbelief, finding Rich’s kind expression, and he nodded for you to continue reading.
“Alex: Date Night.”
Alex stood and walked toward you.
“What are your two favorite things?” he quizzed, already knowing your answer.
“Good food, great company.” Your reply was skeptical, but a small smile tugged at your lips upon hearing everyone recite your mantra in unison.
“Now, I don’t know if I’m considered great company,” Alex quipped, trading the scroll for a small booklet, “but I can promise good food.”
You thumbed through the pages Alex handed you and noticed each one listed the name of a restaurant you had mentioned wanting to try.
“I will be waiting at your trailer, every Friday after work, until we’ve eaten our way through Vancouver.”
“This is too much.” you shook your head.
Unsure of how to accept his kindness, your gaze fell to the floor. Alex immediately dipped his head to catch your eyes.
“I know what you're thinking,” he whispered, “and you’re wrong; you deserve to have some fun.”
Alex watched you fiddle with the booklet for a moment before offering some extra reinforcement.
“It’s either dinner out or eating in, and I really don’t want to make you or the baby suffer through my cooking.”
His threat elicited a surprised laugh, and you leaned forward to kiss his cheek.
“Thanks, Alex.”
“See you Friday night?” he confirmed. 
“It’s a date.”
Alex handed back the scroll, and you read the next name.
“Rich: Cravings.” You tilted your head to the side and crinkled your brow. “You all think I’m food obsessed, don’t you?”
Everyone laughed, as Rich took Alex’s place in front of you.
“This” he said, handing you a prepaid cell phone while holding up one of his own, “Is your designated snack line. Any time you have a craving, you just call or text, and I’ll be there!”
“You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into.” you giggled, taking the phone. “I’ve already gone through three watermelons this week.”
“It’s only Tuesday!” Rich exclaimed. “That’s one watermelon a day!”
“This baby knows what they want.” you proclaimed, rubbing your belly.  
“I’m serious,” Rich affirmed, his face softening with sincerity, “If you need ice cream at three o’clock in the morning, I’m your man.”
“Promise not to judge me when the requests start getting crazy?”
“Honey, you should hear some of the things Jaci ate while she was pregnant. I’ve seen it all.”
“Thank you, Rich.” You grabbed his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“Who’s next?” Jensen prompted.
“Rob: Lullabies.”
You looked up to find Rob fishing for something in his backpack.
“When she was especially fussy, music was the only thing that would get Audrey to sleep.” 
Rob found what he was looking for and pulled out a CD case.
“Louden Swain is putting together an album of lullabies for Baby Y/L/N, and we’ve already recorded one song.” he said, handing you the demo. “I hope you like it.”
You held the case to your heart.
“I’ll love it. The baby will love it.” You lunged forward, wrapping your arms around his neck.
 “Thank you, Rob!”
“We’re having another session next weekend, and we’d love for you to come.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
You set the CD on the counter and picked up the scroll.
“Misha: Crib.”
Misha reached out his hand, and you settled your palm against his.
“That night after you told us you were pregnant, I couldn’t sleep, so I went out to my woodshop, and eight hours later, I had this.” Misha slid his phone across the counter, revealing a photo of an ornately carved railing rung. He swiped his finger over the screen, and a dark wood headboard appeared.  
“It still needs a lot of work, but it will definitely be ready by the time the little one gets here.”
“Misha,” you breathed, your eyes filling with tears, “It’s the most beautiful crib I’ve ever seen.”
Misha stood and gathered you in his arms.
“I love you, Y/N.”
“I love you, too.”
“Hey! There are other people here who love her!” Jensen joked impatiently, when you lingered in Misha’s embrace.
“Let me guess.” you teased. “You’re next?”
Jensen gave a playful shrug, and you rolled your eyes. You sent Misha back to his chair and found Jensen’s name on the scroll. 
“Jensen: Classes.”
You looked at him quizzically.
“When Danneel was pregnant with JJ and the twins, she always felt more at ease when she was prepared, so we went to every class imaginable: delivery classes, breastfeeding classes, parenting classes…“ Jensen stopped suddenly, when he saw that you’d started wringing your hands. 
"Y/N/N, what’s wrong?”
“Those types of classes never even crossed my mind.” You spoke quietly, as if you were merely thinking out loud, but your voice was dripping with panic. 
“I’m already not doing enough. What else am I not thinking of?”
“Hey, slow down.” Jensen pulled you into his chest and cradled your head. He rubbed your back and stroked your hair while exchanging concerned glances with the group.
“I’m going to be a terrible mother.” you mumbled into Jensen’s shirt.
Jensen kissed your temple and leaned back to look at you.
“You are not going to be a terrible mother.” His voice was warm and reassuring.
Jensen brushed the hair away from your face and let out a soft chuckle.
“What are you laughing at?” you questioned, suddenly very self conscious about your hormone-induced overreaction.
“I caused the panic I was trying to prevent.” Jensen explained. 
“Before she had JJ, Danneel and I were out to dinner with a couple who were also expecting their first baby. They mentioned an infant CPR course, and Dee lost it in the middle of the restaurant. She said the exact same things you just did.”
“But Dee’s a great mother.”
“And you will be too. I promise.”
Jensen’s hand found the side of your face, and you leaned into his touch.
“Thank you, Jensen.”
Jared cleared his throat behind you.
“I hate to ruin a moment, but there’s one more person on that list.”
When you turned, Jared winked, and you said his name before even picking up the scroll.
“Jared:” you skimmed down to the last line of the page, “Doctors’ Appointments.”
Your eyes widened in anticipation.
“Starting now, you are not going to a single doctor’s appointment by yourself.”
“But there are so many.” you objected, your independent nature getting the better of you.
“There are,” Jared conceded, “and I don’t want you going to any of them alone.”
You stood in silence, stunned at his generosity.
“Y/N/N, if it makes you uncomfortable, I don’t have to go in with you, but I am at least going to drive you and wait for you until the appointment is over.”
“I…” you tried to order words in a way that would accurately expressed your gratitude, but language failed to give meaning to the love and appreciation swelling in your heart. 
“I don’t know how to thank you.” You turned to the group, “All of you.”
“You can thank us by not putting up a fight when we offer to help you.” Jared’s tone was loving but firm.
“Deal.” you agreed.
You looked around the room at all of your friends and were overcome with emotion.
“I was right to think this baby won’t have a father.” you paused. “They’ll have six.”
Tumblr media
Masterlist
250 notes · View notes
soulofapatrick · 7 months
Text
Baby Steps - Henry Fox x Male Reader
Tumblr media
Summary: You wake to Henry in your room, having flown overnight to surprise you
Words: 2.1k
Warnings: fluff; the fluffiest shit ive written for a while
Y/N’s POV
I’m stirred awake by the soft, lingering pressure of familiar lips on mine. At first, I’m enveloped in the sensation of their plump softness, and for a moment, I think I must be dreaming. The kiss is gentle yet undeniably passionate, a perfect blend of love and longing that I’ve come to recognise as uniquely Henry’s. 
