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girlboss-molina · 3 years

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Be Who You Are (No Compromise)

A Julie and the Phantoms Modern Royalty AU

Chapter 8: Rules of Engagement

AO3 Link

Words: 8988

-----

Julie POV

…

Julie remembered the day they’d first announced the marriage. She, Ray, Carlos, and Reggie were visiting Tambor, before Queen Claire and King Xavier had sprung the question on them. Ray had vehemently disagreed, but they’d insisted that he raise it to the council. And when it passed, Julie remembered the exact green glow of the screens reflecting on her dad’s face, and she’d shaken her head, stormed out of the Tamborian royal office with Alex right behind her, angry tears streaming down her face as she’d ran back to her room.

She and Alex were pissed. They were angry, scared, sad, horrified, and betrayed. Alex especially. He’d never come out to his parents, but he’d still explained how horrible he felt, as if his parents were doing it to spite him.

There had been lots of not-so-royal language used that day, and today was no different.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?” Julie shouted, not caring if her walls weren’t soundproof. She’d stayed silent the whole walk back to her room with Alex and the brief passing of Reggie, who’d gotten the details from Alex. Now it was her time to freak out.

“I’m officially ready to fake my death, Lex,” she decided, fists by her sides. She hated this. Since when did they get to control her life? It was her life, for God’s sake! Princess or not, nobody should have to be in an arranged marriage.

Her voice choked.

“I’m not, really,” she admitted, “but I want to. If it means we get to run our own goddamn lives, I”ll do it.” She tore a hand through her hair and blinked back tears to no avail.

“I’m so sorry,” Julie finally said. “You don’t deserve any of this.”

“Neither do you.” Alex mussed his hair and sat on the end of her bed as she paced. “It’s majorly fucked up.”

“It really is! I didn’t choose to be Princess Julie Molina, Heiress to the throne of Dahlia.” She said her own long title in a faux posh voice, gagging at the sound and bile rising in her throat. She walked into her bathroom, fixing her hair to be natural and down, nothing braided or tied. Angrily scrubbing tears away, Julie stalked to her closet and changed into sweatpants and a big t-shirt, not bothering to pick up her suit off the floor.

“We have to raise major hell for the council members who voted for this,” Alex decided as she walked back out.

“As much as possible,” she agreed.

Worn out, she flopped next to him. He wrapped his arm around her and she squeezed him in a friendly hug, letting his head rest on her shoulder. She felt a tear soak through her shirt, but didn’t care. He needed this.

“Fucking hell,” he said.

“Amen to that.” That elicited a halfhearted laugh, and Julie smiled a bit.

“It’ll be okay,” she finally said.

“No, it won’t. But we’ll survive.”

“Yeah.”

…

“Ow, Mira!” Julie exclaimed, trying not to move as Mira quickly moved the pin by her side as she marked the fabric for the outline of her wedding dress. It was a very tedious process; Julie looked like she was wrapped in giant pieces of fabric and lace… because she pretty much was. Mira and two other tailors were taking exact measurements to make sure the dress fit perfectly, then they would sew it and make adjustments as needed.

Unfortunately, that meant Julie had to stand very, very still and hope she wouldn’t get stabbed by the needles.

She wasn’t having much luck.

If she’d counted correctly, Mira (and the other girls, Soleil and Jenna), had accidentally poked her twelve times, in varying places, but generally around the side, waist, and shoulders.

“Sorry!” Mira said through her teeth. “Just trying to get this fitted properly.”

“It’s okay,” she sighed, doing her best not to slouch. MIra’s hands fell.

“If you want to talk about it…”

“Thanks.” In all honesty, she did not- especially since she didn’t know Soleil or Jenna very well, and didn’t want to spill her guts about hating the wedding when they were around. Plus… talking about it just made it more real.

“Your highness, this dress is going to be stunning on you,” noted Soleil excitedly, further proving her point.

“I bet,” she said with as much faux enthusiasm as she could muster. “You guys are incredible.”

“Aww, thanks!” replied Jenna. Julie gave a smile, but it looked more like a grimace than anything else.

…

After the grueling process of getting legally stabbed by her best friend over and over with tiny blades for the purpose of creating a goddamn wedding dress, Julie changed into more comfortable clothes; a t- shirt and jeans.

There was going to be a storm blowing in tonight, so she figured she may as well go outside before she would end up soaked. But, who would she find sulking in the field but a certain snarky gay?

She stood for a moment, watching him pick at the grass, before finally sighing.

“Why don’t we go work on a song?” she suggested. “I can get Luke and Reggie, plus the rest of the group if you want, and we can work out some stress.” Alex shrugged. Julie waited for a few minutes, hating how depressed he was. She was too, of course, but what kind of friend would she be if she let one of her best friends sit alone and feel sorry for himself? Besides, she was aching to work on song.

“Alright,” he finally replied, and Julie smiled.

“Awesome.” She stuck her hands in her pockets

“Let’s go, drummer boy.”

…

Playing the piano had always been therapeutic for Julie, until her mom passed away. Then she’d hardly been able to listen to any music without being reminded of her. But she was back on her groove, and the keys were familiar in the way you could sink into your best friend’s arms and know you were home.

She played the opening chords and began to sing, closing her eyes and feeling like it was just her and the piano in a universe of music and colors.

When Luke, Reggie, and Alex jumped in at the chorus, she opened her eyes and jumped up with the mic, dancing around as she belted out each note with more conviction than before. She walked around the room as she sang, dancing with Reggie, Alex, and Luke. She wandered over to where the rest of the group was sitting and dancing along, and she gave Willie a high-five as she passed him.

Luke sang the second prechorus with her, and the smile on his face only grew. THey harmonized each note, voices melding together as the music rose and Alex jumped in with the drums as they went into the next chorus, singing an ode to hope and persistence.

During the bridge, Luke held her gaze the entire time, and her heart soared as she belted out the last bridge note, riffing as the others held the background vocals.

When the song ended, her hair was frizzy and heart pounding, but she felt alive and free. She fistbumped Reggie, grinning, and hugging Flynn, who told her over and over that they were incredible, and that she was assigning herself the role of band manager. Carrie had automatically volunteered to be the costume designer, and Mira had taken offense to that, because “I’m literally her lady-in-waiting, Wilson!”

Julie couldn’t help but laugh at her friends.

“Okay,” Flynn finally said, “girl time.” Julie laughed but agreed, waving to the guys as she wrapped her arms around Flynn’s and Mira’s shoulders, Carrie on Flynn’s other side.

They walked out of the studio and wandered all throughout the palace, chattering mindlessly about everything and nothing. Mira insisted that mint chocolate chip ice cream was the superior ice cream, to which Flynn retorted “totally! Like, are you ever eating chocolate and you think ‘hey, you know what would go great with this? Toothpaste!’” Carrie had promptly lost her shit, and Julie was the only one on team rocky road.

“Personally,” Carrie said, “I-”

“We know, you like neapolitan you fucking lesbian,” Flynn said with a grin. Carrie gasped in mock offense.

“Hypocrisy at its finest! You’re just as lesbian as they come.”

“I never claimed to not be a hypocrite,” Flynn defended. Carrie huffed and crossed her arms.

“I’m breaking up with you. We’re broken up now.”

“Fine, but I get custody of Julie!”

“Wait, since when am I your child?”

“Since we’re both older than you,” they told her in unison.

“Uh huh, yeah, by a couple weeks! I’m a legal adult, and neither of you get custody of me.”

“I’m disowning you,” Carrie declared.

“Me too,” agreed Flynn.

“Me three,” Mira chimed in.

“Oh for the love of-”

Their playful bickering continued for at least an hour, wandering the long halls of the palace, weaving in and out of corridors and dragging their hands along railings.

The wedding never crossed Julie’s mind once.

Despite the whole situation, they still managed to be lighthearted and have useless arguments, bicker and love each other all the same. Julie hugged them closer, relishing the warmth of having them close to her. Carrie’s strawberry shampoo was faintly there and she breathed it in, calming immediately. Flynn linked their pinkies together, and Mira kept her hand on Julie’s shoulder. Julie didn’t realize she was crying until Flynn asked if she was okay.

“Yeah,” she said, and it was strangely true. She wiped her eyes. “I’m not even upset right now, but I’m still crying. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“I do,” Carrie informed her.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Absolutely nothing.”

-----

Reggie POV

…

Reggie sat in the studio, suit vest draped over an empty guitar stand as he sat on the piano bench, sleeves rolled to his elbows and hands on the keys, silent but arranging themselves in chords. He hummed to himself quietly, sighing and closing his eyes.

As he played the first chord, soulful and melancholy, he started to sing.

“We’re no strangers to the dark

Every time we find the light

But no matter how much it hurts

Glowsticks have to break before they shine.”

He closed his eyes, letting the chords play only from muscle memory. Normally, he didn’t do much songwriting on his own, but this song, Glowsticks, was one that he’d written for Julie after Rose’s passing. He’d never gotten around to giving it to her, though, because of how much her love for music was affected. For a year, she hadn’t played or sang a note, and he knew that it would’ve been too painful.

Eventually, he’d forgotten about it.

But when he’d seen the heartbroken look on her face the hour before, coming back from the royal office with dry eyes but hollow and chipped, the memory of the page he’d torn out of his journal and stuffed in a drawer came flooding back.

And now here he was, like it was only yesterday he’d written the chords, shaky with tears but determined. This time, his eyes were dry and his hands steady, but his heart ached for Julie, for Alex, for Luke, for Willie.

His voice started out lighter and airy, with a slight rasp as he played the soft melody along with the base, but as he reached the second chorus, his voice sank to his chest, belting out the lyrics and playing the piano strongly, chords echoing in the soundproof room, the acoustics bending his voice to all angles until he was wrapped in a song of tragedy and pain and strength and hope, earthy and rich but airy and light.

“So breathe

Just breathe

You're already shining

You can break

You’ll be okay

I'll keep you safe until you rise.”

His breath shook as he flipped the last word from a powerful chest voice to a soft, airy falsetto, sighing as he played the last, low chord.

Reggie left his eyes closed, slowly taking his hands off the keys, resting his elbows on his knees and turning, finally letting the light pierce his eyes.

…

“Your highness,” called a palace staff member. “If I could steal you for a few minutes, could you give your opinions on possible place settings for the wedding?”

“Yeah sure,” Reggie replied, standing from the large leather couch in the palace living room, doing his best to smile at the young man. He was tall, and muscularly built, but his freckles, wide brown eyes, and messy red hair were proof that he was probably the human embodiment of sunshine.

“We were thinking white with gold accents,” he said, swiping through a few photos on his tablet. Reggie did his best to pay attention; they were, admittedly, beautiful. Soft white tablecloths and napkins lined with plates, each plate with gold paint on the rim, the wine glasses clear cut crystal, the same golden lining as the plates.

“That’s beautiful,” Reggie agreed. “Julie and Alex would love that.”

“I’m glad you think so! My advisor was skeptical, but I think it’s a nice scheme.”

“I do too.” He looked away, hating that he was giving suggestions for his sister’s unwanted wedding.

“Your highness, are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he assured him. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Sure,” he said softly. “Did you have any thoughts for flowers?”

“Dahlias,” Reggie said after a moment. “They were our mom’s favorite, and they’re Julie’s favorite too. I think she’d like purple.”

“Purple dahlias,” the man repeated. He opened an interior design modeling app, dragging tables around the virtual room and adding glass vases with bouquets of dahlias, plus the occasional orchid scattered throughout. Reggie stared in awe; even though it was just a digital rendition of the ballroom, it was gorgeous. The crackled marble floors shone in the light of lanterns and string lights, adorned with pillars and tables arranged in neat rows. He felt like he was in the ballroom, getting a peek at the future.

And yet, his heart sank.

It seemed to do that a lot lately.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Reggie met the man’s eyes. “You seem pretty down.” He sighed.

“I am, but I’ll be okay.”

“Alright. I’m Elliot, by the way.”

“I’m Reggie! Nice to meet you.”

“You too!”

…

“Dad, are you sure there’s no way to stop the wedding?” Reggie had gone to see Ray in the royal office an hour ago, to discuss an assortment of things, but always returning to the wedding.

“I’m sure. I hate it as much as you do, believe me, but I’ve explored every option.” Reggie shook his head.

“There has to be something-”

“Mijo, you can look all you want, but there’s nothing we can safely do. Even though there are multiple ways to stop the wedding, it wouldn’t be safe. There would be tension between Dahlia and Tambor, maybe even Krypto. Best case scenario would be rumors and unrest in our own kingdom, but even with that, Julie and Alex would be the subject of a ton of scandal for the rest of their lives.”

“I just hate it.”

“Believe me, I do too. I’ve done everything in my power, but I can’t endanger millions of people.”

“I know. And Julie wouldn’t want you to, either.”

“Exactly.” Ray pulled him into a hug, and Reggie buried his head in his shoulder. “Mijo, I’m so sorry. You’re a good brother.”

“Thanks,” he whispered. Ray nodded.

Someone knocked on the door. Reggie pulled out of the hug and, when Ray nodded again, he opened the door to see a short woman with pale skin and straight, dark hair reaching her shoulders, and bangs brushing her eyebrows. Her wide eyes were behind round glasses, and she gave a bright smile.

“Ah, Prince Reginald, just who I wanted to see! I’m Esther Pearlridge of the Dahlian Times. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions regarding your sister’s upcoming wedding?” Reggie glanced at his dad, who didn’t object, but gave him a look that seemed to say, it’ll be okay.

“Sure.”

“Your majesty,” Esther said to Ray, “you’re welcome to come along.” He agreed, and Reggie was eternally grateful.

…

“Your highness-”

“Please, call me Reggie,” he told her. Esther smiled.

“Reggie, the news of the wedding’s date being moved up came as a pleasant surprise to everyone across Dahlia, and surely Tamborian citizens as well. What are your thoughts on the matter?”

“Well,” he began, clearing his throat. “It’s definitely a unique situation. And while it is exciting, what a lot of people don’t consider is how stressful it must be for Princess Julie and Prince Alex. I mean, Alex is my age, Julie about a year younger. Arranged marriages are already very fraught situations, but this one especially.”

Ray smiled from his position behind Esther, letting him know he’d played it well.

“Of course,” she replied sympathetically. “That is a perspective that not many people consider.”

“Yeah.”

“How do you feel about Prince Alexander?”

“Oh, Alex is great! He’s quickly become one of my closest friends. Although, his taste in Star Wars characters is questionable. Everyone knows Han Solo is the best, right Esther?”

“Obviously! Though, I was always partial to Leia, myself.”

“Valid,” Reggie agreed.

“Moving on to the next question, what do you think will come of Prince Alexander becoming the Dahlian Prince Consort as your sister, Princess Julie, ascends to the throne?”

“Well, Dahlia is currently doing amazing. Homelessness rates are at an all-time low and still dropping; at this rate, they’re projected to reach zero by next Summer. Wealth equality is stabilizing even more, and our education system is constantly being revised and reviewed by scientists and historians to make sure the content is correct and unbiased, as well as by child psychologists to make them good learning environments for students. And our environmental status is one of the best in the world, second to the Republic of Isala. Greenhouse gases in our region are extremely low, and the CO2 levels are dropping as our reforestation teams plant more and more trees along the grasslands.

“Knowing my sister, and Prince Alex, I have no doubt that they will lead our country further into the future. Especially Julie; she may be a princess, but take it from her brother: she’s stubborn as all hell, but always about the right things. She and Alex will face struggles, as all people do, but I’m positive they’ll do great things.”

“That’s so nice to hear. And from other people, we’ve heard that they expect Princess Julie to be the best, most connected ruler in Dahlian history. Do you think this is true?”

“I would expect it to be, yeah! Julie really tries to connect with people, and tries to see things through others’ points of view. She’s always done that. She doesn’t want to stay secluded in a palace; honestly, I doubt anyone could keep her here if they tried.”

Esther laughed. “If I may ask, how are preparations for the wedding going?” Reggie fought the rising sadness in his chest.

“They’re going great! Although I’m pretty sure Julie’s gotten stabbed a few hundred times by the needles her lady-in-waiting is using to fit her dress.” Esther laughed again.

“Well, that’s all the time we have. Thank you so much, your highness. Always a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Yeah, you too! Thanks.”

As Esther rushed away, laptop under her arm and a pencil over her ear, Ray gave Reggie a warm smile.

“You did perfect,” he told him. “Excellently played.”

“Thanks. I just wish I actually felt as optimistic as I sounded.”

“It’ll be okay. I’m sure of it.”

-----

Willie POV

…

Willie’s phone buzzed with a text from Julie, with a request for their group to meet in her room, and if her tone was any indication, it wasn’t good. He ran to his quarters, doing his best to brush the flour Lilian had thrown at him after a witty remark out of his hair. Changing into a sweater and jeans, he made his way up the curving staircase and down the long hallway before knocking gently at Julie’s door.

“Come in.”

He walked in, heart sinking when he saw the upset look on Alex’s face.

“What happened?” Carrie asked from behind him, walking in with Flynn by her side. They were soon followed by Luke, Reggie, Erik, and MIra.

“They moved up the wedding,” Julie finally said, her fists curled. Willie’s heart dropped all the way to the ground, leaving his veins pumping blood made by nothing more than an organ beating rhythmically, called the heart but only doing what was necessary for physical survival. His actual heart, his emotions and love and memories, all froze, and he shook his head vigorously, forcing it to settle back in the center of his chest, taking a deep breath.

“Why?” he had to ask. Alex snorted.

“My parents gave an ultimatum disguised as helpful advice.” Each word was dripping with venom, but there was sadness behind it. Willie took his hand, feeling him clutch back as if he were the only thing holding him together.

“And there’s nothing you can do to stop it?” Flynn asked. “I mean, you and Jules are the Prince of Tambor and Princess of Dahlia. There has to be something you can do… right?” Julie shook her head.

“Nope. There’s been so much buildup and excitement that there might be riots and tension between our countries if we called it off so abruptly. We can’t risk anyone getting hurt.”

“Okay, but-”

“Mira, treason would definitely get people hurt.”

“Jules,” Mira said, “you have a good heart. It’s super annoying.” Willie cracked a grin at that, as did Alex.

“Even then, though,” Alex cut in, “my parents clearly want this. And they’re super influential. I wouldn’t even be surprised if they threatened trade routes but made it seem like it was for the ‘greater good.’”

“I hate to admit it,” Reggie said, “but he’s right. Sweet words can be even more dangerous than declarations of war. Especially if they twist the blame.”

…

After another hour of scheming, ranting, and trying to lighten the mood, Alex fell asleep near the wall in Julie’s room, curled up against a pillow. Willie watched him softly breathe, looking so much more peaceful in rest.

“We should let him rest,” Julie said. “It’s not like our group hasn’t done slumber parties before.”

“Yeah,” Carrie agreed. “He needs sleep.”

“All of us do,” Erik pointed out. Willie nodded, sitting next to Alex and putting his hand on his shoulder. Everyone found a spot and drifted off, and Willie had a feeling he was the last one awake. But, soon, he was able to curl up against Alex and find himself in a deep, dreamless sleep.

…

Willie had never been so grateful that he hadn’t been asked to bake.

He wasn’t sure if he could handle baking wedding cake samples for this situation. Any other time, sure, but not when the guy he was in love with was being forced to marry their other friend, neither of whom were interested.

He stared at the mirror, eyes blank. He hated the numbness overtaking him. He’d done his best to stay positive, to remember all the tips he’d picked up for focusing and not getting dragged under, and while they’d worked to some extent, he couldn’t deny the fracture in his heart. They were powerless; ironic, considering they were all either royal or close acquaintances of royals.

But, even with all of that supposed power at their fingertips, they couldn’t do the one thing they wanted to.

He wasn’t sure just how long he stared blankly at his reflection, but when his phone buzzed with a text from Julie, telling their group that they were going to practice in the studio, he made himself plaster on a smile and go join them. He hadn’t seen Alex play a full song before; this should be fun.

When Julie started the song, her powerful piano playing moved the whole room, voice strong and bright as she sang the first verse. Then, in the prechorus, she led into the big, adrenaline-pumping beat with a riff and belt,before finally going into the chorus. But all Willie could see wasAlex, whose face was a bit red from playing the drums, hair falling in his eyes,his pink t-shirt rather tight against his biceps. Willie was sure he was blushing, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

As Alex held the beat, Willie tapped his foot and grinned, letting the upbeat song envelop him despite their melancholy circumstances. Julie and Luke belted out the lyrics, harmonizing with such grace that Willie wasn’t convinced that soulmates didn’t exist; if they did, Julie and Luke fit the model. And Alex and Reggie sang the background vocals flawlessly, adding depth to the song with their steady music.

When the song ended, Willie’s heart was pounding. He clapped with the rest of the group, standing up, but unable to speak. God, Alex had such an insane effect on him. Normally he was smooth, able to recover and flip around. He’d thought it impossible to fluster him; but, then again, Alex had a rather annoying habit of making the impossible seem like child’s play.

Then, Alex ran his hand through his hair in an unfairly hot way - the inconsiderate bastard. Willie did his best to settle his blush, but to no avail. He giggled as Alex tried to brush off a compliment but finally accepted it.

He stammered through a compliment, hating how flustered he was. And then, because the universe had it out for him, Alex pulled him in and kissed his temple. If Willie hadn’t already melted, that would’ve been the tipping point.

Somehow, though, he found the ability to breathe again.

…

“Dude, I can’t say this enough,” Willie stressed, “that was amazing! You guys seriously need to go on tour.” Alex’s musical laugh filled the air.

“Flynn has already assigned herself band manager. With her ‘in charge,’ we’ll probably be playing gig after gig- well, you know, when Julie isn’t busy running a country.” WIllie laughed.

“Yeah, fair point. But still! Your guys’s song is going to be stuck in my head forever.”

“Forever?”

“I have ADHD, ‘Lex. Don’t underestimate the song sticking.” It was true; ADHD had its pros and cons, but one aspect that seemed to be both was his brain’s innate ability to have twenty-nine songs stuck all at once, and the strange fact that the How to Train your Dragon main theme, Kahoot music, Beethoven’s 5th Symphony, Roses by The Band CAMINO, and Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) could all be combined to the same tempo- and the fact that it slapped.

As they walked through the long, windowed corridors, Willie got an idea. He grabbed Alex’s hand.

“Follow me!”

“What? Where are we going?”

“You’ll see!” They raced all the way to the west side of the palace, where Willie led him up a narrow flight of stairs, pushing open a door to reveal-

“Whoa,” Alex gasped in awe. “The roof?”

“The roof,” Willie agreed. “Cooler than you’d expect, huh?”

“Way.” Willie grinned; it was a beautiful view. The river curved and rushed around the bases of snow-capped mountains with forests decorating their slopes, and as he turned, the capital city of Dahlia was nestled between rolling hills, thousands of lights sparkling in houses, apartments, shops, restaurants, and offices. Headlights danced along the highways, and the striking comparison of the bright lights versus the dark, cloudy sky made for a dramatic view.

“Storm’s blowing in,” Willie observed as it began to pour, soaking his hair. Alex cracked up.

“You sure?” he asked. “This is the best weather this side of Constantinople.”

“Ah, but remember, now it’s Istanbul- not Constantinople.”

“Well, why did Constantinople get the works?” Willie giggled.

“That’s nobody’s business but the Turks.”

“You are such a dork,” Alex informed him, pulling him closer.

“I know!” He had to raise his voice over the rain, and Alex’s cheeks were flushed with the cold. Willie felt a calm rush of confidence wash over him with the falling rain, and he stood on his toes, reaching up to hold Alex’s jaw as he kissed him. Alex kissed back immediately, and sparks shot down Willie’s spine.

As he deepened the kiss, thunder rolled across the mountains. The clouds were practically black, but it gave a sort of calmness and confidence with it, like the soothing darkness of night cloaked with clouds of expectancy, waiting and hoping and understanding that love finds comfort in the dark, that there are risks in life, but that they had to be taken, because while the world might not have been made for them, they were made for the world. People, caught up in dreaming about what could be, lost sight of what is; so determined to be right and prove that someone else was wrong that they drive themselves mad.

“I’m gone on you,” Willie finally whispered, eyes closed and forehead against Alex’s. Alex didn’t respond, kissing him again. He sank into it, holding him close and letting the rain wash over them and combing his fingers through Alex’s hair.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he heard sizzling.

Without thinking, Willie jumped and tackled Alex, turning so he hit the ground and Alex landed safely on top of him. The rain blurred his eyes, but he heard crackling and felt the heat of the lightning striking the roof a hundred feet away from them.

“Son of a motherfuck what just happened?!” Alex asked. Willie could hear his heart pounding in his ears, but he couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped his lips.

“I think you fell for me,” Willie joked. Alex rolled his eyes. He grinned; Alex was still laying on top of him, and Willie’s back was soaked by the puddle they’d landed in, but they’d avoided being struck by lightning, which was decidedly a good thing.

“That was too close,” Alex decided. “We should probably go inside before anything else happens.”

“Probably.” Neither of them moved for a moment, until Willie leaned up and pecked Alex on the nose, who immediately turned bright red, even visible in the darkness between the rising night and falling clouds.

-----

Alex POV

…

Alex had known his life was never his. If you’re born into royalty, unless you leave the royal family, you’re stuck there, and it influences your life forever.

He knew that.

And yet, until the wedding was moved up, it hadn’t really hit him.

His life wasn’t his, and it never would be.

He would be forced to be in the public eye, forced to marry a girl he wasn’t in love with, forced to live the rest of his life away from the person he was in love with, forced to watch the girl, one of his best friends, pretend to be okay as if she wasn’t also being separated from the person she loved. He would be forced to plaster on a smile, forced to live with this so that chaos wouldn’t erupt in Dahlia and Tambor.

So that he and the people he loved wouldn’t be exiled.

Alex was tired of being strong. He’d always been told by his friends that he was strong for dealing with this, strong for bearing the stresses of being put into politics so young, strong for hiding who he was from his parents because he knew it would only bring more pain, strong, strong strong. He wished he didn’t have to be.

“Hey, Alex?” Julie eventually asked, directing his attention away from his thoughts and his glazed eyes half-scrolling his Instagram. They’d been sitting for over an hour as the sun set outside Julie’s window, not speaking much aside from angry rants when they’d just gotten out of the royal office.

“Yeah?”

“Should we text the group chat to meet here so we can update all of them? Or would you rather not?” Alex sighed.

“We probably should. Not like we can hide from it.”

“Yeah.”

treason buddies

juju: Hey guys, some shit went down. Meet in my room?

flynnigan: oh fuck, do we even want to know?

juju: Probably not, but you should.

speed bump: i’ll be up in a sec, i’m trying to get flour out of my hair alkjdfskjldf

Me: skjlsdfkjlsdf lilian i assume

speed bump: yep, the bastard

rockstar mcsleeveless: i’ll be there in a sec. are you guys ok?

juju: Not really, but we’ll live

care bear: omw

short stack: same

personal stylist: i’ll be there in a minute

Alex clicked off his phone once the typing bubbles had all disappeared, blowing out a tired breath as he flopped backwards, half-hoping the fading sunset would let him dissolve with the growing twilight, let him become another fleck of light in a vast abyss that was somehow both cold and vast yet full of curiosity and glowing stars. What would it be like, floating in nothingness, waiting for someone to find you yet dreading the day your solitude ended?

Maybe he’d be part of a constellation. What one? Would he add to one that already existed, or would he be part of his very own? What would it look like? Maybe he’d be an owl, a drumstick, a wisp of a wish, floating in the air taking no shape at all, a shimmering question piquing the curiosity of anyone stargazing who happened upon his star, a gentle hope carried by a breeze, full of life and loss and wonder and apprehension.

Or maybe he’d be a shooting star, flying across the atmosphere in the blink of an eye, there, then gone in an instant, burning brighter as his fleeting life ended. Technically, they weren’t stars at all, they were tiny meteors the size of a grain of rice, only visible because of their dramatic, fiery demise. But maybe that was fitting. It wasn’t a star, and neither was Alex. He was more visible now than ever because of the marriage, bringing demise to his hopes like a burning scar, beautiful but painful to the individual.

It wasn’t a star, and neither was he. But shooting stars were meaningful, too. People wished on them; children, usually. But what a wonderful feeling it would be to have the hope of a child in your light.

The thought didn’t necessarily comfort him, but he didn’t feel as alone as before, didn’t feel quite as worthless.

…

After enduring the grueling process of venting and explaining the new situation to the rest of the group, trying to hold back one stubborn tear that kept fighting, Alex finally fell asleep. He wasn’t sure how “asleep” he actually was; he heard vague whispers of “we should let him rest,” and “all of us should.” But he couldn’t move, and he didn’t want to, either, so he left his weary eyes closed and slept, barely feeling someone’s hand on his shoulder and faint warmth next to him.

…

“Your highness,” a butler said, rushing up next to him with a tray, with tiny bites of cake arranged neatly across it. “Would you mind tasting these and telling me which three are your favorites?”