As my senses slowly awaken, I become aware of the delicate dance of his fingers across my cheek, tracing a path as tender as a whispered promise. It’s then that I open my eyes and my heart leaps in my chest as he’s here, leaning over me with a soft smile gracing those dreamy lips. Henry’s eyes, a shade of deep, stormy blue, lock onto mine with an intensity that takes my breath away. His honey hair falls in disarray around his face, adding to the allure of the tousled morning look he wears so effortlessly. Those plump, soft lips I had initially mistaken for a dream are now inches away, just waiting for another kiss, another taste of the love that binds us. 
I’m blinking again, still not actually sure he’s here, but when I open my eyes he’s still leaning ver me with an amused glint in his eyes. I raise a hand, my fingers trembling with disbelief, and with a mixture of caution and longing, I cup his cheek. The warmth of his skin against my palm is undeniably real, and the way he leans into the touch with a soft sigh. I can feel the subtle roughness of his morning stubble, the texture of his skin so familiar and comforting. My thumb grazes those plump, soft lips, the sensation electric. It sends a jolt of desire through me but, it’s more than just desire; it’s the tangible proof that Henry is here with me, that I’m not trapped in some wistful dream. 
I can no longer deny the reality of the situation. This isn’t a dream. This is Henry: my love, my anchor, my prince, here in the Whitehouse. 
Overwhelmed with emotions, I can’t contain my joy any longer. I reach out and grab Henry’s shoulders, yanking him down into a hug that has him letting out a surprised sound as he loses his balance and falls onto of me. He chuckles, a warm and melodious sound, as he hides his face in the crook of my neck, breath tickling my skin as he nuzzles against me. His laughter is music to my ears, a soothing balm to my heart. His nose is cold against my neck but I don’t care because he’s in my arms and he’s laughing. We’re wrapped up in each other, two souls intertwined in a world that often demands so much of us. 
Without a word, his hands roam any bare skin he can reach above the duvet, drawing a soft groan from me as we can’t right now. Alex and June are going to come bugging me about breakfast soon as Mum likes to have meals together because we’re still family even if we’re the now the Presidential family. 
“Hen, we can’t-“ I’m cut off by a pounding at the door. 
“Come on Mouse! Breakfast! I’m starving.” Alex’s voice rings through and Henry huffs lightly, warm breath tickling my neck. 
“Go ahead, give me a few minutes!” I call back as Henry wriggles his way off of me and back to his feet, “I need to get dressed!” 
“TMI!” Alex makes a fake vomiting sound before I hear him move on to June’s door. 
Suddenly, the duvet is ripped off me, Henry with a cheeky grin on his face but eyes telling a different story as he realises I’m completely naked. I want to cover myself up but the way he’s looking at me makes me stay there, raising myself to my elbows and just watching his expression. It’s a gaze that feels like a warm embrace, as if he’s holding me with his eyes alone. 
As I watch him watch me, I notice the subtle changes in his expressions. There’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes, as if he’s delighting in some secret joke that only the two of us share. It makes me feel shy, as if I’m being examined under a magnifying glass, my vulnerability and desires laid bare for him. 
But it’s not just amusement; there’s a hunger in his gaze too, a longing that’s mirrored in the way his pupils dilate ever so slightly. It’s the look of someone who can’t get enough of the person they love, as if he’s seeing me anew, every time, with the sam wonder and affection. 
Henry’s gaze holds me captive, and I can’t help it when my cheeks heat up under the weight of his attention. It’s as if I’m a work of art, and he’s a devoted enthusiast, lost in the beauty of what he sees before him. In this moment, I feel truly seen and cherished, and it fills me with a warmth that goes beyond worlds - a feeling that I am the most precious masterpiece in his world. It has me sitting up and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed for him to slot himself between them like he belongs there, his finger hooking under my chin to make me look up at him and I think I forget how to breathe. 
“I want to tell Mom.” It slips from me before I’ve processed it and instead of going into what Pez calls his cocoon phase his soft smile brightens and the corners of his eyes crinkle with joy, “I want to hold you and kiss you whenever I like. For as long as you need, the walls of the Whitehouse will hold our secret but Henry…” I reach for his hands, “I love you.” 
The moment those three words leave my lips, myriad of emotions play across Henry’s features like a fleeting storm. First, there’s joy, a radiant burst of happiness that lights up his eyes. Them fear flickers by briefly, a shadow of worry for what his grandma will say about him choosing love over his royal duties. Pain follow, a reminder of the sacrifices we’ll have to make to keep our love hidden until he’s ready to tell the world but I would wait forever for him. But as quickly as the pain appears, it’s replaced by something stronger - bliss. It’s a deep, overwhelming happiness, a promise of the love we share and the future we’ve chosen together. 
Without a word, Henry leans down, his lips brushing softly against mine. It’s a kiss filled with tenderness and reassurance, a silent affirmation of his love for me, and as we kiss, the worries and pressures of the outside world seem to fade into the background. 
However, our peaceful moment is interrupted by the buzzing of my phone on the nightstand. I pull away reluctantly, breaking the kiss with a soft sigh, already knowing it’s Alex as Henry moves to my wardrobe and begins to rifle through it. As predicted Alex leaves me a voice note telling me to hurry up or he’s drowning me in the pool next time we go swimming. Very mature. 
I watch Henry reach into my wardrobe, his fingers gliding over the familiar clothes that have become a part of both of our lives. He has an air of confidence and ease as he selects a few items for me to wear. 
First, he pulls out a pair of boxers from the drawers before grabbing some skinny jeans of mine that he’s complimented my ass in before. With a self-satisfied nod he’s heading back to the bed where I’m sat and handing them to me before pulling the polo shirt he’s wearing over his head. It’s his very famous riding shirt: the red and white checkered one with ‘Kensington Polo’ written across is and I don’t think twice about taking it. 
While I dress he goes back to my wardrobe and finds my favourite tee shirt, pulling it over his head and I can’t stop the giddy feeling when I see him raise the sleeve to his nose and inhale. The look of love and peace on his face as his eyes flutters shut has my heart clenching and my cheeks heating up. It’s moments like these that remind me of the depth of his feelings, of the way he cherishes even the smallest part of me like my clothes. 
I finish dressing quickly, my heart still dancing with the warmth of Henry’s presence. He suggests we head down to breakfast, and I just nod in agreement. My phone begins to buzz again, but this time, I can hardly focus on it as Henry is holding his hand out for me to hold, fingers extended in a silent invitation. Without hesitation, I reach out, our fingers interlacing effortlessly. My heart skips a beat at the simple yet profound gesture. 
We arrive at the dining room where my family is already gathered. My mom, the President, sits at the head of the table, her usual air of authority softened by the presence of the loved ones. Dad, Alex, June and Nora are all chatting and laughing as they wait for me. For us. 
I can’t help but swallow hard, my heart racing as I prepare to face the inevitable questions and scrutiny. But, as I glance at Henry, his grip on my hand remains steady, his expression almost more anxious than I feel. It’s a silent reminder that we’re in this together, facing whatever challenges that come our way one at a time. But together. 
Mom looks up from her place at the head of the table, and her eyes widen in surprise as she spits Henry beside me. Her Texan accent warms her voice as she greets us, her eyes falling to our interlocked hands, “I was wondering who the extra place was for.” She says, tone warm and loving. Her eyes hold a hint of curiosity but also deep affection and nothing short of love and support. 
I can’t help but exhale a sigh of relief as I witness her reaction. It’s as if a weight has been lifted, and I feel a newfound sense of ease in her presence. 
Dad’s the next to notice, ever the embodiment of warmth and hospitality, rises from his seat and starts to extend his hand to Henry. But, as he seems my hand in Henry’s, his face breaks into a warm and loving smile before he’s pulling Henry into a heartfelt hug that has Henry letting out a surprised sound. 
“Welcome to the family, son.” Dad says, voice filled with genuine warmth and acceptance. It’s a moment that fills me with overwhelming gratitude and Henry’s stormy blue eyes shine with tears as we sit in our seats between Dad and Alex. 
Nora, always perceptive and sharp, giggles excitedly from her seat opposite me when I place my hand on Henry’s leg and squeeze reassuringly. She turns to Alex and June, her eyes dancing with mirth, “I told you so!” She just about cackles, voice triumphant, “Pay up, pay up. I knew they’d end up together.” 
“Shut up.” Alex throws a note across the table, barely missing the jam and Mom just rolls her eyes as Nora snatches it up and holds it to the light to check if it’s real. 
Henry’s leaning close to me, lips practically brushing my ear and he murmurs, “I love you too.” My heart swells with affections and I can’t resist the urge any longer. I turn to towards him, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. It’s sweet and tender, a silent reaffirmation of our love admits the laughter and teasing. 
Alex, always the jokester, pretends to gag dramatically, earning an exaggerated fake vomiting motion from him. Mom playfully scolds him, smacking him gently with the newspaper while I kick him under the table, dragging a sharp cry of pain and a playful glare from him. 
But, in this moment, surrounded by my loving family, Henry’s presence beside me, and the shared laughter at the breakfast table, I know deep down that everything is going to be okay for us. We’ll take baby steps and I don’t care how long I have to wait for Henry to be ready. I’d kill for him. I want him to be written into the my history when historians write about me. I want them to know that this man, currently laughing at a joke Dad is telling is the love of my life and will always be. 
                           ┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈
Red White and Royal Blue Masterlist
New Tag List Form
TAGS: @clarks-letterman @spencer-reids-wife
139 notes · View notes
Note
hello, absolutely love your writing, it's always such a joy seeing it!! i have a lot of fun reading your posts ^^
i have a request, and it's kinda inspired by the personality of my own farmer!OC: so, i was wondering if you could make headcanons about the bachelor(ette)s reaction with a farmer that is very emotional and cries way too easily at pretty much everything and anything — and how they would try to cheer them up? it can be in a romantic relationship, platonic, or first impressions!! any is fine :)
(P.S: if you included some Ridgeside Village characters, specially Blair, Daia and Jio i would be so, so happy ^^)
Oh my goodness thank you so much for the kind words ❤️❤️❤️ 🥺
I decided to make a separate story for each character, some already in a relationship with Farmer, some just friends. I hope you enjoy this form of headcanon!
I also added Jio and Daia, as they are the ones I've explored in the mod the best so far (well, not counting the Amethyne family). Thanks for asking, and enjoy!
SDV bachelors:
Shane:
Shane thinks Farmer is crazy, or an idiot, or both. Every time, he snaps at them and gets angry with them. Every time, after another rude remark, rivers of tears pour from Farmer's eyes and they run away. Every time, after all of this, they go back to Shane and try to talk, to become friends. And every time, Shane finds it harder and harder to chase them away. He just sighs tiredly and resigns himself to having a new friend. A vulnerable, whiny, but a friend. Shane thinks they're weird. Heh, just like himself... But a pretty good company, by the way.
Sebastian:
Sebastian kissed Farmer slowly, gently. Time seemed to have stopped altogether since they had come here, to the top of the mountain, where Zuzu City, shining with lights and billboards, was visible on the horizon. Where they were alone, where Sebastian had been brave enough to confess his love to them. Where he, under the influence of his tender feelings, took Farmer into his arms and kissed them. And was immediately frightened when he saw Farmer with tears streaming down their face. But when they told himself they were tears of happiness, Sebastian was ready to cry himself on the spot.
Alex:
Alex isn't the most tactful person himself, but even he doesn't wish harm on anyone, even if his actions aren't going to be very good. That's what happened on the beach with Farmer when Alex suddenly yelled at them to catch a grindball, but charged right into their faces. Mild worries quickly turned to panic as Farmer crying and sobbing. Thank Yoba, delicious ice cream and an ice pack from the kiosk where he works were able to calm Farmer down. Alex breathed a sigh of relief, he didn't know they were such a weakling.... No no no no, he didn't mean that! Don't cry, please- damn, he need more ice cream!
Harvey:
Harvey must admit: coming to him for a compulsory injection for illnesses in the face of intense fear of needles and doctors, was a very brave move on Farmer's part. Many patients, sensing anxiety and panic after any mention of hospitals, immediately ran away. But Farmer, though flooding the clinic floor with tears, kept a steady hand. Harvey would later steep Farmer in herbal tea to calm them down, not forgetting to praise them for their bravery and responsibility. He will also offer the help of a therapist he knows.
Sam:
Sam was returning from his parents back to his home on the farm, to his beloved spouse. Seeing the love of his life on the couch, Sam was already heading to the Farmer for his portions of hugs and kisses.... and found them crying, with headphones, from which muffled music was blaring. Sam, already knowing Farmer very well, only smiled when he saw their crying face, "Sad song again?" "Uh-huh," Farmer holds out one of the headphones to their husband. The young musician sat down next to them, putting his arm around their shoulder, listening to the lyrics of the song. "Very sad, you're right." What are they listening to? baby shark doo doo doo
Elliott:
The inhabitants of the Valley could not help but notice the Farmer standing near the Saloon, sobbing with a bouquet of flowers, together with Elliott, who was trying to comfort his interlocutor. The bouquet of flowers and Farmer's tears immediately suggested that everyone's favorite chaotic Farmer had a grief, that someone had died.... But it turned out that they were just very touched (even too much) by the attention of their, as it turned out later, boyfriend. After all, Elliott is so thoughtful, and these are their favorite flowers, and *sob*. Oh, goodness...