“Hm? Yeah, sure.” Ignoring the numbness fighting to grow in his chest, he tried each one, finally deciding on a few, and promising he’d sample the frostings later. Wedding cakes really weren’t something he wanted to be thinking about at the moment. He’d already had to stand still for hours while his suit was fitted, text Julie a million different pictures of flowers, to which she’d replied “just pick whichever one is poisonous so we can fake our deaths and leave it on our plates.”

He felt sick.

He did his best to avoid other people as he made his way out the back door of the palace, tearing a hand through his hair as he made his way to the field where he’d been with Willie, admiring (and despising) how much progress they’d made on the palace reconstruction. It was almost done, which was incredible, but horrible for him, since it meant they were almost done with the giant ballroom in which he would have to marry Julie.

All things considered, though it was beautiful; the creamy white pillars were identical to the ones on the other side of the palace, which had been repainted so it didn’t look patchy. Intricate flower beds were arranged at precise intervals, and the crystal-cut windows reflected sparkling mosaics of light onto the pathways. Lanterns hung on every pillar, unlit during the day but glowing with soft, gentle flames by night.

Alex sat in the middle of the field, picking at a stray blade of grass and relishing the warm sunlight on his neck, even though he was probably getting a crease on his crisp vest from how he was sitting, slouched as he sat on the hill, elbows on his knees.

After he’d sat and sulked for a considerable amount of time, Julie’s voice snapped him out of it.

“Why don’t we go work on a song?” she suggested. “I can get Luke and Reggie, plus the rest of the group if you want, and we can work out some stress.” Alex shrugged. He knew he was being immature, just sitting there and feeling sorry for himself, but it felt good to be immature. He should really do it more often.

But… there was a lump in the dirt that was giving his butt a bruise, and he didn’t feel like getting up just to sit back down, so he supposed he could go to the studio.

“Alright,” he finally said.

“Awesome.” the sadness in Julie’s voice was tangible, but she masked it well as she smiled and stuck her hands in the pockets of her baggy jeans, between the chain, and squared her shoulders.

“Let’s go, drummer boy.”

…

In the few days since he’d drummed, Alex had somehow forgotten just how therapeutic it was to bash a bunch of drums on a steady beat but still adding variety to spice things up. Julie had convinced him to let her invite the whole group- which, of course, included Willie, who was intently watching him play.

He bit his lip, breathing heavily, cheeks flushed as he kept going. A reluctant smile broke out on his face when Julie started singing the chorus and he jumped in with the toms and crash, flipping his hair out of his eyes and keeping the beat going. Reggie’s rhythmic bass playing combined perfectly with Luke’s chords and riffs, and Julie’s angelic voice tied it all together as if their music was a gift with a shiny bow.

When the bridge started, and Julie and Luke did their Thing™ (the whole dramatic, lovestruck staring-into-each-other’s-eyes move), Alex held the beat with a quiet, rhythmic tapping on the hi-hat. He and Reggie shared a look, and he swallowed the rising sadness in his throat, refusing to let some stupid marriage ruin this moment. They were in perfect harmony, bright with life and love. Then, when Julie went into the final belt, he came in strong with the drums, lip between his teeth and a huge smile begging to break free.

When it finally ended, Alex stood up excitedly, setting down his sticks and leaping across the kick drum to fistbump Luke.

“Alex, dude,” Luke said, “you were smoking.”

“Nah,” he deflected. “You guys-” he gestured to him, Reggie, and Julie “-were the ones on fire.”

“Dude.” Reggie lightly punched him on the shoulder. “Could you just own your awesomeness for once?” Alex rolled his eyes, but it was clear he wasn’t backing down.

“Alright, I was killing it.”

“Yeah,” Willie agreed from behind him. Alex whirled around, having forgotten he was there. He was sure his face was bright red, but hopefully he could blame that on the physical exertion that came with playing the drums. Willie, however, was blushing quite a bit, and Alex felt a bit of accomplishment bubbling up inside him.

“I’m glad you liked it,” he said with a grin.

“Are you kidding? I loved it.”

“I’ll say,” Flynn stage-whispered to Carrie, and Alex decided once and for all that Flustered Willie was his favorite. Willie cleared his throat.

“Yeah, I, uh-” he cut himself off, and Alex bit back a laugh, pulling him in and kissing him on the temple.

Alex knew there was a bubble of numbness and depression fighting to take hold of him, but at least for now, it was under control. He was filled with adrenaline and had their song stuck in his head, the feeling of his arm on Willie’s shoulder anchoring him like a ship in a harsh storm, letting him drift but holding him close.

They would make this work. Somehow.

“Should we run through it again? I was a little shaky during the second verse,” Julie said. Alex nodded.

“I’m down.”

“Same!” replied Luke and Reggie, and the rest of the group eagerly sat and watched. Alex grinned, raising his sticks.

“One, two, three, four!”

-----

Luke POV

…

“I’m so sorry,” Luke whispered. They’d moved up the wedding. The wedding that nobody wanted any part of, the wedding forcing the girl he was in love with to marry their friend, neither of whom were interested. They were already hurting so much, but there was nothing they could do anyways, then to add insult to injury, they’d moved up the wedding six weeks sooner. They didn’t even have two months, just a measly two weeks, and Luke could already feel them ticking away, feel his time with Julie ending, feel Alex’s heart breaking with each minute.

He reached up to hastily wipe away a traitorous tear rolling down his cheek, before wrapping Julie in a hug as she stood and walked to him. She buried her head in his chest, and his hand found her hair, combing through her thick curls.

…

At some point through the night, Alex had worn himself out venting and scheming plans to get out of the wedding and eventually fallen asleep. They’d considered waking him, but he was exhausted and really needed the rest. Luke still had his arm around Julie, leaning against the end of her bed sitting on a pile of pillows. Willie curled up next to Alex, and soon it had turned into another slumber party, but much more somber.

Julie’s soft breathing leveled, indicating that she’d fallen asleep as well. Luke smiled sadly; this was peaceful, but under horrible circumstances. But the gentle part of her lips as she breathed and the lack of a crease between her eyebrows made it worth it; she deserved any brief moment of peace she could get.

He traced soft circles on the shoulder of her t-shirt, running his finger over the hem rhythmically, a song playing in his head as he closed his eyes.

Golden specks flew around in the darkness as Luke whirled around, disoriented. A melodic voice in the background that he recognized but couldn’t place taunted his mind, flashes of brown eyes blinking by in an instant, a retreating curl of hair that might not have been there in the first place.

The ground solidified under his feet, metaphysical but firm for him to stand on. It was all black and glittered faintly in the soft light from stars that were somehow so close he could feel their heat, yet so far that they were like flecks of light in the endless black sky.

The packed black sand cracked beneath him with the sound of a woman’s gasp, sending him hurtling through the void, falling faster and faster as the sliver of light from the cracked ground above him faded until it was so small it wasn’t even visible anymore. The darkness was suffocating and hot as fire, yet thin and cool like a light sheet in the air, whispering silent nothings into his mind.

His back hit a new surface, knocking the wind out of him even though he couldn’t breathe at all. It was all black, the ground invisible, but a soft fog rolled across it, apprehensive but inviting and cool.

“You have to fight for what you want,” a voice whispered, and Luke was able to place it as the same voice as his mother when he was nervous for a competition in sixth grade.

“Things don’t always come easily,” another voice reminded him, the familiar sound of his father’s voice sending a shiver down his spine.

What was he supposed to fight for? There was nothing in this vast black expanse but him and these voices, plus a warm tingle to his right side that felt imaginary, but had a weight to it that he couldn’t help but relish.

The voices disappeared, even though they’d been silent, Luke could feel their absence. The smooth, invisible ground under his feet faded, leaving him floating as the fog disappeared, phasing into particles like stars that floated around him like fireflies as the world shifted to a regal, royal purple, swirling like a galaxy, the faint sound of a piano barely registering among the stars.

…

When Luke woke up, the warmth on his side made sense, because there was Julie, her head on his chest. He glanced over, seeing Willie and Alex sitting with their heads resting together, scrolling through their phones and occasionally showing their screens to the other and laughing quietly. Flynn was asleep on a chair, where Carrie was squished next to her reading a book. Reggie was scribbling something in a notebook and tapping his foot, with Mira leaning on his side weaving braids into Erik’s hair. Julie, meanwhile, was still asleep.

He gave half a smile to Alex, who returned it with a quick sign of “you okay?” He nodded, gently taking his hand off of Julie’s shoulder, who didn’t stir.

Yeah, I’m okay. You?

Pretty good, all things considered. Alex glanced up at Willie, who looked confused, and whispered an explanation as to why they were using sign language. Julie, Flynn, and Erik were asleep, and Luke didn’t want to move and get his phone.

What time is it? Luke signed, and Alex checked his phone, signing back that it was 08:12. Luke glanced back down at Julie, who was still fast asleep.

When did I fall asleep? Alex signed back to him with an inquisitive look on his face.

Around eleven. You were exhausted, and for a good reason.

Yeah. I’m still so angry. I just want to… he trailed off, thinking. Luke guessed he was trying to remember a sign word. In the end, he just mimed crushing something very violently. Luke stifled a laugh.

I’m right there with you. Neither of you deserve this. He glanced down to Julie as he said it.

Neither do you, Alex reminded him. Or Willie. His face turned forlorn as he added the last part.

Yeah. It just sucks. Alex rolled his eyes.

You can say that again.

…

Luke tapped his fingers on his knee, anxiety coursing through him, which was very strange. He had no idea how Alex handled it. Anxiety was not something he was used to; what was he supposed to do with the nervous energy rushing around him when he couldn’t do anything but wait?

In hindsight, the brief text he’d sent Julie to meet him in that one hidden corner of the gardens because he needed to talk to her probably wasn’t the best way for him to go about it, especially since now the grey clouds hung over the sky like death hovered in a cemetery.

He’d rehearsed what he was going to say a million times, but it hadn’t ever seemed perfect; not that it would have mattered, because when Julie walked towards him, a smile on her face, hair down with frizzy curls bouncing over her shoulders, all of his thoughts drifted away, never to be seen again.

“Hi,” he said pathetically. She gave a halfhearted laugh.

“Hi. Is… everything okay?” Luke nodded. Then, he shook his head. A stray raindrop hit his face, the storm slowly crying itself out.

“Julie, I…” he sighed. “This probably won’t be half comprehensible, but I just need to get it off my chest.

“I know that we can't be together. I know that life just wasn't on our side, and I hate it. but I love you.” his heart both lightened and sank with the confession. “I love you, and I want you to know that, no matter where either of us end up in life, with you as queen and me as some guard, you will always be in my heart. you will be my heart in its entirety, wholly and truly.

“I tried to come up with the perfect things to say, tried to articulate and rehearse my feelings, but I guess that’s the thing about emotions. They can’t be described in an accurate way; especially love and pain. I’m not even sure there’s a difference between the two; love hurts, but it’s exhilarating; pain burns, but it makes you feel alive. But they both demand to be felt. And they’re so intense, so beautiful and full of fire and fury in their own regard that I’m not sure they can be described at all. Only with comparisons, but it’s never the exact same, because while pain demands to be felt, love demands to be seen. It’s why it hurts so much to hide it; that hurt, that pain, it demands to be felt, like fire demands to burn and the ground demands to quake and the rain demands to fall.

“I don’t want you to have to feel that pain your entire life. I don’t want you to love me and have to hide it. One illusion of false love is hard enough; but having to mask another layer, for me or you, would be impossible. So I think it’s best you forget me.”

“Luke, what are you-”

“Julie, we’re a grenade. People will get caught in the crossfire, and we’ll be burned completely.”

Tears streamed down his face, but it was impossible to tell with the rain now pouring, serenading his misery with its torrential downpour.

“No,” Julie said, shaking her head back and forth. “No. Luke, you’re going out of your mind. I’m not just going to forget you. If you think I can do that, then you don’t know me at all. Besides, acting as if something never happened is just a form of mental editing, purposely erasing things you regret. Well, that’s not how it works. If you want to break up with me… then fine. But don’t expect me to forget you, because that won’t happen.”

“Julie, I don’t want to break up with you.”

“Then don’t.” Luke looked up and pressed his lips together, even though his tears would be indistinguishable with the rain.

“I’m not. But I don’t want to cause you more pain.”

“I don’t care! Sometimes you have to fight for what you love. And as much as I wish we could lay down our arms, we can’t. I won’t. Not if it means I have to lose you.”

You have to fight for what you want.

Things don’t always come easy.

Luke shook his head, shoving his parents’ dream voices out of his head. He’d tried and tried, but now it was too late. He needed to cut losses so people didn’t get caught in the crossfire.

“Julie, I-”

“No! Aren’t you the guy who says you have to ‘smash those stupid rules out of people’s brains?’” Luke looked away.

“This is different.”

“Is it? Because you’re the most stubborn, bone-headed, amazing guy I know. You’ve never given up on anything in your life, so don’t you dare start now. I’m not giving up on you, either. So are you going to keep trying to make me? Or are you going to make it worth it?”

“I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Well, news flash, people already have, and will continue to get hurt, because life isn’t all butterflies and glitter. So if you want to minimize the hurt, don’t deny your feelings. Don’t try to make me deny mine.”

“But that’s the point! People have already gotten hurt, and will continue to, because of this. Because of me. If people found out about us, there would be collateral. Probably our friends.”

“Don’t pretend you’re doing this for them,” she snapped. “Don’t try to act all heroic. Luke, you’re amazing and selfless and kind and strong, but you’re only doing this because you’re afraid. I’m afraid too. But this? This isn’t how we need to go about things.” Luke tore a hand through his hair.

“Don’t you get it, Jules? I love you. I love you, and I hate that I’m part of the reason you and Alex are going through all of this pain.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. You didn’t suggest the arranged marriage. I know you just want people to be safe, I know you’re trying to protect me, but I don’t need to be protected. I can take care of myself, but I want you by my side.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“I don’t know,” she said, “but we’ll figure it out. I’m not giving up.”

She stepped forward and laced her fingers with his, and his heart softened. He gently cupped her jaw and brushed a raindrop off of her cheekbone, and she leaned up to kiss him.

“Please… stay.”

Luke didn’t want to hurt her. He knew staying would only make things harder, more dangerous.

And yet, he closed his eyes and nodded.

“Okay.”

#blue writes #bwya #bwya tag #be who you are (no compromise)#tuserjules #tracklu #usernell #userzuha #jatp #julie and the phantoms #netflixwewantjatp2

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

Text

handmaid - 17

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: i wrote this while watching hamilton on disney + and then proceeded to watch love never dies, so i’m pumped. hope you enjoy this chapter xxx

NEXT CHAPTER

The babysitter rushed after the two girls down Fifth Avenue, only noticing the vibrant colours of their winter coats lined with white faux fur that mixed with the white of the fresh fallen snow on the ground. All that could he heard down the streets were carollers and child-like glee. Y/N followed Gwen the fastest her six year old legs allowed her until they stopped at the front of the beautifully decorated Cartier shop. The two girls fawned over the beautiful shimmer of every single necklace and diamond on stand for the richest of all the richest. Y/N, however, was more interested in a red box of three Christmas ornaments with the most adorned, precious and precise craft.

- I’m gonna have all of them when I’m an adult. - a young Gwen smiled at the shop front, ignoring their breath catching babysitter who was praying to the gods the children had lost all their energy. - And I’m gonna wear all of them all the time.

- You can’t wear all these earrings all the time. - Y/N retorted, eyes still glued on the Christmas ornaments.

- I’ll wear them as necklaces. - she rebuffed.

- Ladies, we should be going. - Ms. Wellington held both her hands out for the girls which both took gleefully, eyes still glued onto the Cartier glass as they were hushed onto the car.

The car took them back to the Forrest house which was covered in garlands and fairy lights looking like a winter wonderland. The young Y/N rushed down the halls onto the common room where several maids and handymen were putting the last details for the Christmas Eve dinner. She watched with pure glee and childhood innocence the Christmas tree being crowned with an acrylic and crystal angel.

- Good morning, Miss Y/N. - one of the maids spoke up as the young girl rushed through the crowds and into the kitchen which was boiling with heat due to the heaters and constant cooking. The no more than 39 feet tall girl watched in awe as the cooks prepared various amounts of precisely decorated sugar cookies.

She put her tiny hands on the marble balconies, bracing herself to take a closer look at the cooks and maids preparing what would be Christmas dinner desserts. One of the maids noticed the face of the soon to be handmaid starring at them and went from behind her, grabbing her and sitting her on the marbled tops.

- Trying to get a peek of the Christmas desserts aren’t you, missy? - Y/N giggled at getting caught. - You can’t be naughty, Santa is still watching.

- I’m never ever ever naughty. - she crossed the arms over her Christmas dress embroidered with Christmas imagery.

- That it’s true. - the maid laughed, handing her one of the sugar cookies which Y/N’s eyes sparkled at. - It’s our little secret.

- What secret? - Y/N gobbled up the cookie as Mr. Forrest walked into the kitchen quarters. - How come you’re not with Gwenie watching TV?

- I wanna help.

- You always wanna help. - the head of the mob family sighed, taking a slightly medium sized wrapped box off his jacket and handing it to the soon to be handmaid. Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, mouth agape in surprise. - Gwen got her bracelet and I thought you’d want something nice too that doesn’t come from Santa.

- Can I open it? - she questioned excitingly picking at the bow on top of the red box. As he nodded, Y/N ripped the paper off revealing a shiny red box with a little ribbon which, when pulled, open a little drawer lined with white cushioned satin. In the middle stood a gold Christmas bauble which glistened whenever the light hit it. - It’s so pretty.

- It’s pure gold. - he lifted the bauble for her to see it more clearly. - Ms. Wellington did say you were inclined for Christmas decorations.

- What is gold?

- It’s a precious metal. Men kill each other over it.

- It doesn’t look that precious. - Y/N closed the box, holding it close to her chest. - It silly to kill people over metal.

- Well, some would say men will kill each other over women with hearts of gold.

- Sounds painful. - she grimaced making Mr. Forrest laugh at her comment.

- Why, some would even say you have one of those precious metalled hearts, Miss Y/N.

Y/N sighed, watching her reflection on the mirror as she tied her hair back before reaching into her suitcase, grabbing an old yet still in pristine shape red box with the golden writing fading due to time. Mindlessly, she smiled, opening the little drawer to stare at the intact bauble that always hanged on the Christmas tree every single year. She wondered if her salary would be enough to buy some decorations for the penthouse as Sebastian didn’t seem one to decorate or at least over do it as the only thing he had a Christmas garland surrounding the lift’s door.

- Y/N! - Gwen screamed from outside her door, proceeding to bang one of her fists against it. - C’mon, we don’t have all day.

- I’m sorry, Gwen. - Y/N put her red box back, getting her bag and phone before unlocking the door. Gwen was wearing a faux fur white coat with her only Birkin which she hoped to have a collection of someday. - Remember when Ms. Wellington used to take us to Fifth Avenue?

- I wonder if Cartier has a new stand this year. - Gwen gave her a soft smile as the two girls went downstairs. Her eyes lingered on the handmaid’s neck noticing a soft bruise there. - Hey, when did you get that bruise?

- Oh ... - Y/N’s flew to her neck. - It’s a curling iron burn.

- No, that’s look like a hickey. - she smirked. - Soooo, who is he?

- He’s no one. - Y/N tried to run away from the subject, standing a bit further away from Gwen in the lift. She, however didn’t seem to let go of the conversation and what was Y/N supposed to say? Why yes, Genevieve, this hickey was caused by your husband to-be? Gwen would have her head on a stick in the middle of Times Square for everyone to shame her. - Will you knock it off? It’s really nothing, it’s just a curling iron burn.

- Oh c’mon, Y/N. Why are you being so secretive? Is he married or something?

- What?! No. - no other time had Y/N replied so quickly. - There isn’t a he.

The shopping trip was filled with Gwen asking more and more questions about who had made the bruise despite Y/N saying various times that she had just burned herself with her curling wand. Luckily for her, Gwen had gotten distracted by the Hermes’ concession stand which gave her plenty of time to go into a less higher end shop and buy as many Christmas decorations as her salary pay check allowed her. She had gotten lost in the glimmer lights and shimmer of Christmas, smiling at everything she could find.

After she had paid for an unholy amount of Christmas baubles and garlands, a particular dark jumper caught her eye. It wasn’t branded, it was probably cheap but it did felt nice and she wondered how good Sebastian would look in it. He always looked better in his casual attire rather than the perfectly tailored suits he was known for and besides, she did needed to get something for him for Christmas before she left with Gwen for the Forrest household.

Once Gwen was done shopping for herself and everyone else who she considered high enough to be in her gifting list, the girls were driven back to the penthouse where Gwen took to retreating to her bedroom probably to be with Christian while Y/N started to wrap garland around the staircase rail. She was rather found of decorating and with the help of some staff managed to locate an old Christmas tree which she filled and filled with baubles and lights making it bright enough for people on the other side of the Atlantic to see it.

- Angel, what have you done to my house? - Sebastian had left his office to grab himself another cup of coffee to find Y/N still decorating.

- It’s Christmas.

- Yeah, I’ve noticed. - he rubbed the back of his neck. - Listen, angel, Mr. Williams is coming over for a meeting and I think you should go to your bedroom.

- Mr. Williams is not threatening. You said it yourself. - Y/N finished putting various baubles on the tree, staring at it with a proud smile on her face. - Doesn’t that look beautiful?

- Angel, you find beauty in everything. - Sebastian grabbed the Christmas star from the pile of decorations she had. - Saving the best for me?

- Oh ... of course. - she shifted her weight from feet to feet. Sebastian had learned to understand whenever she felt embarrassed or shy and that sounded like one of those moments. Chuckling, his hand laid rest on her natural waist, while the other holding the Christmas tree star placed the ornament on her warm hand. Before she could question him, his now free hand came to rest on the other side of her waist and with a proper grip onto the fabric of her jumper and skin, he lifted her up.

- Go on, angel. Finish it. - he spoke up and with a child-like glee only present in the young handmaid, she placed the star on top of the tree. Gently, he lowered her down, twirling her so he was face to face with her. - Y/N, I ...

- Mr. Stan, I see you decorated. - Sebastian grip hardened against Y/N and in a swift move, he placed her behind his back, observing as one of his least favourites walked in. How Mr. Williams had been his father’s favourite was still a mystery to him. How someone who beg, borrowed and stole their way to the hope without as much as getting a stain in his suit was someone who was still respected in the mob irritated him, yet again, he kept him around mostly in his father’s memory. - Miss Y/N, ever so lovely.

- Mr. Williams. - she bowed her head ever so slightly, before taking back to her bedroom.

- Some would comment on allowing a handmaid to decorate your home.

- Some would be smart enough not to comment on my decisions. What is the meaning of this meeting? You should be in France by now.

- It’s really about Miss Y/N, some associates have questioned about your ... closeness. - Sebastian rolled his eyes at the words. - She’s an unmarried woman accompanying a promised man to a cabaret, people ought to comment, Sir.

- All of my associates have seas and seas of mistresses besides Miss Y/N was only filling in for my fiancée as she was not feeling well. Whatever you are trying to imply, I suggest you shut it before you get off this house with a shot wound.

- Your father would’ve been more discreet with his mistresses. - his blood was boiling at the mere thought of calling his angel a mistress. It sounded dirty and unfitting of the own purity that came along with her but it sounded even worse coming from the middle-age balding man who was everything but a great man even less a good associate. - Your mother, may she rest, she never ev...

- Don’t speak of my mother and next time you wanna accuse any of my employees of being everything other than my employees I suggest you buy a new identity because I will fucking kill you. Now, GET OUT!

Y/N was perched by her door, ear against the wood as she tried to listen to the argument which surely had become heated based on the screaming she could hear. She peaked through the door, watching as some bodyguards escorted Mr. Williams out.

Sebastian sighed, walking over to the silver tray that held most of his liquor and spirits and poured himself a glass which he seemed to down in no time. She sighed, looking at the black bag with the jumper she had bought him, he probably needed something nice right now. With that idea tattooed on her mind, she went down the stairs, reaching a very stressed Sebastian. With a soft touch, she called out for his attention.

- You need a break. - she smiled softly, hand coming to caress his cheek.

- Mob bosses don’t take a break, angel.

- Everyone needs a break. It’s Christmas season, you’re eventually gonna burn out if you don’t take a break.

- Y/N ... - he sighed. - I can’t take a break but I’m happy you care.

- I’m sure you can take a break, Mr. Forrest never worked during Christmas season and he’s doing just fine. - she shrugged before handing him a bag. Sebastian furrowed his brow, gaze moving from her to the bag. - It’s not much and I was gonna give it to you for Christmas but you look like you need a treat.

- You shouldn’t waste your money on me. - he opened the bag which showed a knitted black jumper. - It’s great, angel. Thank you.

- You should use it when you take that break.

Meanwhile, outside Mr. Williams was waiting for his ride. Out of everyone that could’ve inherited the mob boss title of the Stan family it had to be Sebastian. In his mind, Sebastian was too emotional to run the family and the arrival of the handmaid had surely started to show how unprepared he was to run it. No mob boss should show weakness yet there it was, the mob boss weakness displayed for everyone to see. With a swift move of his wrist, he placed his phone by his ear.

- I need a favour.

tag list: @lilya-petrichor @xoxohannahlee @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater @nikkipea @madisonpillstrom @cevans98 @thelostallycat @sideeffectsofyou @anxiousdreamersworld @captainchrisstan @lookiamtrying @sarge-barnes-sir@stuffforreferences

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan drabble #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan imagine #mob boss!sebastian stan #mob!sebastian stan #mobster!sebastian stan

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ahgaseforeternity · 3 years

Text

|| BABY YOU CAN BE MAGNETIC || Part 1–

Just a lil something I couldn’t help imagining while listening to Jackson’s new song Magnetic. Yes this will be a series, so I hope you enjoy!

THE HOTEL WAS A BUZZ WITH men and women alike that were draped from head to toe in tailored designer clothes that glistened underneath the fancy chandelier.

You were leaning at the bar that sat just adjoined from the lobby that was filling with more and more people. None of them held the face you craved to see. You hated waiting, especially for the inevitable. You bit your lip, just as a hand touched your elbow, causing you to avert your gaze from the entrance of the Wang Hotel.

You locked eyes with Rain, who was smiling at you innocently. Your heart was being wrapped with guilt as you timidly smiled back. You had eagerly taken the invite Rain had extended to you, but not for the reason that was gleaming in Rain’s eyes as he stared at you.

You felt like the worst kind of person, before someone interrupted your thoughts.

“It was gracious of Mr. Wang to invite us to his opening for his grand Hotel don’t you think?” The person at your right said. You knew they had to be someone of importance, but you had no clue.

Rain nodded his head in agreement, while you just swallowed at the mere mention of the owner of the fine resort.

It had always been Jackson’s dream, you knew. To build an empire with the label Team Wang, and it seemed his dreams were taking flight. The hotel was beautiful. More so than any you had ever seen. The walls of the bar were open to the elements outside, and you could see that the sun was making its descendent. The beautiful sunset didn’t seem to affect the other party goers as it did you though.

You seemed to be the only one staring out the open archways.

You had never wished to be the Sun before but in that moment, there was nothing you wanted more. To be able to flee, and have no one notice. You could feel the desire to escape pricking underneath your skin. Even more so with Rain’s hand pressing into your side. He tugged you closer, laughing at something someone said in your small circle.

“Yes, his hotel is very luxurious it seems, but when will Mr. Wang grace us with his own presence I wonder?”

“Oh, don’t worry, Mr. J. Y. Park,”

You froze underneath Rain’s touch at the powerful voice.

Jackson Wang was standing before you now, wearing a suit of fine navy that accented his skin to perfection, along with his light brown hair. He must’ve dyed it since that last time you had seen him.

You tried not to think of that time in your life, even though every part of you begged to.

The way Jackson was looking at you now reminded you of all those days you had spent together. Nothing had ever happened, to your chagrin but it didn’t mean you didn’t think about it.

To think of Jackson holding your hand, touching you in the most initimate, kissing you. The thoughts made your cheeks flush.

Jackson had been your best friend, until he wasn’t.

“I am here now.”

Jackson spoke the words as if they were just for you, and you couldn’t help but shiver as they sunk into your skin, along with his intense stare.

Something must’ve shifted, because Rain’s attention was firmly on you. He gripped your side tighter, “Y/N, are you alright?”

You weren’t alright, but you couldn’t tell Rain that.

Rain was a good guy. Handsome and successful in his own right, just as much as Jackson. What you were doing was wrong and you knew it. You took a shaky breath, knowing full well that Jackson was watching your every move.

“Yes. I’m sorry, I think I just need some fresh air from all the people in here. I’ll be right back,” you touched Rain’s arm gently, hoping it will get him to drop his hand from your side. Luckily it did.

You made the mistake of looking at Jackson before turning away. You could see the underline hurt in his eyes as he looked at where your hand grazed Rain’s arm. You wanted to tell him he had no right to look the way he did. To look as if he was upset, but you didn’t.