SDV bachelorettes:
Leah:
Oh, the talented artist experienced a whole spectrum of emotions over the course of the morning. First, enthusiasm as she added the finishing touches to her new sculpture. Then pride in the work she had accomplished. Later, the desire to give the sculpture as a gift. After that - the thrill of handing the sculpture to the surprised Farmer. Then came the anxiety, for instead of joy she saw tears on her friend's face. Then came surprise and relief when Farmer, still sobbing, thanked Leah for the beautiful gift. The red-haired girl stroked her friend's back for another five minutes, smiling broadly.
Penny:
Penny never thought that Farmer, her friend, would be crying so hard at the end of the movie "Brave little sapling". Although her own eyes were a little wet after the last scene of the movie, the red-haired girl didn't think that Farmer would sob so much. Luckily she had brought a few dry tissues with her (all of which she had to give to Farmer, by the way).
Haley:
"Ew, you're all dirty," was the phrase that became Haley's fatal mistake when she carelessly commented on the new Farmer's slightly stained clothes. The girl had to spend more than 20 minutes calming down a very vulnerable Farmer, trying to convince them that "stains like that are even in fashion!" (not too convincing). Haley didn't want to offend them, so as an apology, she offered her help to the Farmer in ordering great fashionable clothes, with discounts and promotions. Now they are crying tears of gratitude. Haley doesn't understand why she's having such bad luck today.
Emily:
When one day, visiting Emily, Farmer inquired what kind of parrot was in her room, the girl told the story of this poor bird, the broken wing, and how the feathered creature was now being treated here under Emily's care. The blue-haired girl's story was interrupted when she heard a loud sob from her companion, so Emily immediately ran to the kitchen to get napkins and tea for Farmer. She could truly understand Farmer: when that unfortunate bird banged into the window and broke its wing, Emily wanted to burst into tears, she felt sorry for the bird! But now the parrot is safe and they will help their feathered friend right? *Squawk*
Abigail:
Abigail jumped when she saw Farmer crying near the mountain lake. When she ran over to find out what was wrong, she could make out the words "bracelet," "drowned," and "sorry" from all the crying and whimpering. Oh yeah, Abby had recently given Farmer a handmade friendship bracelet. And Farmer, still crying crocodile tears, said they dropped the bracelet in the lake while fishing. Hey, no need to cry, it's no big deal. Abigail will make a new bracelet, even better! She'll even add an amethyst to decorate it!
Maru:
It's not every day that Maru gets the chance to enjoy stargazing with the love of her life (to be honest, the girl still can't believe her happiness). The vast night sky is studded with a thousand diamonds, blessing this quiet and beautiful night. And the Farmer, overwhelmed with emotion, began to let tears fall, saying how beautiful Maru is under the starry dome. After this, Maru did not hold back and her glasses became wet from her own tears as she kissed and hugged Farmer in a burst of passion. That night had become special for them.
Bonus + Ridgeside Village:
Daia:
Daia isn't surprised, though: after telling the Farmer about her orphan childhood, many people would have let at least a stingy tear fall. And though she turned the whole thing into another joke and tease, she was beyond laughing when Farmer hugged her tightly and began sobbing into her shoulder. Assassin only sighed and comforted Farmer, telling her that there was no bringing back the past, but now she had a close friend (or more?) in her life who had become the thread that connected her to the normal life she had dreamed of. It didn't help, and Farmer cried even harder. Oh my goodness, her whole shoulder is wet from their tears, hee hee!
Jio:
Jio is utterly confused and annoyed. Why the hell was Farmer crying over an accidentally squashed snail? Yes, it was a pity about the creature, but it was very small, the grass was tall, and it was already dusk, so you couldn't see anything. Stop crying! What, a funeral for a snail? Are you out of your mind? Kiwi, why are you sad? ...You two cannot be serious.... Okay, fine! Let's have a funeral for the snail. Elf doesn't understand how someone like Farmer can deal with the dangerous monsters of Ridge Falls, but whine and sobbing like a child over some snail.... Kiwi, don't even dare cry too, you're literally an assassin!
102 notes · View notes
ticklishraspberries · 6 months
Text
Kept Promises (Alex/Henry)
Summary: Henry mentions some things he'd like to do to Alex next time they see each other. Alex holds him to it. (For Tickletober Day #1, "Anticipation". Enjoy!!!)
With each explicit, teasing email, Alex found himself counting down the seconds until he would see Henry again. When they’re face-to-face, Alex is usually the one making Henry blush, but the prince has quite a way with written words, and Alex feels like a fool as he pulls a pillow over his flushed face, grinning.
‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you never fight it when I tickle you,’ Henry had written.
‘You must be too distracted by my dazzling smile,’ Alex replied, trying to deflect rather than deny.
He could practically hear the low tone in which Henry would have spoken the next reply. ‘While your smile is definitely dazzling, the reactions your body has to my touch are just as enticing. I notice every twitch of your muscles, every buck of your hips, every hitch in your laughter. And yet, I’ve never felt you wish for it to stop. I’ll prove it next time I see you.’
So, he’d answered: ‘Promise?’ with a wink face/ Alex hadn’t gotten much sleep after replying with that, his heart racing. Sassy replies from him are nothing new, but him feeling flustered by his own boldness is certainly a foreign feeling.
So, obviously, he gets on the next flight to London that he can, like a fool, and now he’s standing in Henry’s room, anticipation bubbling like champagne in his veins. The prince knows it, too, with that damned smile, smug and all-knowing. It makes Alex feel vulnerable, exposed. Not in a bad way, though. It makes him feel seen rather than stared at. If that makes any sense, which Alex assumes it doesn’t. But whatever. His brain is much too preoccupied to make any coherent thoughts.
“I wasn’t aware we had scheduled a visit,” Henry says.
“We didn’t,” Alex replies. “I missed you.”
Henry’s mischievous expression softens, leaning in to press their lips together softly. “I missed you too. I assume the emails were proof enough of that.”
They both chuckle. It’s amazing, really, how they can both be so shy about this, even after all this time. Henry still blushes when Alex calls him baby; Alex still can’t meet Henry’s eye after a particularly teasy statement. Everything still feels new and exciting and oh, so fucking flustering.
“Are you here to help me fulfill my promise?” Henry asks, breaking the silence.
Alex feels heat rise in his face, grateful that his complexion as well as the dim lighting may be hiding it. But Henry is so close to his face, he’s sure he can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.
“Maybe,” he replies. He isn’t sure if stubbornness or embarrassment is what keeps him from answering honestly. It feels like a mixture of both.