Instead, you hurried away from all the pressing eyes, but mostly Jackson’s.

You knew he couldn’t follow you. He had too many guests to tend to.

As you rushed into the lobby, you looked towards the front doors where the dusky sky beckoned for you to see it, but you turned away. You didn’t really need fresh air, you really just needed to get away from Jackson, and now that you were free of not just his presence, but Rain’s, you allowed yourself to explore the Wang Hotel.

It was stunning, truly. Jackson had etched himself into every detail. It was breathtaking. Even down to the elevator, which was made of entire glass. You watched as people took the extravagant lift to the upper levels you knew were just as indulgent as the lower level.

You found yourself standing before the elevator, pressing the button that was shaped into a W. You found yourself smiling at just that tiny detail. It was so simple, yet so defining. You shook your head, just as the glass doors dinged open. You took attentive steps into the lift, feeling your stomach fill with butterflies as beneath your black stilettoes was just pure glass.

It was utterly thrilling, just like Jackson.

You leaned against the glass window, watching as the doors were just about to close, but a male hand stopped them from doing so.

You straightened as Jackson’s dark eyes came into view. Your heart felt as if it was going to beat out of your chest at the look he was giving you. Jackson stepped forward into the small space, reaching to press a button without even breaking your stare.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, but it did absolutely nothing. The silence between you was so deafening, along with his stare that seemed to eat you up as it traveled over your red dress that clung to your body.

“The hotel is beautiful,” you stumbled to say as Jackson’s eyes finally came to a halt on your lips that were painted red as well.

“You came with Rain.”

It wasn’t a question, but a statement. You could only nod your head slowly as Jackson stepped even closer. As the elevator started to move, you had to brace yourself against the glass wall, but found yourself reaching out for Jackson instead. It was pure reflex, and you wished desperately that you hadn’t.

He was too close now. So close that you could smell his citrus cologne that fogged your mind. You watched his eyes become hazy, and his lush lips part.

“Why did you come with him, of all people, Y/N?”

Hurt swirled inside Jackson’s eyes. Hurt that only you deserved to fill. You felt your eyes narrow, “Because I can, Jackson. There is nothing stopping me from being with him.” You knew it was a dig and that you shouldn’t have said it, but the words just slipped out.

Jackson’s jaw hardened, and it left you feeling helpless. It wasn’t fair just how irresistible Jackson truly was. You could hardly breathe just looking at him. The pressure pressing on your heart was suffocating in the best way.

“Then why did you wear red?”

His question halted you. His eyes became hooded as they stared down at you.

“When I first saw you walking in, wearing this tight, strappy dress, Y/N, I knew. You miss me just as much as I miss you. You wouldn’t have worn my favorite color if you didn’t.”

You were speechless.

You wanted to tell Jackson that it was just a coincidence. That you weren’t thinking about him at all as you slipped into the glittering dress, or while you pressed the red lipstick to your lips in hope Jackson would see you and know.

Know that you still wanted him. That you still loved him.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” It was all you could think to say. You watched as his face lit up in mischief, and you knew right then that you were in trouble. That it didn’t matter who you came here with, you were going home with Jackson, and from the look in his dark eyes, he knew it too.

“Does he make you breathless,” Jackson started to say, as he gently traced his finger down your arm, causing you to shiver in the best way. Jackson leaned in close, so so close till his lips were just mere inches from yours, “like I did?”

You were melting. You wouldn’t be surprised if you turned into a simple puddle on the floor, from the sheer desire playing out in Jackson’s eyes. He was going to be the death of you. You had known all those years ago when you first met, wearing almost the same dress in the same color.

“We’re tethered to each other, Y/N. What we have, it’s magnetic. The pull to you, I can’t help but tug closer and closer. Please, Y/N,” Jackson begged, lifting his finger up to trace your bottom lip. You wanted to close your eyes against the intimate touch, but didn’t, knowing you didn’t want to miss the look in playing out over Jackson’s face.

His lowered his lips until they were mere inches from your own, and said, “tug back.”

The leash you held on yourself broke then. You crashed your lips to Jacksons, touching his tight jaw with your own fingers. His lips were so soft, yet rough. It was so Jackson, you thought. To have lips that melted you but then also set you on fire.

He stumbled you back into the glass window, parting his lips, causing a sigh to travel from your chest and out your mouth. You could feel him smile against you, in pure satisfaction. It was so incredibly sexy, you couldn’t help but sigh again.

Your fingers traveled through his silky hair that had been styled to perfection, but would now be muzzled and tousled. Your own hair was tangled in Jackson’s fingers as he gripped you closer. One of his hands traveled down your body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

It then caught behind your knee, lifting your leg to wrap around his waist.

You broke away in a sigh then, looking at Jackson through hazy eyes. His lips were the perfectly plump and parted. The smell of his breath was making you dizzy, along with his touch that was still at your calf. You had missed him. It had been such a long time since you had seen someone look at you the way Jackson was now, and it left you aching.

You didn’t want it to stop.

Then a ding sounded throughout the elevator causing you to jump in Jackson’s arms. The moment was broken. Jackson only smirked, dropping your leg and stepping away from you. You could only stand there watching as Jackson’s ran his fingers through his hair that was all messed up because of your own touch, and straighten his fitted suit.

The glass doors soon opened to a bunch of random strangers that were staring not just at the beautiful hotel owner, you as well with wide, curious eyes.

Jackson’s face lit with amusement. “This is my floor, Y/N,” Jackson stated, making to step out of the lift. You felt this invisible pulse vibrating between you both. You wanted to reach out and touch him, but stopped yourself by straightening your own dress.

You lifted your eyes to Jackson’s to see his were filled with something close to disappointment. It made you incredibly angry. Why was he disappointed? Didn’t he get what he wanted? You baring yourself to him by showing just how weak he made you? You could feel your blood boiling.

You flipped your hair over your shoulder then, composing yourself to not show any sign of weakness.

“I should get back to my date then. Goodbye Mr. Wang, thank you for the detailed assessment of your wonderful elevator,” You smiled bitterly while pressing any button to get the doors to close.

As the noise of them shutting clicked, you slumped against the glass, letting yourself breathe as if it was the first time.

Jackson Wang had just kissed you. He had never kissed you before, but somehow it had felt as if you had been kissing for years. It felt completely natural. You buried your face in your hands, groaning inwardly.

The magnetic tug Jackson had talked about, you had felt it and could feel it even now. It was telling you to take the elevator back up to Jackson, and show him just how you truly felt. To kiss him breathless, just like he had with you.

But you couldn’t.

In the end it would all mean nothing, because Jackson could never be yours.

#Jackson wang #Jackson wang fic #kpop fanfic #kpopfanfic #jacksonwangedit #my fanfic #my writing #jackson wang aesthetic

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justthehiddleswrites · 3 years

Text

Destiny Has Other Plans | Loki x OFC (Alexis Randall) | Chapter 4

Pairing: Loki x OFC

MASTERLIST IS HERE

Summary: When Loki goes to ask his father for permission to marry, he is shocked to discover his destiny has already been made for him. He is already betrothed to Sjofn, the daughter of the King of Vanaheim. An arranged marriage to bring the two kingdoms closer together and strengthen the bond. Never mind that Sjofn and Loki can’t stand each other.

After The Battle of New York, Loki is sent to live at Avengers Tower as punishment for his misdeeds. But it doesn’t mean he has to like it. A year later, he has adjusted to life on Midgard but has avoided any romantic or emotional entanglements, still bitter over his lost love. Dr. Alexis Randall is skilled at helping others fix their relationships as a couple therapist, but can’t help her own love life. A chance encounter with Loki in a dive bar has life altering consequences for both of them. Now, Alexis and Loki must figure out a way to co-habit without killing each other in the process, plus navigating impending parenthood and other roadblocks along the way.

This Chapter: Tony’s attempt at matchmaking goes awry. Alexis meets the man that goes bump in the vents and makes some poor decisions.

Warnings: Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Smut, Angst, Semi-Public Sex, Mentions of law enforcement, Oral Sex, Cursing, Vaginal Sex

Taglists are Open, please let me know if you wish to be added.

Alexis tugged at her dress. Even though she was still early in the pregnancy, her clothes were already fitting differently. She could see the beginnings of a bump in the mirror. Loki’s clothes fit him like a glove. Like a perfectly tailored, bespoke “look at me I am so fucking handsome” glove, Alexis groused to herself, tugging again at the neckline.

“Do you always fidget so much?” Loki questioned as they walked towards the entrance of the restaurant Tony made reservations at for them.

“No. None of my clothes aren’t fitting right. My bump is starting to show.”

“Have JARVIS order you some new ones.” Loki commented back. He held the door open for her. He didn’t think the dress was fitting Alexis poorly. Quite the contrary, as the low neckline highlighted her breasts in a manner Loki found rather stimulating. He particularly enjoyed the tiny stomach bump developing on her.

“Two, under the name Stark.” Loki wrapped his arm around Alexis’s waist as the bartender smiled at them from across the entrance. His grip tightened as a spark of jealousy hit him.

The maitre’d nodded and led them to a cozy table off to the side, and thankfully for Loki, out of the eyeline of the bar.

The server came by and asked for drink orders.

“Scotch neat.”

Alexis’s face dropped. “Just water, please.” A glass of wine sounded tempting right now.

The server nodded and moved away, but Loki grabbed his arm. “On second thought, water and Diet Coke for me.”

The server changed the order and stepped away. Alexis squirmed in her seat. “You didn’t need to do that on my account. I’m an adult and so are you. You can drink if you want.”

The server returned with the drinks and left to give them more time with the menus. Loki pushed the Diet Coke in front of Alexis. “A peace offering. If you can try, so can I.”

Alexis took a long draw of the soda and hummed. “Thank you, Loki.”

“My pleasure.” The server returned, ready to take their order.

“What would you recommend?” she asked.

“The tuna tartare is popular.” The server gestured to the menu. Loki coughed and raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t like anything raw.” Alexis lied. Sushi was one of her favorites. “Anything else?”

She settled on a seasonal risotto while Loki ordered a steak, medium rare. Once the server left, the two of them carried on a polite conversation until their bread service and entrees arrived. Alexis noticed as she ate, a blonde woman sneaking glances at their table.

“Loki, do you know her?”

He turned around to glance and shrugged his shoulders. “She looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t recall. I’ve met many people in my last year here.”

“LOKI!” The woman was now at their table. Alexis wasn’t entirely sure what was preventing the woman’s boobs from slipping out of her dress.

Loki narrowed his eyes. “Hello, um…”

“Ashlyn! You silly.” She slapped Loki’s shoulder. “You would think a god would have a better memory?”

“You would, wouldn’t you?” Alexis leaned forward on her hands, mocking Ashlyn.

Ashlyn turned to Loki, oblivious to Alexis, although Loki glared at her across the table. “I am so sorry, Ashlyn. I shall endeavor to do better.” He flashed her a smile.

“I can’t believe you never called me after our last date, and now I find you here out with another woman!”

“Oh, we aren’t dating!” Loki and Alexis responded simultaneously.

“She’s a friend.” Loki added.

“From work.” Alexis chimed in.

“Well then,” Ashlyn reached across and grabbed a spare cocktail napkin, she scribbled on it, leaning over the table to ensure Loki receive an eyeful of her ample cleavage. “Call me sometime.” Ashlyn tucked the napkin into Loki’s shirt pocket before walking off.

Alexis’s gaze followed Ashlyn until the blonde sat back down at her table.

“I’m surprised you didn’t drag her into the bathroom right in front of me.” Alexis sniped.

Loki scowled at her. “I am not that crass. And if I recall, you pulled me into that bathroom.”

Alexis sneered as she pushed her half eaten risotto away, no longer hungry. Loki frowned. “You need to eat.”

“My stomach doesn’t feel so good. I’m not feeling well.” Sure as shit, she wasn’t feeling well. She realized they weren’t beholden’d to each other and hell she even gave him permission to date. But Alexis never imagined it would sting this much.

“Then we should return home at once.” Loki signaled for the check, oblivious to the true reasons for Alexis’s upset stomach.

Tony was waiting for them in the common room, clearly wanting all the juicy gossip. Loki wrapped his arm around Alexis as they walked through.

“Look at the two of you!” Tony called out, scaring the shit out of Alexis.

“Does everyone around here just lurk in corners?” She clasped her hand on her chest.

“Not now, Stark. Alexis isn’t feeling well.” Loki snapped, not stopping.

Tony shuffled to follow them, cutting them off at the hallway entrance. “Just answer one question, was there a love connection?”

“Oh, there definitely was.” Alexis grumbled. Tony did a little fist pump. “Loki snagged a date with Ashlyn, the real life blow-up doll.”

“I beg your pardon?” Loki’s head at her and he removed his arm.

“Come on! She practically shoved her tits in your face, Loki. With me sitting there.”

“I’m going to bed.” Tony muttered and hightailed it out of the line of fire.

“You said you didn’t care.” Loki countered.

“And I don’t!” Alexis moaned, lying to herself and to Loki. She was getting a headache. “I don’t.” She took a deep breath. “I just don’t need it happening right in front of me, okay?”

Loki shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “Apologies. I hadn’t considered…”

“Spare the apologies, Loki.” She moved away from him. “I’m going to bed.” She walked away at a brisk pace.

When Loki got there, he peeked into her room, but she was already under the covers, eyes closed.

Loki avoided Alexis for the next week. They exchanged little more than pleasantries in the morning and evening. Alexis spent more of her evenings in her office on the 5th floor rather in the apartment with Loki. She didn’t go anywhere. Loki insisted it wasn’t safe, now that she was showing. The walls were closing in and Alexis was going stir crazy.

One evening, Alexis was lying on the couch watching TV when Loki came out of his room dressed in a black suit.

“Going on your date?” Her tone sharp and words pointed. “Give Blow Up Barbie my best.”

“You said you didn’t want to know. But yes, I am meeting Ashlynn tonight.” He tightened his tie. He didn’t really want to go, but Ashlynn didn’t stop calling until he gave a firm date.

“I don’t. Just curious whether to make an entire pot of coffee in the morning or not? Should I expect you home tonight?”

“I wouldn’t bother.” Loki adjusted his cufflinks. “Enjoy your show.”

“Use protection!” She yelled after him.

Loki smiled as he shut the door behind him. Alexis tried to focus on her show, but couldn’t. She couldn’t pinpoint why this date bothered her so much. Alexis harbored no romantic feelings for Loki. She barely got through a conversation without insulting him.

“Fuck it.” She grabbed her phone. “And fuck him.”

“Hannah? Yeah. Can you come pick me up at Avengers Tower?”

“Warden letting you out on good behavior?” Hannah giggled. She enjoyed joking about Alexis being held captive.

“More like a prison break.”

“Did you want to grab dinner or something?”

“How about dancing? Somewhere loud and slightly crazy.” Alexis stood and went to her closet, selecting a skintight electric blue dress. It would highlight her newfound curves.

“Are you sure? What about Loki?” Hannah questioned.

“When the cat’s away… He is out. On a date. Get me back here before morning and he will never know.”

“Devious. I’m in.”

“Twenty minutes, Hannah. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

She dressed and fixed her hair before slipping on a pair of high heels. A quick glance down the hallway and Alexis slinked towards the elevator.

“Loki takes the service elevator when he skulks out at night.” Clint stepped out of the shadows. “I see he didn’t share his trade secrets with you.”

Alexis jumped a bit but regained her composure. “Jesus Christ. Between you and Tony… I’m not skulking. Just meeting a friend.”

“Fancy dress for a friend.”

“Nosy question for a man who crawls through the vents.” Alexis narrowed her eyes at Clint.

“Just an observation. Have a good evening.” Clint nodded and disappeared into the shadows of the night.

Hannah was waiting outside when she made her way outside.

“I worried you got caught.”

“Just a bird in the vents distracting me. Have faith in me. Now… let’s party.”

Hannah hooked her arm with Alexis and they took off down the sidewalk.

Loki’s mind wandered as Ashlynn droned on about her number of Instagram followers. Social media did not interest Loki. Not even a bit. He remembered why he “forgot” to call Ashlyn back the first time. While she may be nice to look at, it was all style and no substance. Blow Up Barbie was an apt name, Loki mused. He chuckled at Alexis’s joke as he replayed it in his mind.

“What so funny, Loki?” Ashlyn questioned as they walked out of the restaurant.

“What?” He turned to her in shock. “Oh, just something someone told me earlier.” He brushed it off.

“A joke?” Ashlyn perked up. She hopped and her boobs bounced in a way boobs shouldn’t. Loki had said little that night. “Tell me.”

“You won’t enjoy it.” Loki deflected. “It is rather offensive.” He smiled again, thinking about many of Alexis’s off-color jokes. He often found it hard to not laugh.

“Fine.” Ashlyn pouted. “Let’s go back to my place.” She tugged him in the opposite direction of the Tower.

Loki sighed. “I think I should head home.” He feigned a yawn. “I am tired and I have an early meeting tomorrow.”

Ashlyn frowned at him. “On a Sunday?”

Loki coughed. “An Avenger never has a day off.” He was failing at ending this date. Loki wondered if Alexis would still be up.

“Really, because you always said—” Ashlyn’s comment interrupted by Loki’s cell phone.

He frowned when he saw Alexis’s number on the screen. He answered the call.

“I told you not to wait—” He snapped into the phone, even though moments ago he was ready to call it a night.

“It’s Alexis’s friend, Hannah. You don’t know me, but—”

“What happened? Where are you? Where’s Alexis?” Loki snapped. Ashlyn leaned in to listen to the conversation. Loki turned his back to her.

“We’re at the police station. Can you come bail her out?”

Loki paled. “Give me the address.”

#loki #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki imagine #loki fluff #loki smut #loki angst #loki x ofc #loki series #destiny has other plans

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indiavolojones · 4 years

Text

also a long... long time ago someone asked me for an artist!mc wanting to draw satan. I still 100% want to do it, but here’s a little placeholder in the meantime!!

Satan intensely examines the framed work in front of him--you think that it might be some kind of… statement on fertility? There’s definitely a feminine figure in the garish swathes of puke green. Maybe. Could also be a peanut. If you squint and tilt your head, it kind of looks like an animal?

You’ve never had an eye for this sort of thing, only agreeing to come because Satan had invited you.

hope u guys don’t mind i completely veered off the request path.. but here’s something short!!

1.3kish words, gen, satan/gender neutral!mc

~~~

“Mammon would be furious if he knew he missed you like this,” he grins, bowing and holding his hand out.

The outfit is… fancier than anything you’ve ever really worn in front of the brothers. It’s perfectly tailored to your body thanks to Asmo, the vest cinched at your waist like one of Lucifer’s. It accentuates the slight curve of your waist, enticingly settling at the small of your back.

Your brows raise at the outstretched hand, before rolling your eyes and snorting at the gesture. Satan looks like he expects you to playfully bat his hand away with some flustered complaint. To his surprise, you take his hand, and lace your fingers with his.

Satan’s eyes widening is a sweet reward in itself.

The art exhibit Satan takes you to is far fancier than Satan had led you to believe, so with each passing devil appraising you, you’re glad you let Asmo guide you into his closet for an outfit upgrade.

Satan is dressed in a casual sports jacket and fitted slacks, but his natural good looks and the undeniable power radiating off him would have made him a knockout even if he was wearing a tracksuit. (Maybe. That actually sounds hilarious.)

You fiddle with the hem of the vest, at the quintessential, billowy-sleeved Asmo shirt he’d paired with it. You look like you belong in a fantasy novel as a princely character, but perhaps that’s what Asmo intended. If you had any doubts about how different your outfits are, the worries are blown out of the water by the sheer chaos of Devildom “high fashion”.

Besides, Satan seems to like it, if his constant gentle touches mean anything.

By comparison to the eccentric shades of Devildom fashion (some more... daring than others...), the art itself is nothing exciting. Once you’ve sipped enough champagne to calm your nerves, you realize that the art is actually...

Terrible.

You’ve seen some god-awful art up in the human realm, but it’s almost comforting to know that there are also snobby devil artists with bad technique and signatures as big as their egos. But… Satan likes it? You think.

You’re not quite sure, honestly, and you don’t want to offend him by saying anything negative. He stares at every framed work with an intensity that would burn through the canvas if looks could kill. Sometimes it’s a few seconds, sometimes several minutes, but Satan will nod once he’s finished appraising the canvas, and then move on to the next one.

Almost without fail, he will place his hand on your waist or the small of your back and lead you to another… suspect… painting.

Satan intensely examines the framed work in front of him --you think that it might be some kind of… statement on fertility? There’s definitely a feminine figure in the garish swathes of puke green. Maybe. Could also be a peanut. If you squint and tilt your head, it kind of looks like an animal? You’ve never had an eye for this sort of thing, only agreeing to come because Satan had invited you.

“This isn’t your kind of date,” Satan states, and you jump, looking at him with cinched brows.

“I never said that--” Satan rolls his eyes.

“You’ve spent more time looking at me than at the art.”

You’re a work of art is the infantile comeback that comes to mind, but you don’t have the strength to be so bold or cheesy. Crossing your arms sheepishly, you look anywhere but at him.

“I… You seemed interested, and I didn’t want to tell you no?” You admit, and Satan sighs, like he’s not sure what he’s going to do with you. “Did you…” You fumble over the words, “Did you like this one?”

Satan blinks as he looks at you, his head tilted. Huffing with amusement at what he finds in your expression, he shakes his head. He looks back at the painting and squints at it.

“Honestly, no. It’s gaudy, the technique is terrible, and I’m sure the artist was drunk the entire time. There’s Demonus stains in the corner here.” he groans, pointing at the out-of-the-ordinary purple splotches that don’t match any of the other materials used. You can’t help the glee that fills your chest at Satan admitting that he also thinks these works are absurd--there’s relief as well.

You’re not sure if you’d be able to stand another hour of this.

“Why would anyone buy this?” You ask, and Satan looks at you helplessly.

“I have no idea. Art is subjective, but most modern art makes me furious,” Satan says, shoulders shrugging, “Sometimes I try to stop and really, really look at the piece. Usually that works. I suppose if I bend over backwards, I can start to maybe piece together whatever asinine meaning the artist intended.”

“What if you end up still hating it?” you question. Satan huffs.

“Then I buy it,” Satan’s gaze shifts to look at you from the corner of his eyes, and he can’t help his wicked smirk, “And I use it for kindling.”

“What?” you ask, eyebrows cinched together. Satan holds his hands up noncommittally, and you shake your head with a fond, disbelieving laugh, “You’re terrible.”

“You think so? Let’s just get on with the second part of our date. I think you’ll enjoy it much more,” Satan hums, and before you have a chance to ask, he’s looking out into the crowd.

“Malphas!” Satan calls, and waves a hand over at a timid looking demon in an older suit.

The demon, Malphas, shuffles over with a toothy smile--it was far too easy for Satan to get his attention in this crowd. Was the demon waiting for Satan to call him over? He shakes hands with Satan, grabbing the brother by the forearm in an enthusiastic greeting.

“Satan! I’m glad you could make it,” he rasps, a row of sharp, tiny teeth in the demon’s mouth bared in what you think is a smile.

“No, thank you for the invite.” Satan is charming--you’ve always thought so, but to watch him interact with anyone not you or his own family is an interesting change of pace. Malphas seems to be tripping over himself to gain Satan’s approval, even as his beady black eyes flicker between the two of you. Satan gestures at you with one hand, placing the other hand on the small of your back.

You flush at the contact.

“Malphas, this is our human exchange student,” Satan says your name, and you extend a hand out to him. Malphas blinks down at your hand, as if it will burn him, and you realize that with how little you know of demons.

Even if you forget when you’re amidst the brothers, there are quite a few devils who are hesitant about Diavolo’s integration ideals. You trust that Satan would never let you come to any harm from them, though. Malphas coughs, but then he’s bringing a small, clawed hand up to yours. His skin is clammy, and a strange texture, but you both manage the handshake under Satan’s careful watch.

At the civilized shaking of your hands, Satan beams, “Malphas is the gallery owner. He invites me to shows for up-and-coming artists, and I attend when I can.” The brothers often comment on Satan’s popularity, with varying reactions of disbelief and envy, but getting to live it is a whole other experience in itself.

"Listen, Malphas," Satan points at the painting in front of you, "I'd like to buy this painting." Satan winks at you from the corner of his eyes, and you glance at the demon to see if he noticed Satan's wink. Malphas, however, only wrings his hands together and lets out a pleased growl, nodding his head. "Bill it to my account."

"Excellent choice, my lord," he chirps, almost like a bird, "I will get this prepared for you immediately!"

Malphas skitters off, leaving Satan smiling at you and you staring at him in utter confusion. The hand on the small of your back slides to your waist, and Satan’s holding you close to his side--the mere concept of Satan buying this shitty painting is still enough of a distraction that you don’t immediately burst into flames at it. The opulence of this gallery opening also screams expensive. Satan hadn’t even asked for the price? You have so many questions.

"But this… is awful?" You ask, trying to picture where the hell Satan would hang this. Its bright colors don't match the interior of his bedroom at all; if Satan were to hang this, you'd never be able to not see it.

Another mischievous quirk of his lips, and realization dawns on your face.

Oh.

Satan has an interesting definition of fun.

Something about the ingredients inside the paint used on Devildom works causes a spectacular chemical reaction. You wonder how many poor portraits have fallen prey to Satan’s sadism--but remembering the work itself, you’re not particularly bothered.

Ashes and paint dirty the sleeves of Asmo’s shirt and you worry about getting the stains out, but then Satan’s sidling up behind you... and you’re sure Asmo will forgive you if you compliment him enough! Probably!

Satan’s height allows him to rest his chin on your shoulder as you both stare into the makeshift bonfire, his arms wrapped loosely around your center.

“I thought you were joking,” you snort as the bright red smoke billows up into the Devildom sky.

Satan’s hot puff of laughter tickles the hair by your ear.

#writing #ch: satan #pr: satan/mc #satan/mc #obey me satan #STILL STRUGGLIN W HIM BUT I TRY!! OK!!!

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starker-stories · 4 years

Text

A Boy in a Dress

Created for @mcukinkbingo Also on AO3 Square Filled: Crossdressing Ship: Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Starker Rating: T Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 1914 Additional Tags: Crossdressing, Not Feminization Summary: “Peter… I…” He slowly blinked. “There are things you only see in fantasies. You don’t even have a frame of reference to explain them. Ideas you never let yourself think because what you want is impossible,” Tony explained. “Baby, you’re perfect.” ——————————————————

“Oh my god Tony. It’s… they’re… oh… beautiful!”

Peter rushed over to the bed and started rifling through the clothes draped on it. “You have a whole wardrobe here!” There were flowy skirts and narrow tight pencil skirts. Skirts that came to the floor and ones that looked like they’d barely cover the curve of his ass. Blouses made of soft silk. The fabric draped over his hands and flowed like water until it puddled back onto the bed. Ones of sheer fabric and lace that were more air than cloth. Shoes. High heels, cute little ballet flats, sandals that had string laces that looked long enough to tie all the way up Peter’s legs. Dresses — narrow waisted, broad shouldered. And lingerie! Every kind imaginable. Suitable for day, and especially, for night.

When his initial rush of excitement passed, he noticed that the clothes weren’t just women’s clothes from a store, like he used to sometimes sneak out and buy.

“You had all of this made?”

“Yes baby. You explained to me what you wanted. You’re very happy being a boy and don’t want to change that, never wanted to.”

“Right. But people have misunderstood before…”

“Pete, am I ‘people’?”

“No Tony.”

“So, taking you at your word, I do listen to you, you know.” Tony ticked on his fingers. “Very much a boy. Not a drag queen. Not trying to hide the fact that you’re a boy while you’re dressed. Sensuality is a big part of it. Not costume-y but not ordinary. Not done as a political statement.”

“This dress!” Peter held the dress up to his front and let it drape, looking at himself in the mirror.

“Baby, that’s going to look gorgeous on you.”

Peter quickly stripped out of his t-shirt and jeans then shimmied the golden yellow soft chiffon dress on over his head. He couldn’t take his eyes away from the mirror. He’d tried dresses before, but they never worked as well as a skirt and a blouse. The ones he could get were designed to fit the curves of a woman. There were always places that hung in un-filled-out wrinkles or pulled too tight. His arms and shoulders hardly ever fit. But this fit him perfectly.

The vintage silhouette was styled like when girls wore shoulder pads, but not the cartoonish 80s style. It was more classic, elegant. Of course Peter needed no pads on his broad shoulders. The shape of his body was one of the things he always hated when he dressed. He thought it made him look awful. Yet he liked the way he looked when he wasn’t dressed.

Tony watched as the boy turned this way and that, frowning at times, looking like he was working a puzzle. “There was very little that needed to be changed. The problem was that you needed couture. Off the rack is designed for women. Couture is designed for models. It's a less curved body.”

“Tony, how did you know all this?”

“I’ve dated a lot of models,” he said with a shrug. “Eventually you get bored enough to listen to them.”

“It’s all so beautiful. Thank you.”

“So… I have reservations for eight. There’s more things in your bathroom. I didn’t know what sort of style you wanted though. I’m afraid I picked things I like. More natural.”

“Exactly. Not drag, not obvious. Just a bit of glamour. But…” Peter’s face fell.

“What Pete? What can I fix?”

“Tony, I can’t go out like this.”

“Why?”

Peter sighed. “People get the wrong idea. You might not be people, but people are people. I got caught one day at Columbia wearing a blouse like this,” he held up a simple white linen blouse that wasn’t far off from looking like a shirt, “and I still don’t think I ever convinced them that I wasn’t trans and in denial. I kept having to tell them my pronouns were he/him and yes my name really is Peter. It’s not that I think that being trans is wrong, it’s just that…”

“You’re not.”

“Exactly.”

“Baby, what you are right now is a very beautiful boy in a very beautiful dress. I’d like to take you out to dinner so that everyone can see how beautiful you are.” Tony walked up behind Peter and wrapped his arms around his waist, looking at him through the reflection. “I think you’re stunning.”

It was wonderful that Tony thought he looked that way. When Peter looked at his reflection, he could almost believe it too.

“Baby, when you first started telling me, I mean… I’ve always liked a boy in a bit of lingerie. But the problem was the opposite as it has been with you. They were willing to wear it but it was a kink. And while that’s fun…” Tony shrugged.

“I know! It’s impossible either way.”

“It’s possible. People will see what you show them. If you act camp, they’ll see a drag queen. If you mime the way a woman behaves, then they’ll see a transvestite. If you actually behave like a woman, they’ll see a trans woman. If you’re just you, baby, they’ll see a beautiful boy in a beautiful dress.”

“I can’t.”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes!”

“Try. Get ready as if we were going. Come out into the living room with me and we’ll just be together a bit first. If you’re really not ready, then I’ll have the restaurant send dinner here.”

Peter bit his lip. It was amazing seeing their reflections standing there. Peter and Tony had very different body types. Tony was a compact, muscular, solid man. Peter was a lithe, fluid, delicate… man. And they did look beautiful together. Or would if Tony was dressed to match. Right now, in a torn t-shirt and a pair of dad-jeans that did nothing for his ass, they most certainly weren’t a match. He laughed. “You have to dress nice too.”

“Pete, I do clean up all right, you know.” He kissed the side of Peter’s neck. “Can you trust me? A little? But if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable, you let me know.” Peter looked like he was about to start going through all the reasons he couldn’t do it. “Baby, don’t overthink it. Right now just start by picking out what you want to wear and getting ready in whatever way makes you feel… like you. Don’t think about ‘people’. Just Peter and Tony, okay?”

When Tony bought Peter’s wardrobe, everything he had for himself looked wrong in comparison. He didn’t explain the particulars about the gender of his date to his tailor, he just brought several of the dresses with him and said he wanted to look ‘better than I usually do’. Apparently it took more than simply spending a lot of money on a suit. Wanting to look a match for Peter, he let the man put him through, what Tony joked was, ‘finishing school’.

Peter was beautiful to Tony no matter what he wore. But since the boy told him about this, he hadn’t been able to stop imagining what ‘a boy in a dress’ might actually look like. Every one of his imaginings was more beautiful than the last. He never thought Peter would look incongruous or awkward and certainly not camp or drag, like the boy worried about. Peter couldn’t look that way. He was graceful and light and… as he stepped into the room, perfect.

Peter’s hair wasn’t ‘done up’. There were soft, messy curls with something in them that made it look wet, but not wet. Glistening? Yeah. Glistening. Tony could tell he was wearing cosmetics, but he didn’t look like it. Not even like the ‘natural’ makeup that some of the girls he’d dated wore. There was a bit of shadow to his eyes, but just barely enough to heighten the depth of them, to bring out the honey-color. His lashes looked brighter, but Tony couldn’t tell if that was something he was wearing because Peter naturally had the most amazing long lashes. His lips though… the color was perhaps just a tiny bit pinker, but they were shiny and looked like they did when he got nervous, because he had a habit of licking them. Tony wanted to bite.

That dress. It was beautiful when he saw it on him in the mirror, but in combination with everything it was… The fit was as before, and the way the fabric draped, Tony’s fingers were itching to feel. The stockings had just a little bit of shimmer to them but weren’t ‘fetish’, not black or red, but the same color as Peter’s pale skin. Tony hadn’t been sure if Peter actually knew how to walk in heels, but the boy flowed into the room.

“Oh Peter. I…” Tony stumbled over his words. He was a man who had dated some of the most beautiful women in the world. Without a bit of exaggeration, he told Peter, “Baby, you take my breath away.” When the boy blushed? Tony’s words were literal.

“I don’t look ridiculous?”

“Peter… I…” He slowly blinked. “There are things you only see in fantasies. You don’t even have a frame of reference to explain them. Ideas you never let yourself think because what you want is impossible,” Tony explained. “Baby, you’re perfect.”

Tony rushed to Peter, wrapped his arm around the boy’s narrow — muscular, masculine — waist. He lifted him and spun him around like they were dancing. The way he felt in Tony’s arms. The lean body of a boy who took ballet lessons. Everything about him was the same. There wasn’t anything about him that wasn’t Peter. He was a stunningly handsome young man. Graceful, but the fabric, the clothes, the way he looked, went from graceful to otherworldly. Formed of beautiful renaissance paintings, old black and white movies, and stylized images of long-limbed saints.

“Please tell me you feel this,” Tony said, stopping them in the middle of the room.

Peter stepped closer until he and Tony were against each other. “I… Tony… you’re… we’re…”

“Beautiful, Peter.” He nestled Peter on his shoulder. “Shh, don’t cry. You’re a vision.”

“It’s not just a…” Peter sighed. “Like you said, a kink?”

“Baby, do I want to take you into the bedroom and fuck you senseless? Yeah. When don’t I? Do you remember the first time I took you to a gala and you put on that tux? I wanted to fuck you senseless then too. You in my old sweatshirt and jeans makes me want to fuck you senseless. You just do things to me, kid.”

Peter laughed. But then he stopped and swallowed hard. “We can’t though.”

“Go out? Why? People?”

Peter nodded. “No one will understand.”

“Peter, you don’t look like that. You’re without camp, without drag, without imitation.”

“Well there is some imitation.”

“No. None. There’s a… derivation of style, that’s all. It suits you. But why don’t I call the restaurant. I’ll put on some music, because god Peter do I ever want to dance with you. And then we’ll eat in the dining room instead of the kitchen for a change. Save going out for another time. Let you get used to everything at home first.”

“You don’t mind if we don’t go out?” Peter said hesitantly.

“Baby, that means I get you to all to myself. Saves me from having to beat the shit out of some guy who looks at you too long.”

——————————————————

#starker #Von writes stuff

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hispeculiartreasure · 5 years

Text

All We’ve Got is Time - Chapter Twelve | B.B.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

AU: If They’d Survived/Post-War/Window Washer!Bucky Barnes

Rating: All Ages

Word count: 4,968

Chapter 12/24

Warnings: Family tension

AN: What’s extra wild about this post is that it marks the official halfway point in this story! We have come so very far, yet there is still so much in store for you. Aaaaand I’m gonna stop before I get emotional about it. As always, thanks for sticking around and having passion for this story. This wouldn’t exist without your support.

Per usual, my most heartfelt appreciation to @lucyyannabel , @barnesrogersvstheworld , and @abovethesmokestacks for being my personal cheerleaders and listening to me whine and complain about this chapter and how ornery the Barnes family could be. Bucky is blowing all of you a kiss 😘

Chapter Eleven

‘All We’ve Got is Time’ Masterlist

“Bucky, are you sure I shouldn’t have worn a dress?” you ask for the tenth time, looking uncertainly down at your wide-legged trousers which fall in a graceful line to your feet. Your brightly colored blouse - the one Suzy had picked out between the options you had presented her; she insisted it was the perfect color on you - is carefully tucked in where your pants taper in at the waist.

House by house you steadily approach the Barnes’ family home as you walk the streets of Brooklyn. Your fingers toy with the fabric of Bucky’s suit jacket absentmindedly where your hand is tucked into his elbow.

“I’m telling you, sweetheart, you could wear a potato sack and the girls wouldn’t think less of you.” He playfully nudges your side for good measure.

“Well I did have a dress made out of a flour sack when I was a kid, maybe that would’ve been better.”

He’s all tease. “First off, everyone had flour-sack clothes. We were all Depression kids, you’re not special.” His tone shifts to one of gentle sincerity. “Second, quit worryin’. They care about who you are as a person a lot more than what you’re wearing.”

‘Quit worrying,’ you scoff internally. What a gas. Meeting Steve and Peggy was one thing, but this? How can I not worry about meeting the four women that know him best? Four women that could easily chew me up and spit me out if they don’t think I’m right for Bucky. I need all the help I can get. At least his dad won’t be here.

Bucky brings you to a stop in front of a waist-level iron fence. At the end of the pathway behind the white gate is a sweet brick house with a small porch, large windows taking up most of the front of the home.

“This is it,” he sighs before turning to look down at you. “You ready?”

Rather than answering his question you ask your own. “Are you ready?”

A smile quirks his mouth to one side before he opens the tiny gate with a flourish. “After you, ma’am.”

He raps his knuckles on the door once, twice, before opening the door. Loud female chatter reaches you from around the corner as Bucky takes your purse and hat to hang on the coat rack before he deposits his own hat and jacket. There’s an undeniable warmth here that has nothing to do with the temperature. Red drapes frame the windows, the pieces of on-trend floral furniture matching perfectly. You can practically see a young Bucky listening to the large radio in the corner while sprawled out on the patterned area rug.

“We’re here!” he shouts, leading you by the hand through the living room to approach the kitchen.

The talk comes to an immediate stop before you hear a rumbling of feet. “Bucky!” several women squeal as they rush to meet you in the kitchen’s threshold.

You are momentarily stunned by how similar the Barnes women look. Their various statures are among the only differences between them. You see echoes of Bucky in their raven hair, bright eyes, and dimples as all of them flock to greet you.

Two of them surge forward, each taking an arm exuberantly.“Oh hello!” by way of the pregnant stomach, you’re assuming Rose, greets.

“I can’t believe we are finally meeting you!” the youngest-looking, has to be Evelyn, coos through the sweetest smile that takes you aback.

They begin to talk over each other, variations of “You look lovely!” and “It’s about time he brings you around” and “Are you sure he’s not paying you to pretend to be his girlfriend?” shared in all sorts of merriment.

“Let her breathe, girls,” chides the tallest from her place beneath Bucky’s arm.

Becca, you reason, given Bucky’s easy demeanor as they embrace.

Clad in a clearly well-loved apron, the shortest, eldest, and most effusive of the women reaches her hands toward you and Rose and Evelyn make way for their mother. You clumsily clasp her fingers, maternal affection not among the things you’re used to. She either doesn’t or pretends not to notice your stilted return of her greeting as she says, “Welcome to our home, darling. Needless to say, we are thrilled you and James are here.” It’s the first time you’ve heard someone call Bucky by his first name and it would have been jarring if not for the obvious affection with which Winnifred spoke it. You can’t help but take note that the corners of her eyes have the same distinct crinkle when she smiles, just like someone else you know.

“Thank you for having me over for dinner, Mrs. Barnes.”

She waves a hand, “None of that, please call me Winnifred.” Moving to Bucky, she plants a kiss to his rosy, clean-shaven cheek.

Becca takes the moment to introduce herself before complimenting, “I love your outfit. I wish I could pull that color off.”

“Thank you for saying that, I was wondering if I shouldn’t have dressed up a bit more.” You flatten your hands against your thighs.

Looking down at her own perfectly tailored trousers then back up at you, her eyes dance. “Pants are perfectly dressy enough in this house. I’ve broken the family in for you,” she winks conspiratorially. “But I think we should get to wear what we want when we’re making our own money, ya know?”

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” you smile genuinely for the first time since stepping in the door. Perhaps it was your knowledge of Bucky’s special bond with Becca coloring your opinions, but you suddenly felt as if you had a teammate in your corner, someone to act as a buffer against any awkwardness you may feel.

Winnifred turns from Bucky back to you, laying a soft hand on your shoulder. “I apologize, dear - dinner is running a little behind schedule. Normally I’d try to have the meal finished by the time our guests arrive, but it’s been a hectic day. Bucky tells us you’re the gracious sort who won’t be scared off by our tardiness.”

Feeling all eyes on you you shake your head. “Oh gosh, no, it’s perfectly okay. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“The only thing you’re allowed to do is sit with us in the kitchen and have a glass of tea.” With that, Rose loops her arm through yours and leads you to the table in the kitchen. You obediently take a seat and expect to be joined by Bucky but when you turn, he’s undone the cuffs of his long button-down shirt and is rolling up his sleeves. He grabs a bowl from the counter, grabbing a potato masher and getting to work.

You fight a pang of petulant jealousy that Bucky gets to do something to keep himself busy while you sit in the middle of the room, useless and on display.

Each family member has a task, an area you suspect is fairly common for them. Winnifred focuses on the main dish - something that looks suspiciously like a meatloaf roasting in the oven. Bucky and Becca bump hips as they assist with side dishes as needed - mashed potatoes and some vegetable concoction. Rose has gathered cups for beverages, Evelyn is in charge of setting the table for six. You imagine this scene playing out a thousand times in the past, the ease of moving around each other, the familiarity of the room. It sends an ache to your heart.

You make it through the standard questions politely; where you work, what you do, where you’re from. Everything you’d expected for a ‘meet the family’ night and the meal hadn’t even been served yet. This was going to be fine, what could happen?

“What did you say was your hometown?” Evelyn asks.

Bucky answers for you from where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, sending a bloom of warmth through your chest. “Tarrytown.”

“Tarrytown. . . where have I heard of that?” Winnifred tuts almost to herself while she peers into the oven.

“It’s about a five minute drive from Sleepy Hollow, if that helps.” You sip your tea, waiting on the typical reaction.

“That’s exactly it!” she props a hand on her hip as comprehension dawns on her.

Rose looks to you curiously. “Sleepy Hollow? As in, the Headless Horseman?”

“One and the same,” you nod, relishing in your little town’s shared history. You couldn’t imagine a world where the setting of a 19th century legend wasn’t the sweeping glen outside of your hometown - well technically, village - that inspired gothic stories all through the region.

The family makes various noises of interest and surprise, including a begrudging “I didn’t even know that,” from your boyfriend.

Becca hums. “I can imagine Halloween is a pretty big deal for you guys.”

Finally, a subject you could really talk about. “Oh, you have no idea. It’s a week-long event for us and we get a ridiculous amount of visitors.”

“Do you and your family have any fun traditions for Halloween?”

You smile at Winnifred before answering. “Well, I’m an only child, so it’s always been just me and my parents. We usually volunteer at one of the public events or attend a party our neighbor throws.”

“That sounds lovely,” she returns your smile.

You stand up for a moment, taking a step toward Bucky. “Are you sure I can’t help-”

“NO!” all five Barneses exclaim, twisting to fix you with the same exact insistent, yet kind look. You immediately plant yourself in your seat again.

“You’re our guest,” Rose explains.

“Actually, Rose, you need to sit down too. You’ve been on your feet all evening,” Evelyn pointedly looks down to her sister’s shoes.

“I’m not going to tell you you’re wrong,” she groans before sinking into the chair next to you.

“How much longer do you have?” you ask as the other siblings take orders from Winnifred.

With a thoughtful hum and rub of her belly Rose replies, “About three months, we think.”

“That’s gotta be exciting,” you venture, bordering on territory that was completely unfamiliar.

The young woman’s head bobs back and forth. “Exciting, terrifying. . . depends on the day. I thought I was ready to be a mother, but the closer we get, the more nervous I feel. I have no clue what I’m going to do.” The last bit is said quietly, almost guiltily, as if it had been the first time she’d let the thought breathe outside of her own mind.

Sensing her tenuous feelings, you measure your next words carefully. “While I don’t know exactly what you mean, I can relate to that.” Rose watches you, doe-eyed. “I’ve been living on my own for a few months now and I feel like every day I make it up as I go along. But I don’t think any of us are expected to have everything figured out. Having the willingness, the grit try to figure it out is what counts. Obviously I don’t know anything about being a parent. But it seems like if you love your child and do your best by them, everything will fall into place.”

You weren’t expecting to see Rose’s eyelashes glittering with moisture when you look back to her.

Oh no. I’ve said the wrong thing, why couldn’t I just nod and move on?

The panic you felt on the inside must have started to show on your face, because Rose begins shaking her head, wiping furiously at the tears. “I’m sorry, I’ve been so weepy lately. I needed to hear that. Thank you, really. I haven’t really talked about it before, except with my husband.”

Relief floods you. “You’re welcome, and I mean it. It’s gonna be okay.”

Rose giggles wetly before looking past you. “She’s just as kind as you said, Buck.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” A familiar hand on your shoulder prompts you to look up into Bucky’s soft eyes.

He looks like he wants to say something but is interrupted by Winnifred announcing, “Let’s get the food on the table, kids, it’s dinner time.”

The six of you fit comfortably around the table. Bucky and Winnifred settle at either end while you sit to Bucky’s right, next to Becca. Once Rose and Evelyn are seated across from you the steaming platters are passed around. You fill your plate up probably more than was considered “lady-like”, but it smelled so much like home and you’d rather overeat than insult your hostess by not eating enough.

“Tell us how you met,” Evelyn urges as she picks up her fork. “Buck only mentioned it was through work.”

“Well, do you want to know about the time he almost died or the first time we actually spoke to each other a few weeks later?” You take a bite of the meatloaf, chewing at Bucky smuggly.

The table as a whole freezes and all heads swivel to Bucky, who has developed a sudden intense interest in his meatloaf.

“James, you said this job was safe.” Winnifred does a fair job of hiding her natural worry behind a stern gaze.

“Compared to war it is. And saying I almost died is an exaggeration.”

“Free-falling 10 stories is exaggerating near-death?” you say skeptically.

“Bucky!” The four women squawk. He finally has the decency to look embarrassed.

“I was never in danger, it was just a little hiccup.”

You share what you saw that crisp April morning, his fearlessness, his strength, his kindness during your first true interaction through the window. And a concerning disregard for his personal safety, but that was beside the point.

Bucky finally chimes in when you describe how stressed you were on your first day. “When I actually got to cleaning the window close to her desk, she was so frazzled she couldn’t even find the pencil behind her ear.” He winks at you before assuring you, “It was adorable.”

“Guess you’ve been keeping me sane ever since, huh?” you let a smile loose, the fondness of that first memory erasing any embarrassment you may have had.

You don’t miss the twinkle in his eye as he says, “That’s debatable.”

“Takes crazy to know crazy.” His sisters dissolve into giggles at your sass, Winnifred hiding a sly grin behind her napkin. “Anyway, we went on our first date a couple weeks later.”

Becca props her chin on a hand before she mockingly muses, “Well isn’t that sickeningly cute.” Bucky sends a face her way that Winnifred immediately chastises him for, muttering something about “adult toddlers”.

A spirited debate begins amongst the siblings regarding Bucky’s behavior as an older brother and first-born.

You look up from your plate upon hearing your name, finding Evelyn leaning on her elbows toward you. “Count yourself lucky to not have any brothers or sisters, he was an absolute terror growing up.”

“Oh come on, I think it was the standard fare,” Bucky tries to bargain. “And I spent a lot of time carting you around so you could hang out with friends.”

Evelyn presses her fingertips together, steepling her hands. “Shall we go back to the worst Thanksgiving of my life?” Bucky groans, a hand coming up to cover his eyes.

The girl’s attention is on you now, eyes as expressive as her brother’s. “I get massive hiccups after dinner which stick around for an hour. Buck walks in with a ‘Hey, I learned a surefire way to get rid of hiccups, wanna try?’ And of course I do because I’m miserable and I trust my big brother. Five minutes later he’s got me hanging upside down by my ankles while Becca pours water into my mouth. He tried to drown me! Both of you did!”

“I was trying to help! Plus that was a long time ago - I was young and foolish.”

“YOU WERE 23!” Evelyn yells, causing you to sputter into your beverage.

“Your hiccups stopped didn’t they?” Bucky’s hand is on his chest, trying to hold back his laughter.

“Only after you nearly dropped me when Mom came into the room!” Everyone, even Winnifred, can’t contain themselves at that; everyone else re-living the memory while you chuckle just imagining it. You love the idea of the shenanigans the Barnes children got up to in this house, picturing this kind of laughter around the clock. Growing up, your own small house was often quiet with only three mild-mannered people taking up residence.

The sound of a car door slamming shut has Bucky glancing toward the kitchen window, brows knitting together. The front door opens and his posture immediately shifts as he looks to his Ma. She’s already on her feet, disappearing into the hallway where your ears pick up a deep voice. The siblings around you share hard looks, leaving you confused. But then Winnifred appears in the kitchen doorway, eyes trained on Bucky. Something is shared between them extremely quickly that you can’t keep up with before realizing what’s happened.

George Barnes shuffles in looking weary and dour, setting his luggage down by the couch. Bucky shares many of his features - the strong jaw, consistent hairline, the mouth - yet you’d never seen this sour of an expression on his son’s face.

Bucky stands. “Dad. Didn’t know you were going to make it.”