Henry takes his time, though. Leads him back onto the bed, makes a whole show of unbuttoning Alex’s shirt for him, delicate and way too fucking slow, and Alex feels goosebumps rising on his chest, his belly, as the cool air touches his skin, as Henry’s fingers barely ghosting the tan flesh.
“Impatient, are you?” Henry smirks as Alex begins to twitch.
“You’re too methodical with everything. Why does undressing me have to be a whole ordeal? You’ve never minded ripping my clothes off before,” Alex says, tone laced with annoyance that is so fake, not even the tabloids would buy it, let alone someone who knows him so well.
“Maybe I like making you squirm,” Henry replies.
Alex mutters something that sounds like, “There are better ways to make me do that,” beneath his breath, but is quickly cut off by the sound of his own surprised laugh, as Henry’s hands finally find his sides and squeeze.
“You were saying?”
He just shakes his head, giggling too much to reply. Normally, it would take much more to make him react like this, but all the teasing, the anticipation, had really gotten to him. It makes every touch tickle more, like Henry’s unlocked some secret cheat code. It certainly feels like cheating, as Alex practically shouts when Henry moves up to his ribs.
“Go ahead. Ask me to stop,” Henry says.
Alex doesn’t say a thing. He just tips his head back and laughs.
In the end, Henry keeps his promise, and proves his point.
112 notes · View notes
sublimecatgalaxy · 1 year
Note
me again :) i’ve been thinking a lot about javier peña and how i want him to be mine so bad thanks to tiktok💘 the idea i mentioned to you was reader and javi in a long distance relationship and just the phone conversation between the two of them. it could be fluffy or lean on the side of phone sex but literally anything where he’s speaking to the reader is perfect! can you tell i’m really into pedro’s voice? lol🤭
UHHHHH BESTTIE!!!! My first Javi request😌 TUMBLR THERE IS NO SMUT IN THIS, IT'S JUST FLIRTING AND FLUFFY PLEASE DON'T PUT A WARNING ON THIS.
Tumblr media
"I did my nails today." I sigh, looking at the red tinge on my fingers and toes with a fond smile, knowing how much Javi loves when I get myself all pretty for him.
"Yeah?" Javier asks softly, his voice sending shivers down my spine, especially after not hearing from him for nearly three days. "What color?" He asks but I can hear the smile in his tone, knowing he already knows what color I chose.
"Your favorite." I hum with a smirk, twirling the cord on the phone while I curl up on his side of the bed, heart aching at the fact that I can no longer smell his cologne on his pillow.
"Red?"
"Yes."
"You should send me some polaroids." He offers with a sense of mischief in his voice and I giggle, eyes rolling at his pervy thoughts.
"Should I?" He laughs through the line and my whole body warms at the noise, a sense of adoration and appreciation consuming me as I desperately wish to be right there beside him in his Colombian home.
"I miss you." He whispers, a tinge of sadness to his voice.
"I miss you too. It's been awfully boring here. Just the cat and me." I reach down to pet my calico beauty Riley in my lap and she purrs happily, nudging her face against my hand just like she does to Javi when he's home. "I need my man here to spice up my life in more ways than one."
"I'm working on it, sweetheart." Though my words were meant to be teasing, there's an honest frustration to his own words and I realize how tired he must be and how much he must want to be home with me. "What else did you do today other than paint your nails and miss me?"
"Bought some groceries, bought a ticket to Columbia, got a new litterbox-"
"Wait what?" He cuts me off and I can hear the line rustle on his end, almost as if he's moving to catch up with the huge bomb I just dropped on him. Playing dumb, I roll my eyes teasingly and give him the best show I can give.
"What?" I ask dumbly, hearing him scoff loudly and impatiently on the other end of the line.
"You're coming to Columbia?" He asks breathlessly and I can picture the tears lining his lash line and the way his cheeks blush gently when he's excited.
"I get on a plane bright and early tomorrow morning." I giggle, boucing excitedly up and down on the bed, spooking Riley out of her slumber as she rushes off the bed and under it.
"You're kidding."
"You sound disappointed?" Nerves swirl in my tummy for a moment until he mutters a quiet 'no, no, no' under his breath and I feel the anxiety of my secret disappear.
"I'm shocked." He scoffs and if I close my eyes hard enough, I can picture him fisting his hair, looking around the room thinking something along the lines of 'how am I going to clean this apartment in time'. "I'm so fucking happy." He hums and the tears lining my own eyes are now dripping down my cheeks, my heart pounding excitedly. "I can't believe you're real."
"I'll show you how real I am in exactly twelve hours from now." He laughs at my flirting and gives me a quiet 'yes dear' and I begin to feel the anticipatory excitement just knowing I'll see him and be in his arms this time tomorrow.
"Promises, promises."
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane28282 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi @crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the heart @vampviolets@haylee-e @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife
@officiallyunofficialperson@heyaitsklaudia@rosepetalsparks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @colbysbrocks @iamasimpingh0e @loveshineslikethesky @id-3-kbro @diorsitgirl @errorfound101-allideasburnedout @neverwillknowme18 @ellyskey @taylors-folk @loversjoy @myaloveee @thyris-is @lagataprrr @aaaaslaaaan @witxhy-lexx @minjix @luvroseee @tee-swizzle @savageneversaw @admiringlove @hysteriahall @piceous21 @starlightandfairies @igotmajordaddyissues @drewstarkey-wife1 @manyfandomsfanvergent @revesephemeres @rafesbae01
201 notes · View notes
patronofmonsters · 3 months
Text
About the Fear of Extinction in The Magnus Archives
What absolutely fascinates me about the Magnus Archives isn’t just it’s a huge critique of capitalism but it’s also unintentionally showing the gap in the fears between White Western society and those of people of color, particularly indigenous people.
First I must stress THIS IS NOT A PUT-DOWN OF THE AUTHORS. I love the story and it’s absolutely fantastic. I am simply pointing out that some aspects of the story make sense when you consider that both Jonny Sims and Alex Newall are white men.
Now that being said, I firmly believe that if the writers had been indigenous people or from any country that had been colonized then The Extinction would have not only been a fully realized entity but also the most prolific one. Like all the other entities there are multiple names for each of the Fears since they encompass a variety of related phobias and this one is also known as The Terrible Change, The Future Without Us and The World Is Always Ending and summed up as the fear of Catastrophic Change. Can you see where I’m going with this? Almost the entire planet was colonized and invaded by Europe. They literally wiped out entire ways of life and catastrophically changed the future of these countries and even today indigenous peoples across the planet struggle to even be recognized and also constantly fight to keep their way of life alive. This is literally the fear of The Future Without Us but the story directly states that it’s a “new fear” and even after The Change Jon confirmed that it exists but just not on the same level as the other 14 Fears.