“Well I heard we were having a guest and didn’t want to miss the opportunity to meet her.”

Bucky twists the cloth napkin in his hands tightly.

Not sure what else to do, you stand and smile at George, drawing his attention.

He removes his hat, fiddling with it in one hand. “So this is the girl I’ve heard so much about. George Barnes.” A small wave is given across the table, his sharp eyes flicking down to your outfit for a moment before returning to study you.

“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” you offer, your mind grasping desperately for something else to say but coming up empty.

Breaking the silence, Winnifred turns to Evelyn. “Could you grab another setting please? We’ll have to shift around a little bit.” Everyone moves from their stock-still positions, shuffling plates around the table to make room for one more seat. Bucky pulls a chair next to yours as you shift closer to Becca, managing to sit snugly between the siblings as George replaces Bucky at the head of the table.

The patriarch gratefully accepts the full plate set in front of him, not wasting a moment to begin his meal. The rest of the family turns to their own food. You take note that Evelyn has removed her elbows from the table. Becca has fallen silent. Rose’s face lacks a smile. You’re certain if Bucky sits up any straighter he’s going to pull a muscle.

What just happened? You wonder, more than a little stunned.

“So, Bucky, how’s your training going?” Rose attempts, voice desperate to dispel the tension in the room.

Only you catch the moment of hesitation Bucky has before answering. “It’s tough, but I think I’m doing well. Spend almost every spare minute studying. After Independence Day I’m headed to Pennsylvania for a month of on-site training. I’ve been told it will be intense.”

“Mmm, I remember those days of training. It felt like forever,” you remark, taking a stab at your vegetables.

“I cannot imagine what it must have been like to be a woman in such a masculine profession,” Becca comments, tone almost formal as she keeps her eyes down.

George grunts from his chair, scooping another forkful of mashed potatoes. The noise strikes a chord in Bucky - you can see his mouth moving to open, a bitter retort no doubt on his tongue. Instinctually you rest a hand on his thigh, halting him.

“Yes, it was a challenge. But nothing I couldn’t handle,” you smile sweetly at Becca, feeling George watching you. Pointedly ignoring him, you tack on, “You could’ve handled it too. It’s not so bad.”

Bucky continues. “Good news is that Harvey, her uncle,” he motions to you, “offered me a position as a serviceman in his garage once I get back. He’s agreed to help teach me as I finish up my training.” You pat Bucky’s leg, for the umpteenth time in your life thankful for your Uncle Harvey.George joins the conversation.

“You’ve got a job lined up then, have you?”

“Yes, sir.” Bucky adds a tight nod of assent.

“Ya know, James-” you can’t help but compare Winnifred’s sweet handling of the name versus George’s almost scold, “-I would’ve been more than happy to have set you up with a position at my company if you’d asked. That was the plan before you enlisted.”

“I know, Dad. I needed something new.”

His father huffs, eyes cutting to you yet again. “Didn’t think I pushed you to be in the top of your class all those years to end up with you in that profession. But it’s your life.”

The words are coming out of your mouth before your mind can process them.

“Actually, being a mechanic requires an advanced understanding of mathematics and physics as well as the ability to comprehend mechanical and electrical engineering. Your efforts weren’t wasted sir, they are being put to excellent use.”

Again, the stillness at the dining table is glaringly obvious.

A tinge of regret swirls in your gut. Not from having said the words, but for the discomfort it caused five members of the family. The sixth, you were quickly discovering you didn’t care too much for.

“George, how was your work trip?” Winnifred questions, graciously shifting focus away from her son.

However, your focus turns to Bucky completely. A close look shows that he’s making a valiant effort to control his breathing, and you’re guessing his temper too. You tap fingers on the back of his hand and he flips it over to thread your digits together. The motion calms you somewhat, worry that you had added to his anxiety easing. A gentle squeeze from him signals that he’s thankful. You squeeze twice to tell him he’s doing great. He’s in the middle of his sequence of three squeezes back when the topic of conversation turns again, drawing your attention elsewhere.

Some time later George lays his fork down, sighing in satisfaction. “Dinner was wonderful, Winnie,” he says rather kindly, the obvious affection for his wife in his gaze a stark contrast to his behavior toward everyone else.

“Thank you, dear.” Winnifred turns, “Evelyn, I believe it’s your turn to wash up.”

“Oh please, let me help,” you implore. The family begins to protest before you raise your voice above them, already taking yours and Bucky’s plates in hand. “Please, let me be useful tonight. You all have been wonderful hosts, let me feel a little better about myself.”

Without much resistance, the Barneses acquiesce. Winnifred places bread pudding on the table, starts up a pot of coffee, and doles out mugs. After scraping the remnants of food from the dinner plates you take station next to Evelyn, towel at the ready to dry the dishes after she washes and rinses.

After a few plates and asking after her boyfriend, you go after the only other thing you really know about Evelyn. “You graduated high school, right? What’s next for you, Evie?”

“Evelyn,” she says softly.

“I’m sorry?”

Her shy glance at you hints at a deeper insecurity. “Would you mind calling me Evelyn?”

You blink. “Oh gosh, of course I don’t mind. I am so sorry, that’s just all I’ve heard Bucky call you.”

A gentle sigh escapes her before she confides, “I’ve asked him to stop calling me Evie. He hasn’t quite gotten around to it.”

“Ah. Childhood nickname I assume?” you calmly wipe down a few utensils before setting them aside.

“Right. It just. . .“ Evelyn contemplates the suds covering her hands, “. . . doesn’t sound like an adult. And it feels like when Bucky calls me Evie, he’s not thinking of me as an adult. He’s still picturing the scrawny 14-year-old little sister he left behind when he joined the army. I’ve grown up a lot since then, but he’s not really seeing that.” She hands over a plate ready for drying, catching your thoughtful face. “I’m sorry, that was a lot.”

“No, no, I understand. Thank you for telling me. So, Evelyn, tell me what your plans are.”

As you listen to Evelyn talk about engagement rings and wedding plans, you check over your shoulder and catch Bucky watching you. Unlike every other time in your relationship when you’ve caught him looking, he doesn’t turn away bashfully. In fact, his nose crinkles ever-so-slightly while his lips curl into a smile. Part of you wants to feel self-conscious, but another part preens at the attention, the adoration in his eyes.

His content expression disappears, however, when George turns to say something to him, the corners of his mouth turning down quickly. You sigh internally. Turns out you’d taken Steve’s warning about father and son not getting along a little too lightly. And it also turns out that it was harder to watch than you’d expected.

As soon as the dishes are set back in their places in the cabinet, you and Evelyn join the table once more. Gratefully accepting the coffee Bucky passes you sit in your chair, noticing that he’d scooted ever-so-slightly closer with his arm stretching across the back of your seat.

“I understand you work, is that right?”

A glance up from your bread pudding confirms that George was speaking to you. Scrutinizing men was something you dealt with every day. This was child’s play. “Yes, sir. In Chevrolet’s corporate office.”

“Doing what?”

“I work directly for a supply manager, I monitor his correspondence and help maintain the relationship between Chevrolet and our factories in this region.”

“And you type letters, I assume?”

Not being able to stop the narrowing of your eyes you take a beat before responding, “Yes, sir. That’s one of my many responsibilities.”

George takes a sip of coffee, matching your scrupulous gaze squarely. “And you’re finding moving from factory work to being a secretary satisfying?”

Wooden chair legs screech across the floor as Bucky stands abruptly, aggressively tabling his coffee mug. “We better get going, work will come early in the morning and we’ve got a good walk home.”

Everyone else stands to their feet - George being the last to rise - and Bucky grabs your things for you. As you accept hugs from Rose and Evelyn, you watch Winnifred embrace Bucky from the corner of your eye. She whispers something in his ear. Bucky pulls back, smile and nod tight as he turns to his father.

You miss their exchange when Becca offers her own hug. “We should grab dinner sometime after work!”

“I would really enjoy that, Becca. Thank you for being so welcoming,” you squeeze back.

Before pulling away completely she whispers, “You have done my brother a world of good and I will love you for that forever.” Someone would think she’d punched you in the stomach, the way the breath was knocked out of you.

Turns out that George Barnes spares you from having to respond. “It has been very nice meeting you, young lady,” he bellows as sticks his hand out to you.

“Likewise, Mr. Barnes.” You grasp it and shake firmly, making a point to maintain eye contact before you part.

Winnifred grabs your hands once again. “You are a true joy. Thank you for spending the evening with us. I hope we get to see you soon and get to know you better.” Her openness continues to throw you for a loop. “And if you’re ever in the neighborhood and need anything, our door is always open.”You tell her that you’ll keep that in mind as you return her hug.

Everyone says a last “goodbye!” as Bucky shuts the door, placing his hat on his head. He latches the iron gate before turning to you.

Hands shoved in his pockets, he kicks a rock.

“You okay?” you inquire hesitantly.

He looks up at the dark sky. “I think so. Are you?” Blue eyes dart to yours, the concern there enhanced by the street lamps.

You chuckle. “I think so.”

“I’m so sorry,” he moves to rub the back of his neck as if it pained him. “I had no clue he was going to be here-”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Bucky.”

He lets out a humorless laugh. “We both know that’s not true. I don’t know why he is the way he is.”

“I think at some point in time we all have that thought about our parents. But your mom is as lovely as I expected. All the girls are, actually.”

His eyes shift over your shoulder and out of nowhere, he waves his arms to one side in a “shoo!” motion. You spin to see three feminine shadows scurry away from the window and swear you hear laughter.

“Your sisters are a ball of fun,” you step into Bucky, wrapping arms around his waist. His heartbeat is a little too fast under your ear but he eventually embraces you as well. “I had a nice time tonight, honey. Truly.”

“You sure?” He murmurs, tilting your chin up.

“I’m sure,” you nod, probably a little too eagerly.

Incredulous, he strokes your cheek with a finger. “How did I ever find you?” he presses his lips to your forehead.

“Do we really have to go over you almost dying again?”

His chest rumbles with laughter, the last of his shoulder tension dissipating.

“Get out of here!” Bucky shouts suddenly, startling you before realizing you’re not his intended target. This time, Rose, Evelyn, and Becca keep peeking through the drapes, tongues sticking out at their brother. “Sisters,” he scoffs before he grabs your hand and leads you down the street back to the subway station.

Chapter Thirteen

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#Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes reader insert #Bucky Barnes x you #Bucky Barnes fanfiction #Bucky Barnes Fluff #Bucky Barnes series #All We've Got is Time #Chapter Twelve #beka writes

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starlightsoulwriting · 4 years

Text

Constellations Against Skin

n.t.

“You hold him in your arms, a thousand stars in the bones of a man, and nobody could have thought you’d come so close to holding constellations against your skin.”

Dean Winchester X Reader; Castiel X Reader

Soulmate AU

[AO3] [Chapter List]

You start your new case with the boys and flirt your way into a crime scene. Dean seems stressed about something.

Five: Mask

You and Sam bolt awake at the exact same time the next morning, half past three.

You’re in a cold sweat, fire and grief rushing through your chest and holding your heart in a chokehold. You could hear your own heartbeat pounding too-loud in your ears and felt tears burning on the edge of your eyes.

And on the bed across from you was Sam, sat awake in exactly the same way, the glow of the neon sign outside outlining him in pale blue. His breaths came out in short, shallow pants, and if you’d bothered to look hard enough you would have seen the sheen of sweat and not-shed tears on him.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment.

"Did you-" He started, a concerned upturn taking over his brows before took a deep breath, seeming to steady himself. "Did you see all that?"

"Yeah," You said softly, throwing off your sheets and curling your arms around your knees. It was too hot all of a sudden. "Sorry."

You didn't know what else you could possibly say to him. Someone else's dream had never been so loud before - it completely ignored the charm you still wore around your neck, pounding against the inside of your skull like drums, almost desperate to escape. Unfamiliar energy permeated the thoughts like oil on a shirt that refused to wash out. But it was energy that wasn’t Sam’s. It felt like acid poured down your throat and the smell of blood, instead of sea-breeze and old parchment like you would expect of something coming out of Sam’s head.

Something real weird was going on here.

But you’d experienced the nightmare just as he had, regardless of where it came from.

So, yeah, you felt bad for feeling all of this. For reliving how his soulmate had died right in front of your eyes. Sam’s eyes. And that hadn’t been yours to see. But you felt like crying for her nonetheless, like his grief was your own, threatening to swallow you up. You were so going to puke if you didn’t calm down here.

There was a reason you wore the necklace. To prevent yourself from feeling everyone else's shit. You put your forehead on the clammy skin of your arms that were still resting against your knees, and took a few deep, shuddering breaths to steady yourself. You were okay. Your soulmate was not on fire on some dorm ceiling.

"Please don’t tell Dean." Sam's voice brought you out of yourself, and his voice sounded uncharacteristically small in the darkness of the early morning.

“That you had a nightmare?” You whispered back, sparing a glance at Dean - you were just barely able to make out his form near the TV stand, where he was currently sleeping like a log.

“I don’t want him to worry, okay?" Exasperated, tired and concerned all at once. "Please, just… leave it be.”

“Of course,” You murmured, staring blankly into the darkness and massaging at the tension coiled in your shoulders. “But how often does this happen, exactly?”

He was quiet for a moment, and almost sounded sheepish. “Almost every night,” You just barely caught the words. “Sorry.”

Great. Just your luck.

Even more reason to solve this case fast, you guess.

You scrunched up your whole face in an ugly way. “I guess we’re both sorry, huh?”

You figured you might as well do something and rolled out of bed, kneeling next to your bag and feeling around for the soft paper of an old book and a reading light.

“Yeah.” Sam stood up behind you and quietly padded to the bathroom, getting changed into gym clothes and leaving not long after. All he gave you was a quick, awkward wave goodbye before he went for a run.

You just sighed and settled into the crackley hotel sheets, opening your book and letting the familiar words relax you even as Dean snored in the background.

Sam still wasn’t back by five am, when you couldn't keep your eyes open anymore despite your resolution to wait up for him. But your head was bobbing up and down, eyes pulling closed like they were glued to lead weights, and you were falling asleep for seconds, maybe minutes at a time before jarring yourself back awake, just to repeat the cycle again.

Eventually your eyes sealed shut and you didn't open them again until the next morning.

…

But when you woke up to your alarm at six-thirty, cheek still smashed against the book you fell asleep on, Sam was already sitting at the tiny motel table, already up and dressed in his cheap FBI outfit. Probably didn’t get any more rest last night judging by the bags under his eyes.

How he pulled off the Fed thing with that hair was a mystery to you. He didn't even comb it back.

You yawned loudly and blearily pushed yourself up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. Dean was doing the same on the floor, cracking like ten joints as he stretched out. Ow.

He commented on his brother’s early start, and you said nothing. Minded your own business and unfolded your suit in silence, even when Dean asked him what was wrong. You weren’t one to spill personal business - not anymore. It was Sam’s job to deal with it, not yours.

Ever since you'd gotten back to hunting last year you'd been more tight-lipped than you'd ever been. Told yourself you would never tell secrets that weren’t yours ever again, unless keeping your mouth shut would get someone hurt. And Sam having nightmares wasn’t going to hurt anyone but you.

So you held your tongue.

Didn’t mean you weren’t worried about him, though, especially when you were going to suffer through it with him for the time being. But you didn’t know how much you could do to help even if you tried. As much you could do with your powers, you couldn’t stop nightmares. Just live through them.

You rubbed at the knot in your neck from falling asleep on your book and went to the bathroom, resolving as you brushed your teeth to be quick about this hunt. You were going to go crazy if you stayed with the Winchesters for too long, you just knew it, between sleep deprivation and near constant Dean-induced heart palpitations. You were so fucked.

Shrugging on your too-crisp white button up, you cringed at the feeling of the stiff cotton. It was unwavering, and wrinkled weirdly when you moved, and the whole Fed getup just made you feel like some goody-two-shoes local politician. Or like you were back in that relentless fucking Catholic school.

But dressing up was just as much as part of the job as anything else. Unfortunately. So you dealt with the indignity of wearing businessman's wool for the sake of the case. You weren't a coward. You could handle wearing a blazer for a few hours. Totally. Not a problem. Didn’t make you want to shake out of your skin at all.

Then you reached for your boring, standard government-issue gun - your normal piece was actually nice to look at, but was too flashy - and nestled it beside the front of your hip bone. You preferred your normal leather side holster, but this thin spandex junk was the only thing that fit under the damn suit. Stupid.

“So do we have a story as to why there’s three of us?” You raised your voice loud enough for the boys to hear you through the bathroom door as you scrubbed a bit of ink off of your face. “Or do I have to think of it myself?”

A short pause.

“We could just tell the truth,” Sam rang from the bedroom as you started wrestling with your hair. How had it even done that? “That it’s your first case back after you were injured. Keep it simple.”

“I don’t wanna seem incompetent or something, though.” You frowned and dabbed on a bit of makeup. Just enough to be convincing. You'd never been super great at it - being on the road left you with few opportunities to practice, and there was only so much room in your bag. So you kept it simple. Professional. “Maybe I’m a criminal profiler.”

“We’re the agents and you’re the shrink? That could work.” That was Dean, eloquent as always. He hadn't looked you in the eye yet, still, but you were shoving your frustration aside for the sake of peace. Again. Old habits, you supposed. "You know enough psychobabble for that?"

"Honey, I grew up surrounded by foster kids." You smiled smugly and sauntered out of the bathroom in your dark, tailored suit: straight-leg pants that fit you perfectly and blazer that pulled in at the waist without being restrictive. You didn’t wear a tie. You wouldn’t wear a tie under threat of death. "I know all the psychobabble."

Then you sat on the bed while Dean took his turn, pulling on your classic men’s dress shoes, in a size that actually fit you, with the best insoles you could afford slipped into them. God only knew if you would need to run in these bad boys. You were not wearing heels to a ghost hunt, even if they made you feel sexy.

You ignored the quirked brow in your direction from Dean on his way past you, trying not to think about everything that could be running through his head. If he wanted to be weird you would let him. You would just drink your coffee in silence and not look at each other at all. Perfectly normal.

Though you did almost have a heart attack when Dean walked out a few minutes later in a suit of his own. Hoo boy. Just imagine how good he would look in a decent tux. The cheap thing he was wearing now did almost nothing for him, but the thought of grabbing his tie and pulling him into a heated kiss practically made you salivate.

It was fucking pavlovian how you reacted to this man. It was starting to get stupid.

You were starting to wonder if you actually should’ve taken this case.

You took a deep breath and fought the urge to offer to buy the boys new, nicer suits. You swallowed it down with your shitty motel coffee. That would be light-years beyond weird. Normal people didn't bring co-workers to tailors to get them expensive suits.

Not like you hadn't done it before, but still. You were trying to distance yourself from shit like that. And your cash flow was a joke compared to before.

You just turned around too quickly and grabbed your notepad, catching Sam's raised-eyebrow smirk all the way from the door. His eyes glinted and you swore that he was chuckling under his breath.

Asshole thought this was funny. You shoved your way past him and your face felt hot.

He was so on to you.

Thankfully you were at the crime scene not long after that, thanks to Dean’s reckless driving. It was an old, cute, Victorian style home turned frat-house, with more than enough rooms for the small chapter. Crime scene tape cordoned off the otherwise empty front porch from the jarringly normal neighborhood around you. The eerie, oppressive kind of normal.

A young, blonde police officer with an undercut stood in front of the house like a sentry, thumbs hooked in her belt loops as she scrutinized everyone walking past. Including you.

Her name plate read Officer Wilson. And she... was very buff. And had a hell of a jawline.

You ignored the fact she could probably bench lift you, and how that made your insides melt into a pile of useless gay goop, and let Dean talk to her instead. He flashed his badge at her and you and Sam followed suit. “Agent Buck, FBI. These are Agents Stipe and Mills. We need access to the crime scene.”

“We didn’t get any calls about the FBI comin’ up here.” She narrowed her eyes at the three of you, the same dissecting gaze from before falling across you. Then she paused suddenly, brown eyes shooting sharp like daggers at Dean. “And don’t you normally come in pairs?”

“We sent notice yesterday,did it not go through?” Sam handed her a card, smiling placatingly in that way he does. “You can call our supervisor, if you really need to, but he’s very busy and I don’t think he would be too happy.”

She made a humming noise in the back of her throat, obviously unconvinced.

Time to turn up the charm, then. You had a good feeling about this.

“Hi, Officer Wilson, right? I’m Agent Mills! It's a shame to meet in such unfortunate circumstances, but I can't say I regret it.” You put on your best charming smile and shot her a wink, flipping your hair slightly and tilting your head in what you hoped was an appealing manner. “I’m actually the reason we’re here. You see, I’m a psychoanalyst. Agents Buck and Stipe are here to investigate while I build a profile. This might be connected to a case in Louisiana, and it’s essential that we see the crime scene and autopsy in person.” You leaned in conspiratorially, voice low, like you’re not supposed to be telling her this, before you lightly rested your hand on her forearm. You caught the way her eyes wandered downward, stopping to linger on your best features. There was a reason you'd gotten this suit fitted the way you did, after all. You licked your lips to get her attention back on your face. “Have to be sure we don’t have a murderer crossing state lines. You understand.”

She half-heartedly looked at your ID one more time before her lips spread into a coy smile, and she nodded towards the door. “Of course, Agent,” She moved over and unlocked it, before leading you three up the creaky stairs to the primary crime scene - Corey’s pigsty of a bedroom. “Let me know if you need anything else, Agent Mills.” She gave you a lingering look, her hand brushing your arm gently as she left the room and you just about died on the spot, swallowing hard.

You saw how Sam eyed the exchange with furrowed brows. You didn't catch Dean's burning look behind you.

Well, that was one way to get inside a crime scene.

When she was back outside Sam turned to you while Dean hurried off to the other side of the room. “How did you know that would work?"

"Educated guess." You shrugged, tilting your head and peering at the dried blood on the sheets instead of facing the relatively minor heat of his gaze. It had crusted up on either side of where the body was before the coroner got their hands on it, forming two distinct blobs on the bed.

Sam didn't seem very convinced.

You busied yourself by rummaging around the cluttered moving boxes, looking for anything that might tell you why Corey was targeted. Dean's EMF was going nuts in the corner, and you pulled out yours to see if you could find anything the ghost might've touched directly, apart from the bed, which sent the thing haywire.

The cardboard boxes full of random shit were barely registering at all. Nothing on his desk seemed out of place, all normal. It wasn't until you moved to the nightstand that your meter really started screaming.

Woah.

You hovered around, trying to hone in on what was making it go off so much, until you landed on a scrap of fabric. You picked it up with furrowed brows, turning it over in your hands.

A face mask?

A cloth face mask with Oni-style teeth, like something a k-pop artist would wear.

Now why did that seem familiar?

"It seems like Corey here wasn't as nice as everyone thinks." Sam's said from off to your right, interrupting your thoughts. Your eyebrows shot up as you turned to see him holding a shoebox in one hand and a photo in the other. He held one up so you could see. "Upskirts."

“Dude, you didn’t need to show me that.” You wrinkled your nose. Gross.

Sam just shrugged at you.

"We've had ghosts target people for their secrets before," Dean called from the window, thankfully interrupting the exchange, and still looking for whatever was making the EMF spike over by him. "We thinking something like that?"

You sighed and ran your hand through your hair, messing it up from it's professional look and immediately regretting it. Now you would have to find a mirror, damn it. "I guess it'll depend on what kind of suspicious deaths we can find in the area."

"That sounds like a good job for you guys!" Dean clapped and shot some finger guns at you and Sam.

No.

You stood up and put a hand on your hip. "I've just spent the last month and a half doing research." You pointed a finger at him, and you knew you looked like some lame mom scolding their child but you didn’t really care. "I'm going to the autopsy."

Sam sighed behind you, seemingly resigned to his fate. "I'll hit up the library, you guys go to the ME's office."

"Are you sure?"

Now you felt bad.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, whatever."

"You're the best, dude," You grinned stupidly. It should not make you this happy to see a dead body, honestly. But you'd never claimed to be the most sane person on the planet.

On your way out Officer Wilson gave you a cheeky smile and some waggled eyebrows. You winked back at her, trying not to feel smug.

Sam was giving you that weird look again and you flushed, turning to the car and not looking back.

Oh no. You needed to turn down your flirt. Shit. They didn't need to know you played for both teams. You didn't need to be rejected as soon as you found friends.

So you stayed quiet all the way to the autopsy, even after you left Sam to wade through public records by himself at the library. Dean wasn’t feeling too chatty either, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight and tension in his whole body.

You nervously picked at the pilling wool fibers on your pants. Maybe he’d heard you and Sam last night. Or maybe you were bad at keeping your blush down when confronted with buff women. Maybe both. Either way you felt the nerves taking up the space where air should’ve been inside your lungs.

The ME's Office was nestled in a corner between a scuzzy looking record shop and a barely-standing post office. As soon as you walked in the smell of formaldehyde hit you like a truck, making your lips curl and eyes water. Great.

That always bode well for a place's hygiene standards, at least, if not their consideration for the living.

It was easy enough to talk yourself into the back to see the body; the clerk didn't even care enough to look at your IDs. Wasn't paid enough to give a shit, you guessed. And the place didn't get much funding from the look of it.

Only about half the noisy fluorescent lights even worked, and the floor tiles needed a hell of a wash. Dark brown stains of God knows what caked thick in the grout. Eugh. There goes your hope that the smell meant they actually disinfected the place.

You were so dousing yourself in hand sanitizer when you got back to the motel. You would think with all the college money coming in the town could afford better facilities, but you'd never put it past Bureaucracy to be inefficient.

The Medical Examiner, Dr. Elliot, was pushing eighty years old and hunched over so far he almost resembled a candy cane. His hands were gnarled with arthritis but didn't shake so much as a hair's width. His scraggly white hair looked ready to roll off his head and become a tumbleweed. Like Doc Brown plus fifteen or so years.

"It's about time!" He smiled so wide his dentures almost popped out when he saw you two walk in and you bit back a laugh. "It's not every day we get a good murder. I was expecting the FBI to show up days ago."

You wouldn't mention that the murder only happened a day and a half ago.

"...Right," Dean smiled good naturedly as Dr. Elliot pulled Corey Matheson's body from a metal drawer. "It's been a while since the last murder in town, then?"

"Oh yes, not since the Homecoming of ninety-two. Nasty business, two football players who took a fight off the field. The poor kid from Mountain State had a massive brain hemorrhage and died a full two days later." He sighed and pulled down the sheet covering the body. "Poor boys didn't even see it coming."

"And what was the cause of death here?" You leaned in to look at the victim's face. Only five or so years younger than you but he just looked like a kid. A creepy kid, but still a damn kid. "And I'll need to take a few photos myself for my notes."

"Go ahead," he waved at the body and walked back over to his desk, grabbing his report from a filing cabinet. You pulled out your Polaroid camera from your messenger bag and shot a picture of the wound cut into Corey's face - a smile from one ear to the other.

"Cause of death was exsanguination. Out of the nine stab wounds to the torso, three hit the heart, and another four hit major veins and arteries. He would've bled out in less than a minute." He gestured to the face. "Facial lacerations caused after death, and not with a scalpel. Maybe a kitchen knife or other relatively dull cutting instrument. No wounds anywhere else on him."

"That's odd," You pressed your lips into a thin line at that, brows almost touching. "No defensive wounds?"

"None to be seen. Fit as a fiddle but for the fact he's dead."

"Right." You let out a snort through your nose before coughing into your elbow to cover it up. "Thank you for your help."

"Oh, no problem at all! I'm always happy to have visitors!"

You matched his smile, turning back to give him a tiny wave on the way out.

There was a niggling feeling in the back of your mind. A familiar ring to the gruesome smile cut into a face that sent your thoughts reeling, wracking through memories of your old cases for anything similar.

You turned to Dean as he pulled out of the lot. "Does any of this feel oddly familiar to you?"

He shrugged and shook his head. He seemed a bit less tense than earlier. "Not more than any other case."

You hummed, sinking back into the depths of your memories, thinking over the case the whole drive to the motel.

Sam was there when you got back, eyes half-glazed from staring at the computer for so long. He must’ve walked back from the library by himself.

"Find anything?" Dean shrugged off his jacket and you tried not to stare at his arms.

"Just that Corey had some complaints in high school that didn't lead anywhere." He pinched the bridge of his nose, then rubbed at his sinuses. You moved over to your nightstand, grabbing at a small bag on top. "No murders that match, though. Or suicides."

“Like, at all?” Dean’s eyebrows went quirky.

“No,” Sam continued as you rifled through your med pack for some Tylenol. Your leg felt like it was on fire - you would have to try and walk less tomorrow. “But he has a sister that goes to Pikes. Working on her Asian Studies Masters. Works as a TA year-round.”

“Asian Studies?” Dean had a stupid, dopey look on his face. “Sounds like my kinda deal.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Dude.” Sam sounded like he was about to start something, but you started talking before he could.

“We should talk to her, then,” You said plainly, finally finding the meds and swallowing them dry - you’d gotten used to it. You wiped your mouth and started again. “Maybe we can see if something from their hometown hitched a ride. Is she on-campus?”

Sam glanced at the computer for a moment before looking back at you. “No, she lives in an apartment on the other side of town.”

You stood up with a wince, grabbing all your things again even though you’d just sat down. “Let's go then.”

“Woah, there, Speedy Gonalez,” Dean eyed your right leg and you crossed your arms defensively. “Why don’t we wait a bit and have some lunch?”

You huffed, sitting down on your bed again. “Sure. Whatever.”

You weren’t going to fight him on this, but you weren’t going to say you were in pain.

He clapped his hands. “Alright, are we thinking the diner up the street?”

A sigh and a nod from Sam, leaving you outvoted no matter what you said.

Greasy diner food it was.

A/N: Hm, jeez, I wonder why Dean is so tense. Lol my poor babies.

This chapter brought to you by sheer force of will. This thing did not want to be written. Been banging my head against a wall for a week trying to get it longer than a thousand words. My college has switched to online for the rest of the semester and that's... been something. My seventy-five year old geography professor delayed the test because he doesn't know how our online system works. So here's to hoping it's not a horrible, scrambled mess when it does come out.

So, anyone have ideas or predictions? And what have you been occupying your time with in self-isolation? I've picked Pokemon back up and have taken up cross-stitch!

As always, thank you so much for reading, and have a nice day! <3

#supernatural x reader #soulmate au #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #Castiel x reader #supernatural #c.a.s.#chaptered #longfic #reader #tw nightmares #x reader

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witchqueenofthemoon · 5 years

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BODY AND SOUL Part 1 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: This is basically a Millory AU/Alternate Universe where Cody’s character Duncan from HOUSE OF CARDS meets a version of Mallory/Billie. I might eventually tie it into some kind of reincarnation arc/parallel AHS universe? Her name is Mackenzie Stone and I’ll illuminate more on who she is in time regarding her HoC character, but for all intents and purposes she is Mallory/Billie and Duncan is Michael/Cody. Part 1 is their fortuitous first night together. There is gonna be a LOT of smut in this fic, it’ll be some light plotty stuff but mostly them fucking on everything and looking super hot and dreaming about ripping each other’s clothes off in rooms full of important people. And a lot of stuff about their clothes. But mostly them touching each other with aching fingers and fucking. Please leave me feedback if you like it! Writing this was a big deal for me; it’s the longest bit of fiction I’ve written in a long time and the project will be the realization of an important goal for me this year.