An argument could then be made that the Fears concentrate on the people/countries that benefit the most on top of the capitalism chain which are the European countries and the USA and Canada but it speaks volumes that a type of fear shared by colonized peoples only appears in the story as sort of a vague afterthought by the story’s characters who are primarily British. For them the fear of a human caused apocalypse is only just becoming real while so many people around the world have actually lived it through colonization.
It was just something interesting I wanted to point out. For people who headcanon the main characters to be people of color (especially Jon) I’d personally love to see takes/characters’ perspectives on the Terrible Change in fanfics. Anyway it’s 3 am where I am so sorry if this isn’t very readable. I’m not good at articulating my thoughts into words on a good day lol
AFTER SLEEP EDIT: I also believe that if the main characters were in fact canonically people of color then their ties to the Eye would have been significantly more lax. People all over the world are literally fighting to be known since colonizers have tried to wipe away even the memory of them. The irony of the Fear of Catastrophic Change being almost nonexistent in the story while Whales, Scotland, and Ireland are right there isnt lost on me and yet the fears that eventually doom the world are those of Jonah Magnus, a white upper class supernatural Accelerationist. (Jonah/Elias is absolutely white and is the only character I will fight over that fact with)
And one last thought. If the Institute staff were all/mostly people of color or from another country colonized by the British then the story would have been more of a hopepunk horror. The global majority are still here BECAUSE they do not succumb to fear and never give up hope.
46 notes · View notes
lau219 · 3 months
Text
Red Carpet
Part 8
**(formerly Part 5. Heavily edited. Please re-read if you read it when originally posted.)**
Previous part here
…………………………………………………………………………….
Tumblr media
While getting ready to go out that night, Lauren kept thinking about the way Cillian had looked at her at the restaurant. She’d been in the middle of a conversation when she’d sensed someone was watching her, and when she’d turned around, her heart had skipped a beat when she saw that it was him.
They hadn’t seen each other since his interviews a week ago, and she’d intentionally been avoiding him as much as she could, only communicating with him the bare minimum.
She wasn’t mad at him – that wasn’t the right word. She was hurt and confused. The way he’d spoken to her at the hotel seemed to come out of nowhere. She’d thought that the two of them were growing closer; it certainly had felt like it. She’d thought that he now knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t an unfit hand who flirted around. In fact, she’d thought that there might actually be something happening between them, and that he might actually care about her. But clearly, that wasn’t the case. He still had no respect for her.
That part was the hardest to accept because she’d definitely come to care about him. She thought back to several days after Cillian’s interviews, when Alex had wanted to spread some random trash about him. Of course, she’d rejected the idea for professional reasons, but she also didn’t have it in her heart to do something deceitful towards him, regardless of what had happened. Now, she would just have to try and forget about the growing feelings for him that she thought were mutual, and return to just doing her job the next time she saw him.
Alex’s voice suddenly interrupted Lauren’s thoughts.
“Why are we even going out?” she asked her as she sat on Lauren’s bed and absentmindedly scrolled through her phone. “You’ve already surpassed your three-drink record today. What’s the point of going to a bar?”
Lauren smiled and exhaled a laugh. It was a well-known fact among her friends that she wasn’t a big drinker, and everyone would tease her when she’d order the watered down version of whatever it was she was having. She really just didn’t care for alcohol that much, and she was also much too old to throw back buckets of the stuff just for the sake of it; that was for the kids. She’d likely indulge in a couple of shots and a cocktail, and then be done.
But Sharon had been kind enough to put the celebration together for her, and just because she wasn’t a big drinker didn’t mean that everyone else couldn’t enjoy themselves. Her friends and co-workers were excited to celebrate with her, and news of the party had spread throughout the day. She had not shared the details with Cillian, however.
“Who knows, I may just surprise you and decide to get crazy,” Lauren said jokingly to Alex, smiling. She then slipped on her shoes and gave herself one last glance in the mirror before heading out the door.
If only she knew just how crazy the night would be.
                        ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Cillian had been even more unable to get Lauren off his mind after seeing her earlier at the restaurant and discovering what she’d done for him. He knew, even regardless of that, he still owed her an apology. But if she truly didn’t think he was a bad person, even after how he’d spoken to her, then that must mean that she cared about him. Based on how their relationship had unfolded over the past months, he even felt safe saying that she might have feelings for him. He had to find out if that was the case, because if it was, he was going to let her know just how mutual those feelings were.
When he and Eric arrived at the bar that night, the place was packed. It seemed like anyone and everyone who’d ever set foot in the agency must be there. And while this whole scene would ordinarily be completely unappealing to Cillian, his mind was on Lauren. He quickly spotted her at the far end of the bar, leaning against it and smiling big as someone handed her a drink.
Damn, she looked good. She was wearing a pretty sequined halter top and a form fitting pair of black cigarette pants. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was up in a high ponytail, which generously allowed much of her skin to be on display.
With so many people there, Cillian and Eric were stopped multiple times and pulled into conversations. Drinks were ordered and people came and went, but Cillian had one eye on Lauren the whole time. She hadn’t noticed yet that he was there, and he watched her as she went back and forth from the bar to the dance floor. He was surprised to see her having several drinks, as he knew from all the times he’d seen her at events that she wasn’t big on alcohol.
A bit more time passed before he and Eric finally made it near the area of the bar where Lauren and some others had stationed themselves. There were several U-shaped sofas and plush chairs, and Lauren was currently taking a break from the dance floor. She was chatting with a co-worker as they approached, but her conversation soon ended, and when she looked up and saw Cillian, her eyes went wide.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, already mentally rolling up her sleeves for whatever he was going to say to her.
“Relax. Just here to wish you a happy birthday,” he replied.
Lauren gave him a wary look, but her attention quickly shifted as Eric spoke up.
“Happy birthday, kid,” he said to her. “And congrats on the promotion. At least we know you’re more productive than Alex. Then again, that’s not saying much.”
Lauren smiled.
“She’s around here somewhere,” she said, looking around. “Do you want me to call her?”
“Why the hell would I want to see her?” Eric said. He then turned to Cillian. “I need a drink. I’ll catch up with you later.” Then he walked off, leaving Lauren and Cillian alone. When their eyes met again, Lauren spoke.
“I’m gonna need another drink for this,” she said.
“You sure that’s a good idea?” he asked her.
She eyed him warily again.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Cillian stepped forward and took a seat in the chair next to the sofa she was sitting on. He looked at her. 
“Just that you may want to pace yourself. I know you’re usually just nursing the Diet Cokes by now.”
Lauren looked surprised.
“How do you know that?” she asked him.
“I know a lot more than you think,” he replied, holding her gaze.
Lauren inhaled, not sure how to respond. After how he’d treated her last week, why was he now acting concerned about her? As much as she’d like it to be genuine, it didn’t make sense. 
“What are you really doing here?” she asked him after a moment.