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I send my soul through time and space. To greet you. You will understand.

--James Elroy Flecker, from To A Poet A Thousand Years Hence, 1910.

Love can be scary; not because of heartbreak or being left, but because it can consume you all at once. It’ll spread in your veins like the poison of a snake; it’s unstoppable and only when it’s too late, you’ll find yourself drowning in it. It’ll intrude your daily life, step by step until you find that love is everywhere you may go or look or even listen to. It’ll haunt you at night; in the morning; every time of the day, there’s no escape. Love will make you fear the person that has sparked this mess inside of you; overwhelming you with waves of emotions which will bring you to your knees. But in all of this, you’ll recognize the sensation of happiness, you’ll love the weakness and inability to control it. At some point you’ll crave it so much, that you’ll face your fear and walk to the other side of it - right into the arms of your loved one. And that’s when you know; love is just a hurricane that demands for you to face your fears.

--s.m.

The other morning I heard a woman on the radio describe her art, enormous conceptual installations that involve manipulations of breath and light. As she was explaining her process, this artist used a phrase I'd never heard before: "thin places." It's a Celtic concept, one that stems from an old proverb that says, "Heaven and earth are only three feet apart, but in the thin places that distance is even smaller." In thin places, the folklore goes, the barrier between the physical world and the spiritual world wears thin and becomes porous. Invisible things, like music or love or dead people or God, might become visible there, or if they don't become visible they become so present and tangible that is doesn't matter. Distinctions between you and not-you, real and unreal, worldly and otherworldly, fall away.

The original thin places were wild landscapes because the idea was born in the heaths of Connemara, a place that's so austere and ancient, so full of twists and hiding places and divots a thousand years old, that it seems somehow likely you might poke a hole through to another reality. But the radio lady said that the delight of thin places was the unpredictability of their location. You can find them someplace with magic written all over it, like Connemara or the Himalayas, but they also pop up in dive bars, bedrooms, hospital rooms. They can appear and disappear.

--Thin Places, Jordan Kisner.

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Duncan let the wine glass hang limply from between the crook of his fingers. Even drinking felt boring among these dull people. He stared off into the night, leaning on the ledge, imagining dropping the glass down onto the head of an unsuspecting suit below as a bored smile played at the edges of his mouth, the cool early-summer air ruffling the halo of his curls. He didn’t know it, but his blue eyes appeared much darker than usual in the glow of the soft, round lights that lined the opulent deck. Roses adorned the balcony; row after row of dark red, richly in bloom, almost obscene in their beauty, defiantly organic, thrown against the careful architecture of a DC penthouse. They were, thus far, the only interesting thing here.

“Fuck,” he muttered, sighing and pulling one long-fingered hand through his hair, absently straightening his already perfectly pressed, perfectly tailored black blazer as the hand fell downward. One more hour and he could leave; he stared at his silver Cartier watch absently; his mother had insisted he make an appearance here for the benefit of several wealthy donors to the Foundation (“just let them stare at you for awhile, you know how people love to do that, reel them in,” she said with a dry smile, and he nodded at her, smiling in return, ever the obedient son), but she hadn’t said he need stay for the whole party, after all. Showing up, killing time for a few hours should do the work she wanted, and he’d already made nice with those in the room he recognized from charity balls and fundraisers and galas past. Now the long, slow clock-watch until 11 PM, when he could make a stylishly early exit.

He was lost in these thoughts of escape and duty, still staring out at the glittering affectation of the capital city, when someone gazing similarly into the night caught the corner of his eye.

It was the hair first; then her expression. Chestnut-honey waves cascaded down her back; a small band of gold adorned with six-pointed stars nestled into them against her head, giving her a strangely angelic glow in the dim light, the idea of a halo. She was small--she couldn’t be any taller than his shoulders--and that only with strappy, stiletto-heeled black sandals, twisting up her slender, smooth leg above her ankles, tied neatly in double-knots, at that. Double knots, he thought absently, I tie my shoes that way too. He blinked, eyes traveling up, falling on the black velvet babydoll dress she wore, bodice hugging her slender waist and small breasts, hiding the curves of her hips--I wonder what they look like, he wondered again absently, surprising himself with his immediate interest--up further to the incline of her neck and the dip of her clavicle, adorned with a gold circle that had several chunks of quartz crystals shaped into points along her smooth skin. What a beautiful piece, he thought. So unique. He felt an uncharacteristic tremor in his composure; and then he looked at her face. Her features were small and delicate; her lips slim and colored with a dark red that reminded him of the roses she was leaning against, brushed into her cheeks a soft blush that reminded him of evening sunlight on sand. Her eyes were darkly shadowed, long lashes framing wide hazel eyes that glinted with a strange combination of innocence and wisdom that startled him. On her wrist was another slender gold thing, an intricate woven cage of criss-crossing artistry that fell down her arm as she lifted her graceful hand and pushed an escaping wave of hair behind her ear; tiny crystal points hung from her ears. She grasped a small black clutch in her other hand (her nails were unpainted, he noticed, a rarity in DC society) and her face seemed lost, angry, sad, and bored at once, her small mouth pouting in a silent, secret disappointment, her lips parting to release an almost inaudible sigh as she absently touched the crystals around her throat. As his darkened blue eyes watched her, their glowing fascination invisible and unrealized yet to him, she finally seemed to notice she was not alone; her wide eyes traveled over the cascade of city lights, down through the roses, and into his.

He felt as though time stopped for a moment; how long the moment extended he could never be sure later, but it felt like a blink and an eon at once, as though something vast and previously immovable had fallen into its long-sought place. Her eyes were even more mesmerizing now that they were locked on him; he felt an obscure ache in anticipation of the moment she must inevitably look away.

“Hi,” he said quietly, and he couldn’t help but smile; he knew it had a strange effect on some people when he smiled, but it was almost involuntary; looking at her was a hand around his heart that had begun to press insistently, and he felt his cheeks burning; his jacket suddenly seemed too tight and he felt odd, dizzy, almost giddy; looking at her.

“Um, hi.” He saw the cloud fall over her gaze; she recognized him. He silently cursed in his mind, biting the inside of his cheek, a habit he’d acquired from a lifetime of being Annette Shepherd’s son. Maybe this was not going to go as well as he’d already begun to hope. He saw the way her head shifted, her mouth turning down at one corner, her hand coming around the opposite arm, hugging herself in a seemingly absent-minded impulse. Hugging herself away from Duncan Shepherd, notorious, infamous; but maybe also from the cool breeze that blew over them, smelling of roses and woodsmoke.

“I’m Duncan.”

“I know who you are.”

He smiled again at that; “Oh? And what have you heard?”

“Plenty. More than enough to know I shouldn’t be talking to you.”

He unleashed a light laugh at that; something about this petite, gold-adorned creature was absolutely intoxicating, as if she was touching him without any physical contact, whispering in his ear while she was speaking in a normal tone of voice. There was something else going on here; there was some kind of hidden current, he could feel it, like an electrical charge. It extended from the hot core of his belly to the blush of her, the sunset-gold of her. He’d only had one and a half glasses of wine, but he felt suddenly drunk. He longed to know what she smelled like, but she was still too far away. For a moment, he imagined what it would be like to run his hand along the skin of her bare arm; around the incline of her throat. His cheeks burned.

“I promise, I’m not that bad.”

She rolled her eyes at him and he couldn’t help it; he laughed a little again. He could see her steely introduction melt ever-so-slightly this time, her eyelashes fluttering down, the corner of her mouth turning up the tiniest bit, her lips pressing together to stifle her own smile. Her arms relaxed, coming to rest on the edge of the balcony once more.

He chanced to step toward her; she seemed hesitant, but she let him, watching him warily, the wind gently kissing her hair, fluttering the hem of her short dress; it was everything he could not to not look at the smooth skin of her thigh where it ended. He absently hooked a finger around his high, buttoned collar, feeling his throat clench in a second of uncharacteristic nervousness, the wine glass in his other hand mostly forgotten. He watched her eyes travel up and down his tall form; they stopped for a moment on his russet-brown curls, skirted around his intense eyes, flicked to his full lips with an embarrassed interest, to his adams apple and his tailored jacket and down his body, flitting to his tailored slacks (an ever-so-slight pause, almost unnoticeable, over his crotch) and Prada leather chelsea boots. She inclined her head, shyly, and despite her hesitancy, he could see her interest, her attraction, glowing under her skin like a light.

“I’d love to know your name. I promise, I won’t tell anyone,” he smiled at her again, knowingly acknowledging that they were both out here for a reason while the party raged inside--these people were awful--and his own proclivity to use DC socialites to his and his family’s advantage.

He saw her hesitate again, one small hand coming up to hold a tendril of her long chestnut hair, twisting it between two fingers, smoothing her lips together as though her lipstick weren’t already perfectly applied. He watched her swallow, lost in some silent internal struggle, for a moment.

“Mackenzie,” she said, leaning away from the balcony. He was only a few steps away from her now: he could smell the wave of scent coming off her, as delicate as the intricate gold jewelry she wore: vetiver (a scent he loved and would recognize anywhere, he thought with a thrill) and something else, a delicate flower more complex than the roses, and rarer. Geranium? He thought. How unique. Who is this angel?

“No last name?” He grinned at her, knowingly. “Or one you won’t tell me for a reason?”

“I’m an orphan, they found me on the doorstep of a church,” she replied, grinning back, and he found himself goggling at her loveliness, and the pressing feeling around his heart doubled down to an almost painful ache. “Oh, really?” He laughed again, dizzily, staring into her eyes. “I guess I can pretend I believe that for now. Sometimes it’s nice to play anonymous, I wish I could do it; in a city as tightly-knit as this one is, anonymity has eluded me.”

“I’m sure that happened to you through no fault of your own,” she replied in a biting tone, but he could see her smile, the rosy glow of her cheeks. And he knew that she liked him, or at least, liked the look of him. Duncan knew that he was objectively attractive; he had felt the hungry gazes of men and women alike hundreds of times before, but something about this woman, her eyes, her hair, her gold, her light, was filling him with an intensity of desire that felt like warm water running over the edge of a glass; his nerves felt like they were vibrating, his skin felt flushed, and he knew what he wanted with a sharp clarity; he wanted this girl. Badly. She was the most beautiful, the most luminous, the most intoxicating being he had ever seen.

A small silence stretched between them; he ached to know what she was thinking, for now she stared at him with a boldness she seemed to have sussed from his obvious interest in her; the exposed feeling settling under his skin was intensely foreign to him, and it made him wildly nervous. The fear that she’d disappear at any moment began to press at his temples; he felt unhinged, that he would do anything to get this girl, this angel, into his bed.

“...May I get you a drink?” He murmured to her, the aching edge in his voice taking him by surprise. His throat bobbed; he extended the fingers of his right hand slowly, almost unknowingly, towards the smooth skin of her arm. But he did not touch her. The air seemed to hum around them, a frequency of sound that was almost visible; he felt that they were somehow touching each other without touching, feeling each other somehow without any physical contact. The wind blew softly again, filling his senses with her smell, intoxicating and delicate. He wondered what it would feel like to kiss her, gazing at her lips.

She regarded him for another long moment; he could see her hesitation, no doubt kindled by a dozen or more Post articles about his family. But then something in her gaze shifted inexplicably, softened, opened, and she smiled again, dazzling him. A barrier seemed to have been breached; her eyes shimmered, and he felt the heat from them pierce into his heart.

“You may.”

He’d feverishly gone to the bar (bourbon, she’d said, shaking his heart again with desire), skirting around the attentions of a Senator who tried to speak with him, anxiously watched the bartender crush together the ingredients of two old fashioneds, the fear that she would no longer be leaning against the roses when he returned shaking his confidence with an icy grip, but as he slipped out onto the otherwise-deserted balcony once more, his body flooded with an intoxicating dose of relieved dopamine; there she was still, turning toward him with that glow, stepping against him slightly as she pulled the tumbler from his elegant, large hand with her finespun fingers, and he shivered at the first touch between them, filled with an overwhelming lust for more. He reached out with the other glass and clinked it against hers.

“To the mystery of first meetings,” he said impulsively.

“To familiar strangers,” she replied, and something about her words shook him strangely, coiling around them, loaded and full of hidden meaning. They both drank; Duncan watched her from the rim of his glass, taking a deep gulp of the whiskey to calm his buzzing nerves; she closed her darkly shadowed eyes, sipped, and when they fluttered open again, he noticed the lust that had settled in behind them for the first time.

“I’m sure people tell you this all the time,” she said, her voice soft and hazy in his ears, “but you’re very handsome in person.”

“Some do,” he said, stepping into her space, achingly close, watching her reaction; she did not move away from him, but stood very still, resting the drink against the wide ledge of the balcony, eyes focused on his face. “But rarely is it someone as beautiful as you are.” He set his drink down beside hers, the bourbon humming against his skin; being this close to her felt almost unbearable in its intensity. She tilted her head up, waves falling back, the crystals around her neck glinting in the glow of the fairy lights. Her face came only to the incline of his chest; perfectly level with the space in which his hands hovered for the throe of a moment before he could no longer resist temptation; he moved them so they came to rest against her small face on either side, in the delicate spaces between her chin and her ear with an imploring softness. He looked into her eyes for a moment, questioning; and he saw the lust there again, saw that she desired him too, and that was all he needed; he tilted his face and his lips fell on hers, hungry, starving, immediate.

The eagerness with which she returned his kiss filled the pit of his stomach with a wild ardency; he could taste the whiskey on her lips, smell her richness, the ache of her perfume and the musky scent of her body, and he wanted her with a desperation that felt like madness in the corners of his mind. She opened her mouth more to him; he kissed her more deeply, his tongue brushing against hers, his fingers stretching out to feel the delicate skin of her neck, moving there to caress her, causing a small moan to escape her that drove him absolutely to the edge. She was pressed against him now, her small hands flitting down his chest and stomach, causing warmth to pool in his cock immediately in anticipation and want; he felt he could drink her in forever and still not have enough, he wanted the scent of her all over him, wanted to feel her against him without the barriers of her velvet dress and his silk shirt, her skin on his skin everywhere. The kiss kindled in him a fire that burst into a blaze; the soft insistence of her lips was the first page of the book of her, and he wanted to read all of it; he wanted to devour her until morning tinged the sky.

They broke the kiss breathlessly, both breathing heavily, their faces still achingly close, and his hands were moving down across the skin above her small breasts under their velvet trappings, further down, around their round incline to the top of her waist where he grasped her under her arms, fervently, his fingers pressing into her insistently, holding her there, her warmth and weight and scent hovering around him like a crown encircling his head.

“Come to my apartment with me,” he whispered. She leaned into him, her lips falling on his again, and he shivered into her mouth, his composure fracturing, his red and burning lust falling into her and crashing against her. His strong hands held her there, in that delicate space under her breasts, and her head reached up to meet his full lips, tasting insistently. He felt as though she were weaving a spell into him, tying him to her with an invisible thread, touching a hidden place in his soul that he hadn’t even known was there. “Please.”

He felt her smile into his mouth; felt her small hands reach up to his face, trailing along the stubble that lined his chiseled jaw, pulling him down to her; “...yes”, she whispered into him, and he couldn’t stop himself, he laughed quietly into her again, delighted, full of desirous joy. He pulled away from her reluctantly, only to grasp the tumbler of bourbon and gulp from it again; he needed just a little more courage, just enough to make it back to the penthouse with this vision he feared would disappear in a flash of gold; she looked at him with eyes shining with excitement and perhaps the tiniest tinge of trepidation, grasping and drinking deeply from her own glass, and the edge of that feeling he wanted to erase; he longed to reassure her, hoped wildly that he could soothe her.

He grasped her small hand in his large one, intoxicated by the way they fit against each other, and led her, insistently but carefully, to the side of the balcony that led to a side-door to the stairwell leading to the street; a mutual desire seemed to pass between them to avoid any of the other guests seeing them leave together, and he laced his fingers through hers tightly, helping her down the two flights, stopping briefly as she pushed him against the cement wall, hurriedly kissing him again, capturing his bottom lip in her teeth gently, and he clutched her against him, moaning into her, his hands falling to the small of her back, one sliding against the velvet of her skirt, feeling the rise of her small, round ass through the fabric, igniting new desire in his groin and his head. God, he wanted her. He wanted her so fucking bad. She giggled into him, and the bourbon clashed against him with a short wave; he buried a hand in her golden-tawny hair, marveling at its silky cascade through his fingers.

“Come on,” he insisted, and they were finally at the bottom of the stairs, and he pulled his phone from his back pocket, absently using his free hand to call an Uber Black; the sidewalk outside was miraculously and mercifully almost empty of people besides a woman walking a dog across the street and a few cars passing by, headlights flashing momentarily before they moved on. Mackenzie--god, he loved her name, Mackenzie--leaned into him again, small hands on his belt, filling him with her scent and her closeness and her heat, and he wanted to push her into the wall and kiss her and touch every inch of her until she was breathlessly shaking with the edge of climax.

Their car pulled up with an almost supernatural quickness and quietness; the driver quickly forgotten as they pressed once more into one another in the backseat, Duncan snaking a hand around her neck to pull her against his mouth, her hand flitting over his cock, now painfully confined in his tailored crotch. “Oh god, Mackenzie,” he murmured into her, his other hand falling around the soft rise of her breast, gentle and insistent, “I want you so much.”

“God, shut up, just kiss me,” she laughed. He couldn’t help but laugh again with her; when was the last time he’d laughed like this? Laughed at all? He knew somehow it wasn’t just the bourbon making him light-headed. She had appeared out of nowhere and nothing, absolutely intoxicating, as though she were a being from another world. She was astounding; he was absolutely drunk on her.

They broke apart with loathe urgency as the driver pulled up to Duncan’s Georgetown high rise, and the blur of the next few minutes ran into an accelerated mix of running paint in Duncan’s mind when he looked back on it; they were in the elevator where he could see her tender mouth against him in the full-length mirror that made up one of the walls, her tiny body pressed against him, her hair falling in a glow, and it made his cock throb. The doors fell open and her pulled her fingers into his again, leading her gently down the hall to the tall black door of his penthouse apartment, fumbling with his keycard; her hand wrapped around his, steadying it, her lips pressing into his neck with a tenderness that made him groan, and they fell inside. Thankfully he’d left one lamp on by the slender leather couch; the better to see her by; the better to lead her into his bed. He picked her up--she was light as a feather and as soft as one too--and pressed her against the back of the door that had swung shut behind them, his mouth urgent on hers again; “you know--” she said breathlessly between his lips crashing against hers--”I don’t usually do stuff like this--”

“I’ll take that as a compliment--” he smiled into her, his hands winding up the skin of her thigh, pressing her down to the ground again, pressing ever-so-briefly against the softness between her legs, making her gasp. She dropped her clutch unceremoniously on the spotlessly clean polished wood; reached down to unknot her shoes in a marvelously cute almost absent-minded gesture, a wonderful, frustrated whine escaping from her mouth as she fumbled with them. “Here, let me help,” he murmured, and he knelt before her--his hands fell down the softness of her leg to the knot, and he felt her shudder with desire under his touch. He loved the way he was suddenly looking up at her from here, suddenly beholden to her whim; he wanted to make her feel fucking good, he wanted her to writhe with pleasure. He unknotted the laces of the sandal, freeing her small foot, thumbing the red stripes they had left on her ankles; he couldn’t stop himself, he pressed his lips against the redness, and felt her shiver under his touch again, breathlessly.

He undid her other heel easily; as she stepped out of them, he saw that she was even smaller, reaching only right about level to his chest; he wanted to hold her small frame against him with desperate longing. She reached out, pushing his blazer from his shoulders insistently, their swollen lips coming together again; “god, you taste so good,” he whispered into her, “you’re so beautiful, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen--”

She shushed him again, her breath humming on his lips, as if she was afraid of his words. “Take me to your room,” she insisted. He nodded, sure that he would do anything she said in that moment, her eyes so intense, dark and wonderful that he felt he could see into her soul through them, and pulled her into his bedroom, its black sheets and spread perfectly pressed and quiet, waiting for them. The side-lamp on his pristine nightstand was dimly lit; its glow cascaded over her, striking him with her loveliness once more; he pressed against her desperately, pulling the headband of stars gently from her head and setting it on the nightstand with reverence next to his exorbitantly expensive watch, kicking his shoes off as he clutched at her, once more filled with a terrible fear that she would disappear, eager beyond all words to be against her.

“Duncan,” she moaned into his mouth, “fuck me.”

He needed no more prompting; he pressed her gently but insistently down onto the immaculate spread, and she opened her legs, sidling their bareness against his clothed thigh; he pressed his lips into the softness of her neck as her fingers found the buttons of his high-collared shirt, undoing them expertly, freeing his torso from the suffocating confines; then they moved to his belt as she moaned under his mouth, his lips grazing the crystals that hugged her throat, pressing into the hollow between her breasts above the velvet of her neckline. She pulled his belt away with a snap; he flipped her over with concentration, and she gasped, the sound of it thrilling him so his cock pressed harder against his pants, painfully.

He carefully pulled the zipper at her back down, his mouth pressing between her shoulder blades now, grasping the cascade of her hair to the side so as not to get it caught; his hands went to undo her necklace’s clasp, but she murmured “no, I want to wear it while we fuck,” and the thought of it thrilled him; it seemed only natural that she’d wear it, it seemed intense beyond a normal object, cut against her like a second skin, a miraculous piece of jewelry that hummed with eroticism. He pulled at her dress; she flipped over with an agile sweetness as he did, slipping out of it, laying on her back so her breasts were now exposed to him, wearing only a pair of silk black underwear now, and he hungrily captured one of her nipples in his lips, sucking hungrily. She moaned again, this time more loudly; who was there to hear them now, indeed, and he groaned happily into her body, intoxicated with it. He leaned up once more to undo the button and zipper of his pants; as he kicked them off, he watched her hazy eyes, bright with lust, lave over the bulge of his erection under his black briefs; “take those off too,” she murmured teasingly, her playful smile driving him to the edge of desire again, and he obediently pulled them down, grinning at her, his cock springing out and causing a bubble of surprise to fall out of her mouth; “god, you’re fucking big,” she murmured, and pulled his long frame down to her insistently. His mouth was all over her now, moving down her ribs and belly button to where the black silk panties clung to her, wet with her desire now, and with his large hands he pulled them down and threw them to the side. Her sex was glittering with moisture and her pussy was smooth, hair shaved away; he pressed one long finger between her folds to the bundle of nerves he knew was nestled there, and she moaned again, this time long and loud and stretching into a groan of ecstasy.

He pushed her legs apart insistently and pressed a hard lick against her clit; she cried out with an involuntary spasm of pleasure, and he smiled with desire. “God, you taste good,” he moaned, before pressing his mouth flush against her, working his tongue into her with measured circles; but their eyes, his stormy blue with want, hers taking on an ethereal dark-green hue that both shook and amazed him, stared into one another as he did, and he could see the way she was unraveling in his fingers, his mouth filling her up and bringing her dangerously close to the edge. “I don’t want you to come yet,” he whispered, stopping, watching her body clench under him with the lack of his mouth, “I want to fuck you and I want us to come together, god, you’re so beautiful,” and she nodded and whispered “yes,” and hushed him with her mouth, the taste of her mingling in their mouths, her hand finding his painfully erect cock and using the precum that dripped from its head to smooth her hand up and down his shaft, rattling him into a wanton thirst to be inside her.

“Do you want me to?” He asked, gazing into her face, her cheeks flushed with cupidity, her body hot under his hands. He couldn’t believe she was here in his bed; he gazed at the crystals against her neck, against her ears, into her eyes, fluttering as they looked at him, god, she was so lovely, she made his heart quiver; she made him want to die.

“Yes, Duncan--fuck me.”

He moved and he was between her legs--he paused for one deep moment, the head of his painfully hard cock against her cunt, and then he pressed himself into her as his mouth pressed into her bruised lips again, one hand grasping her neck, the other grasping her hip, and they gasped into each other, the intensity of this connection overwhelming them both in a cascade of sensation. He moved, a rhythm building in his hips and his groin, and she cried out--”Duncan, fuck, Duncan, oh fuck, yes, fuck me hard, like that--” and he pulled her against him, their bodies flush against each other, sweat mingling, the scent of their sex and their perfume (his like smoke and cedar wood, hers heady and sweet) crashing together--he moved, pulling her upright onto him so her ass smacked against his knees and the hard length of his cock crashed into her again and again, her clit rubbing against his abdomen, her eyes rolling back in her head, his mouth leaving red welts on her perfect neck, her hair falling back and glittering in the light. She kissed him, grasping his stubble in her small fingers, kissed his forehead as he buried himself inside her, causing small entreating words to fall from his lips like a prayer, like a spell, a mantra; “Mackenzie, Mackenzie, Mackenzie, please, oh god, god--”

He felt his climax rushing forward, a wave that he wasn’t sure he could stop if he tried, and she moaned into him--”Oh god, Duncan, I’m gonna come, keep doing that, just like that--” And as she cried out in wild delight a moment later, her cunt convulsing down onto him, he exploded into her, buried inside her warmth, grasping her against him as though he could never bear to let go; the sweat on his brow mixing into the sweat that pooled at her throat, and his cock shuddered its release deep into her, pulsing and falling into tenderness and still very hard. They stayed that way awhile; panting, spent, holding each other, pressing soft kisses into each other’s flushed skin, his length still inside her, her cunt dripping down onto him, still pulsing.

She laughed, suddenly, gasping, and it thrilled his heart to hear it; “Wow, fuck, fuck.”

“Mackenzie. Fuck.”

“Duncan. Hi.” She laughed again. He nuzzled his face into her neck. She lifted her hips and his cock fell out of her, going limp after his release, a small bit of white cum dribbling out. They both collapsed beside each other, chests still heaving, hands absently entwining with each other. He turned his head to her; his was just a little below her, under the incline of her arm, and she smiled down at him, and her smile was unbearably lovely; he could see the beauty that was hidden from him and the outside world shining from her eyes, still clouded with her climax, and knew in that moment that she was going to be someone special to him; he just knew, like the clashing sound of a giant gong resounding into the universe, like a shooting star that only he could see.

“That was incredible. You’re fucking incredible.”

She shyly pressed a hand against his cheek and he turned his face to kiss her palm; she turned towards him, sidling her legs together with a overwhelmed sigh as her still-sensitive sex pressed against her thighs.

“You’re pretty incredible yourself. And fuck, this penthouse. This is insane. Your cock is just...gorgeous. You’re gorgeous.” She blushed, locks of wavy hair falling over her shoulder against her breasts. Their hands still pressed into each other, feeling each other’s fingers softly, feeling each other’s veins, wrists, the soft pads of each other’s fingerprints. “But I meant what I said. I...I really don’t usually do stuff like this. This is....really unexpected.”

“I know what you mean. Mackenzie, you’re…” His eyes fluttered; he realized with a wave of intensity how tired he was, how much their fucking had exhausted him, body and soul.

“Mackenzie.”

She yawned; he wanted to grasp her to him, cradle her in his arms. He couldn’t understand what was happening; he wanted them to fall asleep together. That’s all he knew, all he could decipher. He wanted her to sleep in his bed until the sunrise kissed it and blessed them.

“Hmm?” Her eyes had fluttered closed, a small smear of eyeshadow, mussed in their passion, streaking away across her temple. He pressed the pad of his thumb there, wiping it away.

“Stay here with me tonight. Please?”

Her eyes fluttered open for just a moment; he was astonished to find he could still see that strange, hidden something still nestled inside them. That secret thing that seemed to be only for him. And then she said “okay”.

He pulled the coverlet over them so it was folded over the sheets; he couldn’t bear to disturb her again as her eyes fell closed once more and her breathing slowed to a soft whisper. He soon fell asleep himself, their hands still clasped together, her small, slender fingers entwined in his large, long ones. And the moon rose over them in the window, and the night fell away. Slowly, as they slept there together, a deep sleep that neither had experienced in a very long time, dawn came.

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cchellacat · 5 years

Text

Dream A Little Dream (Part 3 of Take My Hand)

Love All The Marvel Ships Challenge

Day Fifteen ~ Spoiling One Another

Darcy can’t remember a time she’d ever been so happy in her life. Six months ago she’d nearly fallen to her death but had been saved by the timely intervention of her not so secret crush. Since then there’s not been a day, she hasn’t spent at least some time with him. They spent so much time together lately that it was getting to the point where Darcy’s apartment was becoming irrelevant.

It was down to the kitchen really, Bucky had the better space in his apartment, the bigger kitchen, it just made more sense for her to cook there for them. Still, she’s far too nervous to even think about bringing up the whole, lets live together thing with Bucky, after all they’d only been dating for a few months, they were barely half way to a year.

It’s feeling guilty about not spending any time in her own place that has her heading back there when her shift with Jane is over.

When she gets back to her apartment and lets herself in, she’s brought up short. The place is empty, mostly. The furniture’s still there, but the books, the record collection, her figurines and collectable bobble heads… they’re all gone. What the hell?

As she makes her way through the small space, she realises that every one of her personal belongings had been taken from their places.

The buzzing from her pocket alerts her to the incoming call. She answers quickly, hoping to get some answers.

“Hey Doll, are you nearly finished? I’m making you dinner tonight, so come straight here from the lab, okay?”

“Bucky…?”

“Darcy? Are you alright sweetheart?”

“Did you move my stuff?... cause I’m standing in an empty apartment.”

“Shit, Darce… look, just come up, please. This was meant to be a surprise.”

She wants to be angry at him, raging mad even, but the tendril of worry and panic in his voice makes her crush it down to focus instead on the butterflies that are churning in her stomach.

“I’ll be there shortly.” She tells him, hanging up quickly.

She took one last look around the shoebox she had lived in for two years and then leaves, locking the door behind her and making her way to the elevator, up the ten floors to the Avengers only area of the Tower and the residential apartments that were found there.