But they were interrupted by a server who came over to the table, Alex and some others trailing behind. The server set down a tray of shots, and Alex – completely ignoring Cillian – handed them out. Lauren tossed hers back quickly, and then grabbed another one off the tray. She eyed Cillian over the rim of the glass before downing it.
“Come on, let’s go,” Alex said after a moment, encouraging her to go back out on the dance floor. Lauren, however, looked a little glassy-eyed.
“Give her a minute,” Cillian spoke up, looking at Alex.
She glared at him.
“What the hell are you even doing here?” she asked him.
“Just give her a minute,” Cillian repeated slowly, his tone sounding slightly threatening. Lauren looked nervously between the two of them. Why did it feel like they were fighting over her? And why was Cillian suddenly so concerned about her?
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” Lauren spoke up, trying to break the tension. She sat up straighter.
Upon closer inspection, Cillian could see that she wasn’t drunk, just a little dazed. Nevertheless, as she began to stand up, he stood up, too. He didn’t like that she was drinking more than she usually did.
“Let’s go,” Alex repeated, and she began pulling Lauren away.
Cillian still planned on talking to her, but his main concern at the moment was making sure she was safe. As they made their way to the dance floor, he followed them.
“What are you doing?” Lauren asked him, glancing back. Alex had released her hand and was now several feet in front of them.
“Making sure you don’t fall flat on your face,” he replied.
Lauren looked over her shoulder at him again, still surprised by his concern.
“You don’t need to do that. I’m fine,” she said once more. “I know this may come as a shock, but I can function without you.”
Cillian shook his head and smiled to himself. Even with a tray full of drinks in her, she was still his sassy little spitfire.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said, meeting her eyes. As she took another step, he gave her ass a slap.
Lauren scoffed and turned around, glaring at him.
“You know what?! Piss off! You are so—”
But before she could finish, Cillian put his hand in the small of her back and nudged her the final steps onto the dance floor. He then stepped in front of her and grabbed her arm, pulling her close.
“Just be quiet,” he said, his voice low. He looked into her eyes, and there was something in them that Lauren hadn’t ever seen before.
She looked back at him, speechless. Shocked by his actions, she stood awkwardly in front of him, her hands by her sides. But when someone suddenly bumped into her, she was forced to reach up and grab his upper arms to steady herself, and before she knew it, they were dancing.
Never in a million years would Cillian have voluntarily been in this situation under any other circumstances. He hated places like this, and he didn’t dance. This was so not him. But as soon as his arm had wrapped around Lauren’s waist, he’d forgotten all of that.
Lauren didn’t know what to think. It was all so contradictory to what had last happened between them, but she didn’t know what to say. At first, she wouldn’t look at Cillian. She kept her eyes trained on his chest as the awkwardness slowly faded. But as the song changed and he pulled her closer, she looked up to see him staring at her, and she swore she could see emotion in his gaze. Mesmerized by his eyes, she completely forgot about everything else. She moved with him, swaying her hips, enjoying the feeling of his hands resting on her waist. When she slid one of her hands from his upper arm to his chest, it spurred something in him to hold her even tighter. She bit her lower lip as they began practically grinding on each other.
Before long, Lauren felt Cillian’s hands slide down onto her ass. A desirous heat spread through her body when she met his eyes again, and her heart skipped a beat. But before she could process anything else, Cillian put pressure on her hip to turn her around, pulling her back against his front and then continuing to grind against her.
At that point, she wasn’t even thinking anymore. She continued to move with him, and when she felt his erection against her ass, she reached an arm up behind her and wrapped her hand around the back of his neck. One of Cillian’s hands slowly snaked around her torso, and she felt his hand slip under her shirt, his fingers making contact with the bare skin above her waistband.
Eventually, the song ended, and Lauren could feel Cillian’s breath against her neck as he still held her. Slowly, she slipped her hand from the back of his neck and turned around, and his palm smoothed along her waist as she moved. When they were fully facing each other again, she didn’t register anyone else around them. Her heart was pounding. Cillian was experiencing the exact same in that moment, and his only thought now was getting her alone.
“Walk,” he commanded her, a dangerous look in his eyes. He then swiftly turned her around and started guiding her towards the back of the bar.
Soon, they made it to the bathrooms, a dimly lit hallway with several individual cubicles. Cillian reached out and turned the handle on one of the doors, throwing it open and pushing Lauren inside. She turned to watch him close the door, and as soon as the lock clicked, they were on each other.
Cillian grabbed the back of Lauren’s head and pulled her face to his, while his other arm wrapped around her waist. Lauren gasped as their lips met, and she threw her arms around his neck as he covered her mouth with his. She pressed her body flush against Cillian’s, and she could feel his erection against her thigh as he backed her towards the sink.
Their lips were still together when Lauren’s back met the counter, and she made a little noise and briefly pulled away as she bumped into it. Cillian took the opportunity to lower his mouth to her neck, yanking her ponytail in his fist as he pressed his lips to her skin. Lauren moaned lowly, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders as she felt his tongue gliding along her neck. Soon, Cillian worked his way lower down her chest, kissing her collarbone while simultaneously slipping his hand beneath her shirt and stroking the side of her breast. As Lauren let out a little whimper, Cillian felt his dick turn rock hard. Quickly, he slipped his hands under Lauren’s arms and hoisted her up onto the counter, eliciting another whimper from her as she reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. Feeling the tug of her fingers, he exhaled a groan before slowly pulling away from her chest.
“So this is what it takes to keep you quiet, huh, sweetheart?” he said lustfully between breaths, hovering near her ear. He then placed his palms on her thighs and pulled her legs apart.
But upon registering his words, Lauren opened her eyes, her stomach dropping.
There it was.
“Sweetheart.”
Nothing had changed. Things were no different. As always, he was just messing with her. He had been all along. How could she not have realized it? She felt like a bucket of ice water had just been dumped on her head.
Cillian felt Lauren tense, and when he pulled away to look at her, he could tell something had suddenly changed. She looked blankly at him for a moment in silence before she slowly lowered her arms from his shoulders and slid down off the counter.
“Wha—” he began, but when their eyes met again, the look on her face stopped him. It was a painful mixture of shame and disbelief.
“I’m leaving,” was all she said, her voice very quiet.
And with that, she slid past him and opened the door, walking out, and leaving him standing there, looking after her without the slightest understanding of what had just happened.
@mrkdvidal1989 @neonpurplestars89-blog
37 notes · View notes
captain-mj · 6 months
Note
hey idk if I missed what it stands for somewhere or smth but. rlly curious what ESU stands for in the GhostSoap Handler fic.
also,, 100000/10 fuckign,,, LOVING that fic so MUCH I am bouncing off the walls like the roommate's crackhead cat at 2am that keeps one from getting decent sleep
So this is the last chapter! ESU stands for Experimental Soldiers Unit (not the most creative but are most military names?)