Bucky shared a floor with Steve and Natasha. His apartment had three rooms and a large open plan kitchen dinning area and lounge that had an incredible view of the Manhattan skyline.

She’s nervous stepping off the elevator and making her way to the door. The same door she had been letting herself in and out of for over a month. The lock clicked open as she approached, Jarvis controlled all the door locks in this part of the Tower and only authorised people could access the apartments. Bucky had given her clearance to come and go as she liked three weeks ago.

He’s in the kitchen when she lets herself in. She sets her old keys on the table by the door, slipping out of her shoes and spotting her old-fashioned coat tree taking pride of place in the small hall.

He’s wearing an apron, his hair tied back with one of her scrunchies. The smile he gives her is about as worried as the one she feels pasting itself on her own face.

Ever the gentleman he helps her out of her jacket and hangs it up for her.

“I know this is a bit… abrupt.” He beings, his voice about as soothing as he can make it, which, granted, is pretty fucking soothing.

“Abrupt?” her tone was dryer than the Sahara.

“When was the last time you even went by to pick up some clothes?”

She stops in her tracks and tries to think of the answer.

“It was six weeks ago. Everything you wear for most occasions is already taking up room in my closet Doll. The only thing left in the apartment that you needed was that address book you picked up two weeks ago so you could send out Christmas cards. I wanted to surprise you, do all the liftin' for you.”

“You could have asked…. It’s not like I was going to say no!” she grumbles a little as he leads her through to the kitchen.

In the lounge there are new bookcases along the wall. They’re the same one’s she’d ogled when they’d been down at the market a few weeks ago. Hand crafted, heavy wood, polished to a shine in the most beautiful cherry-wood. They were beautiful and modern looking while still retaining the classic look of a real book case. All her books had been carefully put away in her preferred ordering system. She breathes out his name when she sees them and tugs on him, pulling him into a tight hug.

“My bookcases! Bucky!… You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know I didn’t have to Sweetheart, but I wanted to.”

“You remembered the ones I liked?”

“Darcy, I went back and bought them the same afternoon, had Steve keep them at his place till today.”

“I don’t know what to say…”

Darcy feels so lost for a moment as she looks around the room. Her favourite pieces of art hang on the walls. Her throw and cushions now take up space on his big sofa. On top of the book cases all her tiny collectables have been arranged artfully on display.

The blending of both their personalities has turned the place into a home she thinks tentatively. It feels cosey, it feels right.

“Say you’ll move in with me.” He cajoles her, batting those ridiculously long lashes at her.

She’s tempted to let him suffer at least a little for his heavy-handed mangling of the situation, but she can see it came from a place of … well… she sighs internally, it came from a place of love.

“I love you.” She says instead. The shock on his face makes her grin for a second before she slaps a hand over her mouth. She had not meant to say that out loud. Before she can take it back, he picks her up in his arms and spins with her before bringing her in for a hard kiss that has her moaning into his mouth.

“I am hopelessly, irrevocably in love with you Darcy-Doll.”

The declaration makes her head spin more than the sudden kiss.

“Same.” She tells him breathlessly. “Now, are we having dinner, or is that apron just for show?”

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

He checks the address again as he tugs on the tie he’s wearing. It’s been decades since he dressed up like this. The suit fits well, like it’s been tailored for him. It probably has, he won’t put it past Darcy to get his measurements without him noticing, the woman never met a situation she couldn’t bend to her will.

He’d woke up that morning to find her gone. Yeah, it had been the worst part of his day so far. He hated waking up alone now that he’d gotten used to her living with him, the past four months since she’s officially moved in have been the best he can remember. He loves waking up with her in his arms, her hair either trying to suffocate or strangle him, her body draped over his like a cat soaking up the heat.

On the bedside table had been a note.

“Bucky,

Breakfast is ready in the kitchen, so is the coffee. Be ready to go by 10 o’clock, you and Steve have a baseball game to be at!

Love you,

Darcy.xxx”

When he’d dressed, he went to find she’d made him his favourite blueberry muffins for breakfast and the carafe was full of the special coffee she only ever brought out for special occasions.

He’s asked Steve when he turned up what it was all about, but he’d been just as clueless as he was.

The game had been great, it was when he’d thanked Steve for getting the tickets that he’d discovered it had been Darcy who had gotten the good seats for them and thought the two of them should have a day out.

When he’d gotten home, he’d been looking forward to seeing her. Finding the apartment empty and only a garment bag and a note on the bed, well, he’d been more than a little suspicious.

“Bucky,

Put on the suit and come meet me. Driver will be there to pick you up at 7:30.

Love,

Darcy. Xxx”

So here he was, outside a club of some kind in a suit like he hadn’t worn since before the war.

He’s been shown to table near the stage, by the dance floor. It was an intimate little booth with leather upholstery. The whole place was done up like the clubs back in his youth. There was a big band on the stage. As he took his seat the lights dimmed, and a woman walked out to sing.

The first strings of an old song played out slowly and he felt a shiver run up his spine. He hadn’t heard this song in decades. The spotlight finally lit up the singer and he felt the grin spring across his face as she winked at him before she began to sing. He struggled a little not to laugh, he should have know what was coming after he walked into the joint. The dress she was wearing was perfect for her and hugged and skimmed every curve deliciously.

“Stars shining bright above you

Night breezes seem to whisper 'I love you'

Birds singin' in the sycamore trees

Dream a little dream of me

Say nighty-night and kiss me

Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me

While I'm alone and blue as can be

Dream a little dream of me….”

Darcy sang her heart out for him. He couldn’t believe she’d put all this together for him today. She looked beautiful up there, her sultry tone reaching across the room. He hadn’t known he’d needed this, but he had. The whole day had been relaxing, the game with Steve, for a few minutes it had been like they’d been sent back in time. He’d felt more like himself today than he had since 1943. The dimly lit club, the decor, the music, it was as though the decades between then and now had melted away and all he was left with was the best of his past blended perfectly with the best part of his future.

When the song finished, he made his way to the stage and held out a hand to help her down as the band struck up the next song.

“Dance with me, Doll?”

“I think I have some space on my card.” She said cheekily.

Darcy let him pull her close, his hand at her waist the other holding hers. She loved him, adored him. He was the sweetest man she’d ever known, he was always looking after her, bringing her flowers, taking her to dinner. He would rub her feet and run her baths…. She knew she had a good one, and she had been determined to show him, just how much she appreciated all the little things he did for her every day that said I love you. But being the over ambitious person that she was she’d decided something bigger was called for. Once she’d got started, she had shaped the sort of day she wanted for him. The sort of day he’d have had back then. Seeing a game with a pal, goin out to a club for dinner and some dancing. She knew there had to be somewhere in New York that could provide the experience and she had found it. The hardest part had been convincing them to let her sing with the band when he arrived, luckily a little phone call from Tony had greased the skids for her.

“Darcy… Thank you. Today was amazing.”

They were dancing across the floor, Bucky effortless leading, keeping them from dancing into the path of the other couples filling up the floor. The music was loud enough to offer privacy but not so loud she couldn’t hear what he said.

“I just wanted to show you, to tell you, that I love you, so much.” That was all she wanted to do today, give him back a tiny fraction of the happiness he gave her every day.

“I don’t need any of this Darcy, I don’t need grand gestures or baseball games. The only thing I need is you.”

He meant it she realised with a start, every word. She could read the rest of what he wasn’t saying in his tone, in the way his eyes held hers, conveying another message entirely. He was so easy to love like this, open and wanting and sincere.

“You know you’ve got me, always.” Her mouth turned up in a small smile that answered his. The hand that swept up to briefly cup her jaw made her want to melt right into him.

He leaned down and kissed her softly then tucked her closer as they continued to dance, bending his head till he could whisper into her ear.

“You know, I’m kinda impressed with your attention to detail. Everything’s been pretty authentic, the suit, the club, the band, your dress…”

Darcy looked up at him a hint of confusion in her eyes.

Bucky looked down, a wicked gleam appearing as he bit his bottom lip. The blood rushed out of her head and her pupils widened with desire.

He was giving her that look. The one that said things were going to go exactly where she wanted them to, the bedroom.

He leaned in close again and asked his question.

“Tell me, Doll, what am I going to find under that pretty little number?” Her tummy flipped a little at his tone and she could feel the flush rising up her neck.

“Well, if I told you it would spoil the surprise.” She whispered back, keeping her tone light and playful.

“If I guess right, will you tell me?”

“Where’s the infamous patience you’re meant to have?” She asked with a laugh.

“Trust me Doll, I’ll take my time, I just like to know the lie of the land.”

Darcy swallowed and wondered if it was meant to be so warm in there.

“Ah, so this is recon?”

“Sure, now, are there seams up the back of those stockings you’re wearing?”

“You know there are.”

“Mmhmmm… and I can feel the boning through your dress. Are you wearing a sexy little girdle just for me sweetheart?”

Jesus Christ, the way he asked her, like it was a dirty little secret? Her fingers tightened in his and she felt more than heard the chuckle that came from deep in his chest.

“Maybe.” She answered coyly as his hand slid down her hip and found where the girdle ended through the material of her dress.

“Darcy-Doll?...... When we get back to the table I’m going to find out if you’re wearing any knickers, cause from the line of your dress, Doll, you are bare under there.”

She bit her lip and let her head fall against her chest, trying desperately not to giggle. She was in so much trouble, but it was so worth it. He continued to lead her around the floor, and she let all the wonderful heady feelings bubble up in her. Tonight, was going to be the best night ever.

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

“Darcy, have you seen my keys?”

“Table. Door. Every time, babe.”

Bucky grinned, and put the finishing touches to the table.

Coffee, fresh fruit, pancakes and a selection of her favourite pastries from the Patisserie over on 5th. He placed a crisp cream envelope on her plate and stepped back admiring the setting. Tablecloth, flowers, the good china she’d hidden away after the wedding three months ago and forgotten about.

“Darcy, they’re not there!” He called out.

He listened as she cursed from the bathroom and grumbling to herself, muttering curses as she tripped over something, made her way through to the lounge.

“Bucky? What the hell? They’re right here babe…” She appears in the kitchen doorway, keys held aloft in one hand. She stops short at the arrangement on the table.

“Happy anniversary, Doll.”

Darcy can’t keep in the massive smile that etches itself upon her face. He was such a romantic sap. Not that she would change that, oh no, not even a little bit. He was perfect. Three years since they had moved in together, she didn’t think he would ever forget.

He held the chair for her as she sat down and gave her a soft kiss before taking a seat himself.

“I can’t believe you did all this…. Thank you.”

“Did you think I’d forget?”

“What? No, of course not.”

She picks up the envelope and runs a sharp nail under the paper, opening it. Instead of the card she expects to find, it’s two tickets.

“Are these tickets for…”

“Well, you’ve been wanting to go for a while.”

“I can’t believe you managed to get tickets.”

“Steve and Nat promised to baby sit Becca for us, so I booked us a room at a hotel for the night, make it a little bit more special.”

Darcy reaches across the table and grabs his hand in thanks. He just smiles and pours her coffee, her hand still held firmly in his.

Best. Husband. Ever.

@captain-rogers-beard

#love all the marvel ships #love all the marvel ships challenge #wintershock #darcy/bucky #bucky/darcy #fluff

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xathia-89 · 5 years

Text

Mafia AU Part 3

Money was clearly the least of Shingen's worries. At every point during our trip out that afternoon, I doubted that I had genuinely seen anything with a price tag on it. It simply wasn't a worry to him, no amounts were ever given as he would just hand his card over without hesitation. The dress was gorgeous, and it was never anything I would even consider being graced to wear in my lifetime. It was merely out of my grasps. The shop assistants had been a little put off at first with their help, the owner then came down to make a fuss and intervened as Shingen loudly mentioned about nothing flattering me and it being a disappointment that we would be going elsewhere. The stylists had taken every effort to make me look like a suitable princess to fit in the dress with my hair and makeup. It was an entirely new world of glamour and appearances, and I didn't feel like it was the world I was destined to be in. I was openly welcomed and presented as Shingen's name naturally seem to attract the attention of everyone. It was a celebration of a new machine for the specialist hospital nearby. The money had been raised allowed for a new treatment of cancer from what I could gather, I wasn't allowed to venture far from Shingen. My arm was constantly around his, and the only exceptions I had found were when I left for the toilets (though Yukimura had been my escort across the room for my supposed safety) and when Shingen decided on a couple of occasions, it would be best to leave me with Sanada instead of dragging me into a conversation. It all resembled a ball in a fairytale. Shingen was playing the role of the prince, and I was getting enough dirty looks to remind me that I was the girl out of place. I wasn't meant for the high society like this as I was quietly stood at the edge of the room with a very grumpy looking Yukimura. Shingen had mentioned the possibility of dancing, but I hadn't even had the chance to open my mouth to ask yet, and his right arm told me that he didn't do dancing, so I simply had to watch everyone else have a good time. Then in the middle of the dancing crowd, I swore I saw my brother's face. It was a fleeting moment, but enough of expression for me that Shingen excused himself to return to my side. "I know you've seen someone you recognise princess," Takeda casually kissed the back of my hand for my attention, before sliding his arm around my waist and bringing my body flush against him. "You have a terrible poker face."

"You're using me as bait," I accused him, trying to keep my voice low as to not make a huge scene and put a lot of innocents in danger. "You've used me to drag them out to come to you on your terms, and to show me off like a trophy." My body was pressed closer to Takeda. His voice low in my ear, to anyone who didn't know, it was two lovers talking privately in public. "Do I need to remind you, princess? I can easily condemn you and them instantly if you don't keep behaving," he was warning me. I was toeing the line on my behaviour. He had all intents and purposes of sweeping me through the dance floor, glancing over for an opening to swing me into the masses so he could figure out where the enemy had placed themselves. The sound of guns being fired and glass breaking everywhere had the masses screaming, and throbbing around us. Shingen was standing firm in his position, and glaring at someone over my shoulder. I couldn't physically turn my head, Takeda was trapping me with his. I was shaking as the flashbacks were beginning from my first gunfight. The wound itself was still scarred on my shoulder, it had healed as neatly as it could, but I had insisted on straps on the dress I was wearing to cover it. The compromise had come in the form of a one-shouldered dress. I was digging my nails into Shingen's suit, desperate for the chaos to stop. The burning of my skin, the agony at packing it out and then forcing myself to act like nothing was wrong with me while I kept moving on until I was enough cities away and several days had passed that I was confident enough to attend an emergency department. I realised far too late that I was also being used as a human shield by Takeda. I heard footsteps crunching on broken glass from dropped champagne glasses, and they were approaching us. I wanted to see what was happening, but then I was faced with Masamune's shocked face coming into view as I looked over Shingen's shoulder. I could only make the assumption that Nobunaga was the one in the opposite direction. The men all stopped at a nod from Date, silently confirming something. I was struggling to keep breathing. I wanted to break free from Takeda's hold and escape the situation, but I could feel all the muscle under his well-tailored suit. His grip on me was firm, and my feet were burning slightly from standing still in such high heels as I started to rock my weight in an attempt to alleviate the feeling. "I thought you were more honourable than this Shingen, but I stand corrected," Nobunaga confirmed his presence verbally to me. "It's a coward's move to uncover a woman who wants to stay hidden and force her to attend to get your own pleasures. I knew where she was, I have ears everywhere, but then you seemed to get someone to turn on me to get that information." "It meant I got you crawling out of the works, Oda," Shingen was tensing up, his arms prepared to throw me somewhere possibly. "Though I'm surprised you haven't brought the puppy with you, I thought he would be desperate to catch a glimpse of her." His laugh gave away the part that he didn't believe we were siblings. Most people didn't, brown hair and brown eyes were the only things we had in common with our appearances. "I think they've been lying to you all along Nobunaga, I think they're secretly married, but they like to play with everyone. Though she's a great bed warmer, so supple and divine." I froze up and blushed bright red before I was tossed aside. I landed ungracefully and sprawled over the dance floor, but before I could do anything, Yukimura had hold of me and was dragging me away from the chaos of gunfights. I was being used as a human protector, the theory being that they wouldn't shoot at us for fear of hurting me again. As soon as the backup arrived, I was ushered straight into a waiting car before someone knocked me out to ensure I wouldn't make a scene. Shingen was looking concerned as I opened my eyes. My head was pounding as the slightest expression of relief was replaced with a hardened mask. Then Sasuke was shining a torch in my eyes before I could swat him away. I slowly sat up with the help of Sasuke, who now had the torch tucked behind his ear. I was blinking the room into focus, looking at the floor first as I realised that I wasn't in my 'room' and then looked up to see the massive flat screen TV dominating the room, and playing newsreels about an attack on Takeda and the mystery woman on his arm. It was all trash level celebrity news, but Shingen seemed to have them eating out of his hand. Then a clip of the red-headed male, saying that he and 'his fiancée' were perfectly safe, just shaken for their troubles and he would appreciate it if we were given some space. "Fiancée?" were the only words I could croak out, and soak up in the middle of my headache. "Of course," Shingen then gestured to my left hand. A flawless diamond was the centrepiece of two twisted bands, a platinum metal and tiny diamonds decorating one of the bands. It was pretty and highly expensive, I could already tell that from the way that the jewels were catching the light. "It looked like something that would sit well with you," he shrugged casually, but it was clear that he had put at least the smallest amount of thought into it suiting me. "It means you have to start appearing with me at these events, and that you can't just walk away now." His smile was calculating. I had tried leaving everyone behind, to live a normal life. Escape from the whole state of being told what to do and how to live, and have the constant breath of not being caught for fear of the police. Then this man had taken it upon himself to drag me back out of my hiding hole for his own gains, and enticing my brother's emotions. The only way that Shingen was going to stop was when Nobunaga was in jail, and all of his 'generals' were working for him or with Oda. He was playing a dirty game, and I was the bait for the trap that had now been set. Now, I was in the middle of a web that I never had a hope of escaping. Yukimura disturbed me, tapping me on the shoulder once Sasuke had completed his checks to ensure no concussion I assumed. I was quickly losing the will to fight everything, and in a slight state of shock as well at learning such big news. I was still in the previous night's make-up as I was left alone again in my room. It was my priority to get that off and showered before maybe looking through Netflix for a series to binge watch in bed. Shingen was ready to blow the door off. He had been buzzing the intercom for ten minutes to get Natsuki's attention as he forcefully unlocked the door. She had her chances, she had never responded in such a childlike manner before, but the man was going to make sure it never happened again. The scene before him was nothing like what he expected. The woman was fast asleep, headphones on and her laptop playing a movie of sorts as he slowed and softened his footsteps. Now that he was close up, the strain of the past ten days were showing on the female. Her skin was pale, and the bags under her eyes were more like suitcases while she was clutching at a stuffed teddy bear while deep in her sleep. She was exhausted and had nowhere to go as sympathy began to creep in. Natsuki was just a pawn, a means to an end. He forgot that she was a person too as he stroked her cheek gently. The wound on her

shoulder was still a mess as he looked at the dropped strap of her top, she had insisted that something covered it when the dresses were brought out during the shopping trip. He trailed a finger over the rough skin before Natsuki squirmed a little in her sleep. Takeda paused, before taking her headphones off and moving the laptop so she wouldn't roll onto it or push it off the bed. He had been coming down to tell her to do her job as his PA, and organise various things, but she needed the rest. Just today, that was all he was promising to himself was that he would give her before closing the door in time for Kenshin to come storming down the corridor. "She's asleep," Shingen stated. "That's never stopped you doing things before," Uesugi scoffed and narrowed his eyes at his associate. "You're getting soft in your old age," he accused the man. "Maybe so, but if it means she warms to me, and then it'll be easier instead of fighting her constantly," the redhead shrugged before walking back towards the living quarters. I was 'allowed' out every couple of days. Mostly to accompany Shingen on a lunch date where the press would definitely find us now of the most well-known playboys was officially off the market. I was the centre of the trash tabloids, wanting to know how I had done it effectively. So many cafés and restaurants had been employed to keep them away, but servers would freely talk once we had left. My name was given out pretty quickly, but it was never a surname at least. I was being used to convince clients to sign deals with Shingen's firm now as well, which left me with a slimy residue. It made him look more reliable to the business world. He was able to manage a personal relationship to the extent of an upcoming wedding. I had to be spotted doing the usual preparations of course. Coming out of bridal shops, with Yukimura or Kenshin as 'bodyguards', speaking to suppliers, private booked sessions to taste cakes and sample food. We were even looking at where to hold it. I was still trying to get my head around this. I was getting married, because someone else had decided it, and it was all because my brother had decided to get involved in gang activities. I had never felt so much like a puppet on strings until one night as Shingen handed me yet more brochures on where to get married. I glared in response, but he raised his eyebrow. Reminding me of his original promise of outing me to the police before I retreated back to my room to flick through them. My only saving grace was that I had no budget, and I was getting determined to try to break Shingen on how much money I was planning on spending for this sham. I was shown to the living room one evening by Sasuke and noticed that Kenshin was suspiciously absent, while Yukimura and Shingen were both dressed incredibly casually and sprawled out on the sofa in various positions while yelling at the TV. I was surprised to find that they were battling as NHL teams on the screen, and Shingen was immediately distracted by my presence, allowing Sanada to take the game victory. "Kenshin decided he had work to do, so we needed another player," Sasuke said, looking a little embarrassed. "And I remembered that when you didn't understand something during tutoring, we'd play games like this to get formations into your head so you'd remember the equations." "Sure," I weakly smiled, feeling very exposed as Takeda handed me a controller with a wink, and I sat next to him. "Seriously?" Yukimura was glaring at his friend as I shot past their goalkeeper for what seemed like the millionth time that evening. I was now sat comfortably on the floor, and the pizza had been ordered while I kept out of their alcohol cabinet, though Shingen appeared pleasantly buzzed on the sake as he knew I could take the others on by myself. "You said she was good, not that she would obliterate us," he scowled. "Stop being a sore loser Yuki," Takeda teased, prodding his underling as a brother would. "And appreciate the fact that we don't have to skip out on gaming time if Kenshin disappears again." A cough at the door brought a violent shiver up my spine, as the three men turned their attention to the addition. I kept my head down and my gaze away from it all as I heard Shingen move. "What is she doing out?" Uesugi was pissed by the sounds of things. "You skipped out on games night, so we substituted you," Takeda was smooth as always. "No one's let her out of sight all night." The heterochromatic made a noise of disgust, and my chin was roughly grabbed as he forced my head up. The sudden move had surprised me, and I was trembling under the intensity of his gaze. The man was terrifying me, I wasn't sure if I was even going to be let go and live in the moment. He scoffed and dropped my chin as though I was a piece of dirt. All I could do was scramble around and 'escape' from the domineering male, dashing in a flash to get some comfort from my bed in my room. My eyes squeezed shut as I curled up under the blankets, desperate to block the world out.

#shingen takeda #Ikémen Sengoku #ikemen sengoku #yukimura sanada #Sasuke Sarutobi #kenshin uesugi #modern au #mafia AU

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elleberquist6 · 5 years

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Play Upon Me Like This Piano - chapter forty-four

Summary: In many ways, Phil’s life is perfect: he loves his life in London, he has a wonderful brother and parents, and he has a great job as a radio DJ for BBC Radio One. There’s only one thing missing in his life… A rumor reaches an executive at the BBC about a talented local piano player named Daniel. The executive decides that Daniel would be the perfect guest on Phil’s radio show, so she sends Phil to speak with the evasive and mysterious piano player.

When they finally meet, Phil starts to think that he has found the person who will make his life complete. Unfortunately, Dan has a secret that will make getting close to him difficult.

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4951

Warnings: Smut

—

The Myth of Orpheus: The mythological tradition names Orpheus as the pre-eminent musician of the "Golden Age" of heroes. Orpheus' music and song are said to have been so enticing that they could charm the very birds from the trees, soothe Cerberus and bring the Furies to tears. Orpheus' parentage is unclear and though all sources agree his mother was the Muse of epic poetry, Calliope, there is dispute over the identity of his father… although it appears as though his mother and aunts taught him to sing and play the lyre.

Although one might not expect a famous musician to be a "hero" per se, Jason sought out Orpheus to join him and the other Argonauts in his quest to recover the Golden Fleece for King Pelias… Orpheus' sole weapon was his lyre, which he used to raise the spirits of his fellow Argonauts, and to charm fish from the sea as food for their long journey. Orpheus' most famous contribution to the quest was, however, his dealing with the Sirens.

The Sirens were three bird-women, who lived on an island meadow scattered with the bones of their numerous victims. These monsters would sing a seductive song to passing sailors, luring them onto jagged rocks where their ships would be wrecked and the mariners drown. When the Argo neared this island, Orpheus began to play his lyre and to sing an echoing song in order to confuse that of the Sirens, thus preventing the crew from being seduced into a shipwreck. [http://www.ancientgreece.com/s/GreekMyths/Orpheus/]

“How do I look?” Dan asked, straightening his tie as he stared at his reflection. Over his shoulder in the mirror, he saw Phil watching him intently and looking like he enjoyed what he saw.

“You look lovely,” Phil responded, and his voice had an odd intensity to it, which Dan had come to associate with arousal.

Noting this, Dan had to bite his lip to hide a pleased smile, and he also had to force down the stirring of his own arousal – this wasn’t the time for that, though it was good to know that he looked that good to Phil. Dan turned to face Phil with a flippant response, “You always say that about me. Even when I have a cold and look all gross.”

As Dan turned, Phil continued to unashamedly check him out. He responded, “Maybe I wasn’t just talking about your appearance.”

Dan blinked. “What?”

Phil’s gaze rested on Dan’s face. “Maybe I meant you’re beautiful, inside and out.”

“Oh.” Dan took a step closer to him, and his gaze dropped shyly to Phil’s shoes. They were very nice shoes, black and polished to a shine. The rest of his outfit was just as nice – a tailored black suit that was buttoned at Phil’s trim waist. Dan’s eyes traveled up Phil’s body, noting how nicely the suit fit across his broad shoulders. Phil was wearing a brilliant blue tie that almost perfectly matched the color of his eyes, and Dan reached out to fuss with it, as if to straighten it. Really, he had just needed a task to busy his hands.

Dan wasn’t sure why he felt so vulnerable and fragile right now – Phil knew how Dan felt about him. Luckily, Phil also knew him well enough that he didn’t question the odd way he was acting. Phil just waited to see what Dan wanted to say.

Eventually, Dan cleared his throat and told Phil, “This is a really nice tie. It makes your eyes pop.”

Phil glanced down at his tie. “Oh, thanks.”

With the intense eye contact broken, Dan felt a bit more confident, and before he lost it he blurted, “You’re lovely, too. The most amazing person I’ve ever known, both inside and out.”

As Phil looked up, he smiled and his eyes sparkled with it. He leaned in to give Dan a lingering kiss. When they pulled apart, Phil was still smiling, but a shadow seemed to have passed behind his eyes and Dan could tell that he was holding something back. “Phil?” he asked. “What is it?”

Phil shrugged. “I was just thinking about saying something while we’re on the topic of heartfelt and borderline cheesy confessions. So, I’ve decided I don’t like the phrase ‘falling in love’. I didn’t know that before you, since you’re my first love. Whenever I was with someone before you, I always waited for this inevitable moment where I… fell, but it never happened. And then I met you, and it was nothing like I had expected. I had butterflies in my stomach and my heart beat so fast that I thought it was going to fly out of my chest. I feel like I flew in love with you, if that makes sense.”

“A bit more than borderline cheesy,” Dan said with a laugh, but he leaned forward so that his forehead rested against Phil’s. “I know what you mean though. And I like that. It’s kind of appropriate actually.”

Phil blinked and his eyes were so close that Dan could see every fleck of yellow in the blue, and the glint sunlight on his ginger eyelashes. He asked, “Huh?”

“I was thinking of the sirens from old Greek myths,” Dan said. “They weren’t from the sea like sirens you see in pop culture today. They were birds. So, you see they didn’t swim, they soared. It’s kind of fitting then that you say I made your heart fly.”

Laughing, Phil wrapped his arms around Dan’s waist, lifted his feet from the floor, and spun him in a circle in the air. Dan whooped in delight and held tight to Phil’s shoulders.

Dan had been raised around the supernatural, yet still it surprised him sometimes. Perhaps hypnotizing a roomful of people with a voice was a true feat of magic, but Dan couldn’t help being more impressed by what he saw now: a wedding party at a 5-star venue in full splendor, all arranged and organized in less than a month. He stood in the parking lot by the event, and the scene before him looked fit for an appearance in any wedding magazine. Dan shook his head.

Phil noticed the gesture and that Dan had stopped walking, and he nudged him with a shoulder. “What is it? You okay?”

“Yup.” Dan nodded and started walking in the direction of the wedding party again, eyes on a chain of white paper lanterns strung between two nearby beach houses, the lanterns swaying in the breeze. “I was just thinking about my mum. I mean, how did she do all this in such a short time? She must have used her talent. There’s no other explanation.”

As they were walking between the houses, almost at the beach now, Phil opened his mouth to respond. He didn’t get the chance.

“But of course there is,” said a familiar female voice.

They both turned, and Dan saw his mum walking down the back-porch staircase of one of the beach houses. She was dressed in a white sundress that looked designer with a string of pearls looped twice around her neck, and her brown hair hung loose around her shoulders in carefully-styled waves. Dan nervously met her eyes, thinking she might be annoyed by his comment. Instead, he saw that her brown eyes creased at the corners with wry amusement as she beamed at him. Reassured, he walked over to give her a hug in greeting, as he said, “It’s good to see you, Mum. You look beautiful.”

She hugged him tight enough to make his ribs creak. “Thank you, honey. And thank you so much for coming.”

As his mum released him from the hug, her hands stayed on his shoulders like she was reluctant to break the contact, and this made Dan feel a rush of warmth in his chest. This was the one person in the world whom he knew he shared blood with and touching her seemed to make the blood thrum in his veins. Looking at the emotion on her face, it seemed like she might be feeling the same thing.

It had been a while since he had last seen her, but as they stood there the time they spent apart fell away, and suddenly he felt like a kid again, safe and happy in the hands of his mother. She had always seemed so strong to him, and the impressive sight of the party today had only reinforced this. Dan nodded to Phil, who had been standing a couple feet to the side to give the family some privacy during their reunion. He told her, “Mum, this is Phil, my boyfriend.”