Previous Parts
Soap gently helped Ghost into his tac vest while Ghost checked Soap’s gun. He went over every inch, making sure it was working perfectly.
Ghost felt a kiss be placed to the base of his wings.
There was a funny sense of finality that Ghost knew everyone around him must feel. Surely they had to.
Yet no one acted any differently.
It was a simple milk run. The only difference was Valeria was the target. It was fine. Normal.
Fucking… normal.
Ghost felt like he was on a tightrope. Soap was perfect. Soap was always perfect. But Jesus Christ he was tired. It ached. This longing to curl back up in his chair in Glasgow.
Graves’s words were going to him. But now, so were Alex’s.
“Simon, do you ever wish you could retire?”
“No.”
“I do. I think of one day never shifting back. Putting the wings away. Maybe just cutting them off so i can never be asked again.” Alex had seemed far away. Something had changed with him recently. Or maybe it was Ghost seeing it for the first time. “Can’t do it yet. Not while they’re still things to do. People to protect.”
Ghost hadn’t responded.
Alejandro seemed happy. Graves seemed happy. Was it something they were doing? Some secret?
Alejandro and Rodolfo got married. He saw the way they looked at each other. It was the way he looked at Soap when he caught himself in mirrors.
Why was that not enough? Why was loving Soap not enough to fix it? Fix him? Make him less tired?
But he did his job just like always. He sat quietly in his seat on the truck, listening to a Gaz and Price and Soap. They were talking about the mission, planning.
Ghost would go in alone and they’d ambush her. She knew they were coming so they expected a lot of fighting. It’s why it was important they stay and watch his back.
His nails dug into his skin. They were concerned about him. Price asked if he could handle it alone.
“Yes, sir. I can.”
Ghost went into the building, taking special care to be silent. Everyone else could get the enemies' attention. He just needed to find Valeria.
And he did. He found her with a hurt monster. A Damaged thing.
Nunez's wings were beautiful, but he had the same staining on his skin that Ghost did. Same curse.
Valeria looked at him.
He understood.
"I watched the military destroy Alejandro. Take men and return pieces of them. I just... couldn't let that happen to him. I stopped it in Los Almas when no one else did!" Valeria hissed at him, standing in front of Nunez. "It was selfish and horrible what they did. You defend them you..." She stared, slowly relaxing. "You..."
Ghost stared. He swallowed thickly.
"No, you get it."
Ghost hated her.
"If we're found, they'll take him away from me. They'll start experimenting on him again. Can you live with that?"
Ghost thought of an airplane.
"Go." He rasps. "Just go."
Valeria smiled and Nunez dragged her away, going faster than anyone Ghost had ever seen. And Ghost went out a different door.
He heard them realize Valeria was going South and Ghost started going North.
Simon knew he had to go home.
Hopefully Soap wouldn't be so mad at him.
His radio went off. "Simon. Simon, how copy."
Ghost took his radio off and dropped it on the ground.
"Simon. How copy."
Ghost listened to them try to call him back. He took off his vest and left it on the ground. His dog tags were left a few feet away from them.
He hoped Alex would leave soon. He deserved it. Gaz deserved it. To know his sweetheart would be coming home.
Ghost remembered his journey to Texas after Mexico. It felt similar. His feet bled. His chest convulsed. The little thing called his heart beating and fluttering randomly. It begged him to go back or lay down and die.
What are you without the military?
Don't know. I'll figure it out.
What are you without Soap there to hold your hand?
If I never let go of his hand, I'll never have to know.
Ghost found himself crawling into Soap's bed in Glasgow. He showered first, not wanting to dirty his sheets. Soap had been there recently it seemed but left again. His body sank into the pillows. Too large and bulky but it cradled him gently.
When he got up, he ate. He showered again. He stared at the walls before using Soap's computer.
First thing he did was snoop through emails to look at reports. They were about him. All about him. Where was he? Why was his gear left? Is he okay?
In one of Price's reports, there was a message at the bottom.
"I hope it goes well."
It was an odd phrasing. Just odd enough for Ghost to know it was on purpose.
Of course Price would know.
After a week of searching, life returned to normal. For them. Ghost was still in Soap's home. And after a lot of rest, he started to do stuff again. He started to look through more reports, but nothing was that fun. Then, he started to search the internet.
Ghost found his brother's old music. Silly teenage band music. He liked hearing his brother's drumming. The person singing didn't really matter. Just Tommy's drumming.
It led Simon down a rabbit hole. About his murder apparently.
There were videos upon videos about his family.
He watched every single one.
True crime videos. Women doing makeup and men making jokes.
it was nice, seeing his family together again sans his father.
Then, someone showed a picture of him in a bar, clearly drunk and hunched over. His body was already changed but the baggy hoodie kept it semi hidden.
"It's time stamped for 9:17."
"Time of Death was put at 9:19."
"How did he travel all the way home and tear them to shreds in two minutes?"
Ghost didn't do it. That night wasn't his fault.
The realization had him clawing at his skin and wailing until he worried the neighbors may call the cops. His head throbbed and his throat ached.
The black on his skin spread. It burned and ached and for once, Ghost decided it wouldn't be so bad to be half mad and feral. His brain hurt. There was so much heat on his body. Intense and furious.
A fever over took him. It felt almost silly. Like his emotions had gotten so harsh and bad that it gave him a physical reaction.
His body had an intense ache over it and it felt like the light blistered against his skin. Everything was hazy and out of focus, unable to focus on anything.
So Simon showered in the dark and he ignored that his skin felt so uncomfortable and that his feathers had started to fall out.
And then one day, he woke up, body incredibly sore from his fever but no more hysteria or fever. He ran his hands over his face, pausing.
His hands. They looked.
Normal.
No claws.
Just pink flesh.
There was a sound and he perked up. It didn't ring in his ears or go on for ages.
There was a click of a door and Simon went downstairs. His clothes hung off of him, no longer tight.
Soap.
Soap put his keys into the bowl. He looked exhausted. Red rings around his eyes.
Simon was stupid.
"Missed me?"
Johnny went for his gun before freezing. He just kept staring.
"Ghost?"
Simon stretched, for the first time in years not feeling the weight of wings and guilt on his shoulders.
"Just Simon."
"Simon."
"How about I make you a cup of coffee? Or food? I'm sure you're starving." Simon wanted to feel useful suddenly. It was an intense need to help that was interrupted by Soap kissing him hard. Simon only flinched back, worried his fangs would cut his lips. But there were no fangs. Just lips.
Simon yanked him closer and kissed him deeply, pulling him in closer.
Johnny pulled away and shook him. "You fucking disappeared. You fucking... You..." He kissed him again.
"I'm sorry. I waited here for you. I'm never going to let go of your hand."
"Huh?"
"Don't worry about it."
59 notes · View notes