Surprisingly, Phil looked a bit nervous – his cheeks even got pink – but he composed himself after a second and nodded. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Howell.”

“Please, if I’m going to call you Phil, then call me Monica.” She laughed and leaned forward to greet him with a friendly kiss on the cheek. “Besides, that’s not going to be my name for much longer. I’m about to be Mrs. Monticello.”

Dan glanced at the scene behind them and asked, “It looks amazing. How did you pull this together?”

“You mean without using my voice to hypnotize some hapless florists and bakers into getting free things fast?” She grinned at him. “Why, money. Of course, there’s nothing that can’t be easily acquired when money isn’t an issue – remember Nathaniel owns a vineyard? – and you can find good help.” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “My wedding planner, Fiona… now there’s a woman who must have supernatural talents. She’s the one who really organized this all, so she’s the one you should be impressed with. Oh! And speaking of, there is somewhere that I’m supposed to be right now. Fiona has a strict schedule for this party. She’s tiny, but scary, and I don’t want to get on her bad side.”

Dan laughed. “Don’t let me hold you up then. Go stand on your mark so this party can get started.”

She reached out to give his hand a squeeze. “Remember, you have a mark to stand on, too. I want my boy at my side when I get married, if you’re willing to do that for me.”

“Of course, Mum.” He returned the squeeze.

“Thanks, sweetie.” She laughed and dropped his hand. “I should go.”

“Yes, let’s avoid the wrath of the fearsome Fiona.”

Mum gave him one last smile before turning and hurrying in the direction of her party, nimbly navigating the path in her sparkly sandals.

Phil stepped closer, also watching her go. He commented, “She’s an interesting lady.”

Dan glanced at him. He had been so distracted by his own reunion that he hadn’t bothered to worry about the fact that his mum was meeting his boyfriend for the first time. Now he wondered, had they made a good impression on each other? Would they get along? As he looked at Phil, it seemed like the remark had been genuine. Everything had gone well.

Dan nodded. “She is. I’m glad you thought so. Um, are you ready to head over to the wedding?”

Phil smiled and took Dan’s hand as they followed the path that his mum had taken. Eventually, they stepped onto the beach, which had been carefully prepared for this event. It looked like the sand had been combed and evened as much as possible before the chairs, garlands of flowers, and archway had been placed here, all of which were a pure shade of white. The most vibrant color on display here was the vibrant blue of the ocean in the background, which was sparkling in the sunlight. It was breathtaking.

They had both paused a couple feet away from the chairs, looking around, but a man in a white suit rushed up to them and asked, “Bride or groom?”

As he gestured to the chairs – two groups on either side of the aisle – Dan realized that this man was an usher. Phil answered, “Bride.”

The usher started to lead them to two empty seats on what was apparently the section for the bride’s guests, but Dan said, “I’m actually the bride’s son. She said I’m supposed to stand with her, um, somewhere?”

As Dan scanned the crowd for his mum and some sign of where he was supposed to be, a woman overheard him and flew to his side. “There you are!” A short red-headed woman glared at him through her glasses, and he knew without introduction that this was the fearsome wedding planner. She beckoned him with an insistent gesture. “Follow me.”

After waving in farewell to Phil, who was following the usher to a chair, Dan turned to trail after Fiona as she walked brusquely. When she glanced over her shoulder to see that he was following, he smiled at her.

She shook her head before facing forward again, grumbling, “You know, you could have at least come to the rehearsal. This day would be much less chaotic if you had.”

“Sorry, I didn’t exactly get much notice about this wedding,” Dan said, bristling slightly.

Fiona snorted. “Tell me about it.” She stopped walking and turned to face him, looking less hostile – it seemed like she had decided to bond with him over the inconvenience of the hasty wedding. Her eyes flicked over him, and she nodded in approval. “Nice suit. I usually approve the outfits of those in the wedding party to make sure they look like a cohesive group. If I’d had a chance to approve yours, that’s exactly the kind of thing I would’ve hoped you would wear.”

Dan was wearing his white suit, which he thought made him look like a stormtrooper. His shoulders lifted slightly with the praise – it sounded like he had avoided the wedding planner’s wrath. Then, an arm looped through his. He glanced over, seeing his mum smiling at him.

“I told you my son would look nice,” she said to Fiona. Then she met Dan’s eyes and asked, “Ready to walk me down the aisle?”

He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Let’s go.”

The reception was taking place only a short walk away from the beachside wedding – in the backyard of the beach house. Dan lost track of Phil during the walk to the reception, but he had a guess of where he might be. As most of the wedding party strolled over to pose for photos, listen to live music, or partake of the generous open bar supplied by Nathaniel’s vineyard, Dan headed in a different direction. The tables on the lawns, decorated with elaborate centerpieces and embossed name cards, were empty except for a few elderly people who sat down for a rest. Servers in bow ties flitted between the tables, carrying trays laden with hors d’oeuvres as they hurried in the direction of the guests.

Tucked in a corner away from the chaos of the party was a white cake adorned with frosted flowers, fondant ribbons, and the figurines of a bride and groom. Phil was standing before the cake, seeming to be admiring it. Dan crept closer, until he was right behind Phil without having attracted his attention. Then he whispered, “I thought I might find you here.”

Phil gasped and whirled around. “Don’t do that!”

“Do what?” Dan teased. “Catch you trying to sneak a taste of the cake?”

His cheeks got pink. “I wasn’t. I swear.”

“Sure, you weren’t…” Dan drawled, but he relented as he turned his attention to the frosted confection. The figurines on top had such a likeness to his mum and Nathaniel that they must have been custom-made – the bride had brown curls hanging loose around her shoulders, and the groom had salt-and-pepper in his beard.

Phil was also staring at the cake. Slowly, he asked, “Can you see yourself having one of these someday?” He hesitated as Dan’s wide eyes shifted to his face, but continued, “A party like this… the cake, the ceremony, and the vows?”

“Phil, are you asking me if I’d want to get married someday?” He was sure that was what Phil was asking, but he stalled by saying, “What made you ask that?”

Phil shrugged. “When I saw you standing by that arch with your mum while she made her vows. You looked so beautiful up there in your white suit… it made me wonder what you thought our future might be like.”

“Oh.” Dan looked at the cake again, this time picturing it with a figurine of himself and Phil atop it. After a moment, he answered, “It’s a terrifying thing to envision – standing in front of all those people, making those oaths, and starting a new chapter of my life tied to someone. It’s not something I ever thought I wanted for myself, but with you? I think it’s possible. You’re the only person in the world who I can see myself doing something like that with. You make me brave.”

“You make me brave, too.” Phil opened his mouth to say something else, but then his phone buzzed. Sighing, he extracted his phone from his pocket, and read the name displayed on the screen. “It’s my mum.”

“Answer it!”

“Now?” He gestured between them with the phone in his hand. “We were in the middle of something…”

“Yes!” Dan whined. “I’ll marry you someday, and when I do I’d like to be on good terms with my mother-in-law. Now, pick up the call before she gets voicemail!”

Smiling, Phil accepted the call, which was a video call. He put it on speaker phone and Kath’s face appeared on the screen. “Hey, mum! I’m here with Dan.”

She smiled and creases appeared at the corners of her eyes. Her voice came, small and tinny from the speaker, “Philip! And hi, Daniel! I was just calling to make sure that your flight went safely.”

“Hi, Kath!” Dan said with a wave.

“We’re fine, as you can see,” Phil assured her. “The flight was great, and we made it in time for the wedding. Everything is going great. And I promise to buy you some nice American candy while I’m here!”

She laughed. “You might buy it, but I’m sure you’ll eat it before you get a chance to give it to me. Oh well, it’s the thought that counts!”

He opened his mouth to defend himself, but he was surprised to see Dan’s mum had approached them. She was grinning wide and grabbed the phone from Phil’s hand. Dan’s mum said, “Hi, is this Phil’s mother? I’m Monica. I thought I should introduce myself because based on what I just overheard, we might be in-laws someday.”

There was a pause before Kath said in an inscrutable voice, “Oh?”

Phil exchanged a look with Dan, who appeared apologetic. As Phil sorted through his own emotions, he just shrugged and decided to see what would happen next, as their mothers continued chatting on the phone. This might be entertaining…

“I’m Dan’s mum,” she said by way of explanation to Kath. “The boys came here for my wedding. Did they tell you that?”

“Yes, they did.” Kath was speaking in a firm voice, which she always used when trying to get her way. “Now, what was this you were saying about another wedding?”

“Oh, are you interested in weddings? Let me tell you about mine. Everything has gone perfectly today! The ice sculpture is stunning, the sun is shining, and the flowers are absolutely amazing. There are white roses everywhere. The centerpieces are so beautiful. Let me show you one!” Monica wandered off in the direction of an empty table where a centerpiece was resting.

Phil blinked. “I’ve never seen someone deflect my mum like that before.”

“My mum has a talent for deflection,” Dan said with a sigh. Then as he watched his mum in the distance, rambling without pausing to take a breath despite Kath’s attempts to cut in, he couldn’t help laughing.

Phil joined in with the laughter, his blue eyes sparkling. When their laughter died down, Phil nodded to the microphone and speakers mounted on a small stage on the corner of the lawn. He asked, “Are you going to perform soon?”

Dan nodded and checked the time on his phone. “Yeah, I’m supposed sing in a moment.” He shot Phil a worried glance. “When my mom asked me to sing for her, I didn’t explain the choice I’ve made to use my real voice. What if she hates it? What if she doesn’t like the choice I’ve made for myself?”

“Dan, I’ve heard you practice this song for today.” He took Dan by the shoulders and squeezed gently. “Your voice is beautiful and your mum is going to be proud of you. I promise.”

Dan swallowed heavily before nodding. Then he smiled and said, “Thanks, Phil. For always believing in me.”

Dan glanced at the stage and sucked in a steady breath. There was a small orchestra playing, just a half dozen people performing relaxing background music for the people strolling around the yard, chatting with cocktails in hand. The orchestra seemed to be wrapping up the piece they were performing, and this seemed like the perfect moment to go over. Mum had already made the arrangements, so the orchestra knew that Dan would be performing, and even what song he would be doing so they could accompany them. There was nothing holding him back.

Dan locked eyes with Phil, finding his courage in the ocean eyes. He said, “I’m ready. Let’s go.” They pushed through the crowd of guests until they made it to the stage, where the orchestra had just wrapped up a song and were organizing their sheet music before the next one. Dan addressed a cellist near the edge of the stage, “Hi, I’m the bride’s son? She said she would like me to sing a song? Is this a good time?”

“Ah! You must be Daniel.” The cellist got up from his chair to carry a mic stand to the center of the stage, which he then raised to Dan’s height.

Phil took Dan’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze. He whispered, “You’re going to be great.”

Dan gave the hand a squeeze in thanks before releasing it and climbing onto the stage. He was breathing in slow and steady breaths so that he didn’t panic as his gaze swept the crowd, seeing the party guests turning to look at him curiously. For the first time in his career as a musician, he was facing the crowd without a piano before him and it felt like he was naked without it. This scared him even more than the fact that he was about to sing without his siren voice.

Dan’s eyes searched the crowd for familiar faces. He found his mum easily in her white dress. She was standing beside her new husband, Nathaniel, whom was also watching Dan expectantly. Mum waved, and then pointed to the phone in her hand. The phone was still displaying Kath’s face. Apparently, he would be performing for her today, too. His eyes roved further, and finally he found Phil’s face, shining bright with joy as he gazed back at Dan. That was all he needed to see.

He sucked in a deep breath before leaning into the mic. “Hello. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Monica’s son, Daniel. In honor of my mum’s happiness today, I’d like to perform a song. I hope you all enjoy it.”

The orchestra began to play a soft melody, and a few people in the crowd gave short, excited claps as they recognized the familiar tune. Dan began to sing in his normal voice, “I found a love for me. Darling just dive right in and follow my lead.”

Phil smiled at that line, and Dan could guess why – he had quite literally taken a dive when he fell in love with Phil. Knowing that their minds seemed to be in the same place, Phil shot him a wink, which almost made Dan laugh.

Shifting his gaze to less distracting people in the crowd, Dan focused on his mum and her new husband as he sung, “Well I found a woman, stronger than anyone I know. She shares my dreams, I hope that someday I'll share her home. I found a love, to carry more than just my secrets, to carry love, to carry children of our own. We are still kids, but we're so in love.”

Mum clasped hands with Nathaniel, lifted them to her lips, and kissed the back of his hand. Nathaniel smiled at her and placed a kiss on the top of her head, but Mum never took her eyes off Dan and she didn’t even blink.

Dan had been worried what she would think about him singing in this voice, but he was starting to relax. His mum didn’t seem disappointed. Quite the opposite. “Baby, I'm dancing in the dark, with you between my arms. Barefoot on the grass, listening to our favorite song. When I saw you in that dress, looking so beautiful, I don't deserve this, darling, you look perfect tonight.”

As he came to the close of the song, Dan found his eyes drawn to Phil again. He had the odd urge to burst with thanks in the middle of this performance for Phil. If Phil hadn’t suggested singing in his real voice, then none of this would have been possible. This entire crowd would be hypnotized right now, and Dan would hate himself for it. Phil had given him everything. “I have faith in what I see. Now I know I have met an angel in person, and he looks perfect. I don't deserve this. You look perfect tonight.”

It was hard to tell at this distance, but it seemed like Phil’s cheeks got a bit pink.

Dan’s fingers roved across the sheets, searching for warmth. He didn’t find the soft skin he was searching for, and he blinked sleepily before calling, “Phil?”

“Over here,” a voice answered from the other side of the room.

Dan rolled over, rubbing his eyes as they adjusted to the moonlight streaming in the window, which seemed impossibly bright as it glinted off the nearby sea and glazed Phil in blue light. As Dan fought to full consciousness, he took in the visage of Phil standing before the open window. His inky black hair was tousled from sleep, he wasn’t wearing his glasses, and he was nude except for his boxers. The planes of his leanly muscled body were washed out by moonlight, and he looked too lovely to be merely mortal. The sight of him made Dan’s heart squeeze in his chest. How had he gotten so lucky?

Dan asked in a sleep-roughened voice, “What are you doing there?”

Phil nodded to the view. “It’s not every day that I have a view like this outside my window. Sleeping and missing this seemed like a waste.”

Dan couldn’t argue with that, so he stayed silent.

“Hey, I have a crazy idea…” Phil crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. His face was shining with excitement. He asked, “Will you come take a swim with me?”

“What? Now?” He glanced around the room for a clock but didn’t see one. It must be around 3am. Then his gaze flicked back to Phil’s face, and he saw how much he wanted this. Reluctantly, Dan said, “Alright.”

Helped by Phil’s hand, he slipped out of their warm bed in just his boxers. They didn’t turn on any lights and tiptoed through the beach house, wary of waking anyone. As they stepped outside, the chill of the night air nipped at Dan’s skin – like Phil, he was clad in just his boxers. He felt exposed now under the light of a bright full moon but kept jogging onto the beach. His hand was still linked with Phil’s and he felt brave with him at his side.

The tide was high, pulled in by the moon, and the sea had swallowed most of the beach. A wave rushed fast and foamy in the sand only a few inches from Dan’s toes. He gasped in surprise and stopped in his tracks, his hands slipping from Phil’s grasp.

Phil turned around. The wind was whipping at his messy quiff, and his brow was furrowed in confusion. He asked, “What is it?”

Dan bit his lip and looked at the water. “Sorry. It’s just that besides that one time that I went into the sea to save you, it had been years since I went anywhere near it. It scares me a bit.”

“Do you want to go back inside?” Phil stepped closer, and this time he took both of Dan’s hands in his. “Or do you want to keep going?”

For a moment, Dan considered it. He had avoided the sea for a long time not only out of his fear that the water would expose him, but also because it felt so good, like he might sink into the water one day and never come out. As he looked at Phil, those fears fell away. He didn’t have to worry about Phil rejecting him for his webbed hands, and he didn’t think that he would be tempted to never get out of the water. Dan smiled to show Phil that it was okay, and he walked into the water with him. Wherever Phil went, Dan knew that he would want to go, too.

#phanfiction #phandom #phanfic #dan and phil #dan x phil #merman #mermaid #siren

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that-wimpy-cowboy-doll · 6 years

Note

Quicktaser (Darcy/Pietro), Voulez-Vous, pretty please?

Unmasked

For the amazing @dresupi I’m sorry this took so long, but I hope you like it!

Masquerade balls are fucking preposterous.

Darcy decides this is so, not because of the entirely excessive decorations that dance across the Avengers compound, not because of the over-the-top outfits that send far too many titties over the top, not even because Johnny Storm thinks the anonymity of a flimsy Walmart mask makes it okay to try and grab her ass when they dance.

No, masquerade balls are preposterous because they assume that she wouldn’t be able to tell who the owner of those equally preposterous pectoral muscles is just by slapping a feathery mask over his stupid perfect cheekbones.

“God, he looks good,” she sighs over her mojito, Jane peering over her shoulder to get a look at what Pietro is wearing, which is a midnight-colored suit perfectly tailored to the ridges of his muscles and the mathematically impeccable curve of his ass.

“You should go dance with him.” Jane sips on her margarita, and Darcy can faintly see her eyebrows raising in suggestion under her lacy black mask.

“I can’t. He barely knows me.” Jane again quirks an eyebrow at her. Pietro’s DNA is among the best to test for the genetic mutation that Bruce Banner is most interested in, so he’s down in the lab pretty often. Meaning that every time he talks to her she bumbles her way through half-sentences and half-words until her cheeks burn bright red and he leaves with a pity-smile and a wave.

“He makes a point to talk to you whenever he’s in the lab. You know how many times he’s talked to me since he’s been here? Maybe twice.” She bumps Darcy with her hips, pushing her a few inches closer, where Pietro’s engaged in some sort of discussion with Wanda, both of them gesturing frantically and getting louder by the moment.

Darcy doesn’t know a lick of Sokovian, but by the sound of it and the urgency of the gestures, they’re arguing over something. Pietro sounding more passionate than usual and Wanda getting exasperated. At last Wanda huffs and walks away with Vision on her heels, presumably trying to soothe her nerves.

Darcy’s never been one for good timing, but there’s really no such thing as good timing, and she doesn’t have much to lose.

“Hey,” she decides to say softly, sidling up to him with her arms crossed self-consciously over her chest. “You alright?”

“Yes,” he says, through gritted teeth, and he sighs, lifting his drink to his lips. “Sorry, mače, you’re catching me at a bad time.”

“I’m sorry, do you want me to - ” She aims her thumb over her shoulder, but he shakes his head and smiles apologetically.

“No, no, stay. I could use some company, especially from a pretty girl like yourself.”

Oh, my God. He has no idea it’s me. This beautiful idiot.

Though her cheeks burn hot with the pleasure of hearing him call her pretty, there’s no way he knows it’s her. Somehow, the gods of masquerade balls have chortled evilly down at her and shown her how irrelevant she is to him by slapping a mask on her and making her completely unrecognizable. So unrecognizable that he’d call her pretty out here in front of everyone.

“Well…aside from all that, how’s everything going? You enjoying the party?”

“I am,” he says, nodding emphatically, and leans back against the guardrail, watching the rest of the action going down on the dancefloor. “That Thor…he is a hell of a dancer, isn’t he?”

Lo and behold, a noble Asgardian god dropping it low and pressing his majestic ass to the front of Jane’s dress, while she, tiny and barely tall enough to tower over even a bent-over Thor, holds her drink above her head and presses a hand to the small of his back. Darcy grins, unable to hold back the laugh that bubbles straight out of her belly.

“He is, isn’t he?” Pietro laughs, too, takes a sip of his drink, and when it’s empty, sets it on a nearby end table, taking Darcy’s hand.

“Come, dance with me, mače.”

“I - I don’t know - ” She does know. She wants to dance chest to chest with him until she melts into his lips and he takes her back to his suite and ravishes her until the sun rises in the morning. But she knows that with how little he knows her, how little he cares to know her beyond tonight with the dresses and the masks, if she were to melt for him the way she wants to, it’s going to hurt.

Because when the masks come off and the glamour of the night fades, he’ll go back to being Quicksilver, suave and cool and super, and she’ll go back to being…Darcy.

But when he says, “Please, draga?” with those big blue eyes of his through the black mask that does nothing to hide how ridiculously beautiful he is, there’s no way she can say no.

It may be the drink that she’s left on the end table next to his, or the intense speakers that Tony’s installed in this place, but it’s like the music swims around them, hot and fluid, and the hand that’s holding hers guides her into a twirl, his other hand sliding to her waist and pulling her flush against him. Her arms decide to string themselves over his shoulders while they bob and sway to the bass, nearly every part of her body deciding to suddenly move of its own accord. Her hips weave towards his, and he responds in kind. She’s pretty sure, at this point, that she’s just drunk on him, and the delicious smell of his airy cologne.

His lips are just a few inches away from hers; it would be so easy, so simple just to reach up and kiss him…

“You’re gorgeous, Darcy,” he whispers, and her heart almost stops when he utters her name.

“You know it’s me?” He snorts, and she almost laughs with him, but then his hand edges forward to cradle her cheek, to keep her looking at him.

“Mače, of course I know it’s you. Wanda kept bothering me to go talk to you, but I wanted to be sure you wanted to talk to me. Now that I know you do…” He shrugs, but his hand doesn’t leave her face, and his thumb even begins to trace a gentle circle into her skin.

“Pietro, I…are you sure you…I mean, I…” He presses his lips to hers, catching her in simultaneously the sweetest and the hottest kiss she’s ever felt, warm and soft and concentrated, like he wants to put his entire self behind it.

When he finally pulls away, Darcy swears she’s seeing stars.

“You’re more wonderful than you think, mače. And I’m smarter than I look.”

For the record, mače means “kitty or kitten” in Croatian, and draga means “sweetheart.” Thanks for reading!

#mcu #abba #drabble #quicktaser #darcy lewis #pietro maximoff #darcy lewis x pietro maximoff #darcy/pietro #my first quicktaser

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prolestari · 6 years

Text

My next contribution to Zelthur weekend is the following oneshot! This also takes place in the modern AU, which has taken over my life. Just so you know, in my AU (which I will start publishing after Divine Gambit is over) Arthur is a firefighter, Zeldris is a tax attorney, and Gelda is a marketing consultant (don’t ask me what that is, no one knows, and neither do Zeldris or Arthur).

This oneshot is also NSFW so please enjoy responsibly. Thanks for reading! I’ll have some art up later! :)

Arthur tapped his foot impatiently as the elevator rose through Zeldris’ office building. Inside was a woman who kept glancing over her shoulder at him, and he chuckled to himself. He was still wearing the uniform pants and t-shirt with his ladder and engine number printed on the back. Girls always loved the uniform.

He winked at her when she got off at her floor, making her blush, and he shook his head when the door closed. Finally he reached the tenth floor and he stepped into the lobby of the law firm Zeldris had been working at for nearly a year.

Arthur had only been there a couple of times, but he remembered to take a right and weaved his way through the semi-private cubicles, looking for Zeldris. He frowned, trying to figure out where his would be, when someone called over, “Are you lost?”

He turned and smiled at a young man in a suit, leaning around the side of his own cubicle with raised eyebrows. “Sorry, yeah,” he said sheepishly. “Is Zeldris somewhere around here? I’m a friend and I brought his dinner.”

The guy nodded and tilted his head. “File room C. He should still be there.”

Arthur gave a thanks and headed down the hallway. Sure enough, he found Zeldris sitting behind a long desk, frowning over a file. “There you are!” he cried, laughing as Zeldris jumped a mile and kicking the door shut.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he laughed, rubbing his hands on his face. “What are you doing here?”

“Gelda asked me to get you something on my way home. She said you probably hadn’t eaten. She’s right, isn’t she? You look like shit.”

“Yeah.” Zeldris stretched a bit before standing, walking around the desk with a smile.

Arthur met him halfway, wrapping the arm not carrying the bag of food around his waist. “Door’s locked,” he said. “Any windows or cameras?”

“No,” whispered Zeldris, his arms going around his neck.

“Good.”

Their mouths met, hot but sweet, and Arthur kissed him slowly as Zeldris tugged on the end fringes of his hair. Then he pulled away with a final nip on his lower lip. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” Zeldris moved some files to make room on the desk as Arthur dragged another chair over, then started unpacking the bag. “How was your day?” he asked.

Arthur started to pull out the Chinese containers and lay them on the desk. “Busy. Car accident. But fine.” He handed Zeldris a box of noodles and chopsticks with a critical eye. “What time did you start today?”

“Seven,” he answered around a mouthful, looking sheepish when Arthur frowned. “I know, I know, but my part in this case will be over in a week when it finally gets to trial. If it does well this is going to look really, really good for me.”

“Yeah I know.” Arthur grinned and took up his own container. “We will go out for drinks and celebrate.”

Zeldris moaned and nodded his agreement, shoving food into his mouth so quickly Arthur wondered if he had eaten today at all. They were silent for a couple of minutes as they ate, until Zeldris said, “Thanks for this. You must be tired from your shift.”

“It’s not a problem.” His eyes trailed across the paperwork in stacks on the desk. “How long do you think you’ll be?” he asked, knowing he wouldn’t like the answer.

Shrugging, Zeldris sighed, “Every time I think that I’m almost done they want another copy of something, another reference, another look at some interview.”

“I’m surprised you’re not reciting this stuff in your sleep,” Arthur joked.

As if on cue, the phone on the desk rang, and Zeldris slid his chair over to pick it up. “Yes? ...I did pick that up… Sure let me look.”

Arthur watched him as he talked on the phone, opening a file and leafing through before reading its contents to whoever was on the other end. He grinned to himself as he ate some rice, admiring the confident way Zeldris answered his colleague and the surety in how he handled the files. He was dressed in a suit, navy blue with a crisp white shirt, tailored nicely to his broad shoulders and lean, muscular frame. His dark maroon tie was loosened just enough for Zeldris to have undone the top button, and just that tiny bit of dishevelment with the rest of his look so slick and professional made his imagination start turning. He and Gelda had agreed long ago that their boyfriend looked the hottest in a nice suit.

Zeldris caught him looking and gave him a curious glance. In response Arthur licked his lips, laughing quietly as Zeldris rolled his eyes. He went back to his food as Zeldris went back to his conversation, which finally ended a few minutes later.

“Sorry about that,” he said, sitting back in his chair. “One day these phone calls will stop and I can actually get my real work done.”

“Did you eat enough?” Arthur asked.

Zeldris nodded, seemingly content for the moment, and Arthur moved. Before Zeldris could protest he straddled his lap, sitting on his strong thighs and draping his arms over his shoulders. “Very good,” Arthur murmured, then dipped his face in to kiss his neck.

“What are you doing?” laughed Zeldris nervously.

Arthur licked the skin just under his jawline. “You look stressed. You haven’t eaten. You’re tired. You need a break.” His mouth moved to his earlobe and gave it a quick tug between his teeth. “Plus you look really hot in that suit.”

Zeldris chuckled again, but pushed gently on Arthur’s hips. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, and you can’t finish here.”

“Oh I bet I could finish you here,” grinned Arthur, reaching in between them to press his palm over Zeldris’ crotch.

But Zeldris just yelped and grabbed his arm. “Don’t,” he laughed. “Someone could walk in.”

“Scared someone will find out about your boyfriend?” Arthur taunted in his ear.

“It’s not that, it’s any personal stuff in the office. The partners are really strict with that.” Arthur murmured his assent, but continued kissing along his neck, one hand moving to slide into his hair. He was pleased to hear Zeldris’ voice getting tighter and breathier as he worked his lips and tongue along the sensitive skin. “They don’t care who I am fucking as long as I fuck them at home. That’s a direct quote.”

Arthur was sucking on the side of his neck, and let go to smooth his tongue over the little dark mark. “Glad I’m the one fucking you.”

“This weekend I’ll be home, and then--”

He was cut off by the phone ringing. They looked at one another for a moment before both burst into a nervous laugh. Zeldris reached around Arthur and picked up the receiver, bringing it to his ear. “Yes? Yeah.”

His other hand rested on Arthur’s thigh. Arthur sat back a bit, not understanding the difference between an abatement and an investment, but amused at the look of concentration on Zeldris’ face. He picked up his hand and pulled it up to his mouth, giving him a soft bite on the fleshy pad at the base of his thumb.

Zeldris jerked his hand away, reaching around to give Arthur’s rear a swat. He kept talking, however, not giving any indication there was someone in his lap; Arthur smiled wide, licking his lips, and leaned forward.

“Keep talking,” he whispered in his ear, letting his breath feather over the shell. He smirked when Zeldris’ words hesitated for a split second, and then Arthur began kissing him languidly, rolling his tongue along his ear and trailing wet kisses down his neck. He rocked his hips experimentally, pleased to feel a few sparks jump to life inside of him, and reached down to rub his fingers between Zeldris’ legs.

“The, ah, COMPANY--” here Zeldris reached down to grip Arthur’s wrist, “--did not produce invoices for that month.” He glared at Arthur, who gave a sweet smile. “No, no, it’s in the notes of the spreadsheet.”

Zeldris gave him a warning look as he listened. Arthur remained perfectly still, except for his fingers, which moved to stroke the outline of his body through his pants. The hand around his wrist tightened, and Arthur tilted forward, nipping gently on his neck.

“Okay good. Yeah that sounds like it will work. Thanks.” Zeldris nearly dropped the phone as he banged it back down into the cradle and pulled away from Arthur’s mouth. “Are you kidding me?” he laughed, leaning back a bit to look into Arthur’s eyes.

“No way.” He smoothed his fingers up and down the slight bulge in Zeldris’ pants, smirking when he felt a tell-tale twitch. “I’m not leaving until I get dessert.”

Laughing, Zeldris shook his head. “I have to get back to work,” he scolded, trying to sound serious, but as Arthur felt his grip on his wrist loosen, he knew the protest was weak at best.

Arthur tilted up a bit to look down at him, licking his lips as he pulled loose Zeldris’ belt. The smile on Zeldris’ face melted away, replaced with a look of guarded anticipation; his throat bobbed as he swallowed visibly when the pants were opened and the zipper slowly pulled down.

“You’re going to get me fired,” Zeldris whispered, but again his voice betrayed him as Arthur moved his hand inside his pants.

Instead of answering, Arthur leaned down and kissed him, his tongue hungry as he stroked Zeldris’ own, his free hand curling through the back of his hair and pulling sharply on the black locks. He could nearly taste the excitement, his own heart pumping a little faster as Zeldris nipped at his lips. Their mouths slanted again, and as their kiss deepened all Arthur could think about was how good he looked in the suit, how strong his body was underneath, and how hot he sounded so serious on the phone.

He pulled away and looked down into dark green eyes now filled with lust. Silently he slipped to the floor to kneel, yanking the trousers completely open and peeling the fabric down so Zeldris’ cock was now exposed. Arthur watched for a moment as it tilted, growing harder, then he grasped it with his hand, smoothing up and down the hot velvet as he glanced upwards.

Zeldris was watching, his hands gripping the arms of the office chair, and as Arthur began to stroke him faster his lips parted with a heavy pant. He pumped him firmly, their eyes staying connected, the room silent except for the sound of skin sliding on skin, which made the moment all the more intense. Finally Zeldris’ eyes flickered upwards, towards the door, and his neck bloomed into a flush. “Arthur, I don’t know if--”

His newest objection stuttered off into a choked moan as Arthur wrapped his lips around him. He was mouthing the head, the kiss messy and wet as his tongue darted out to rub a spot just under the fold of skin at the top. Zeldris lifted his hips slightly in reflex, so Arthur tilted his head to suck on that spot, pulling the skin between his lips and lavishing plenty of pressure with his attentions.

“Shit. Shit.” Zeldris was gasping, his hips now rocking slightly. He pushed his hips forward, his cock slipping along Arthur’s mouth; Arthur simply chuckled, opening wide for Zeldris to press against the heat of his mouth, but keeping still so he could not get the pressure he was sure he was craving. He wanted to make this part last just a bit longer before sucking on him. He wanted Zeldris drained when he was finished.

“Arthur,” he panted, his brows pulled down with his frustration. Arthur grabbed his organ by the root and held him steady, and then began to swallow him, their eyes still connected. He watched as Zeldris mouthed another curse, visibly shuddering when his cock met the back of his throat. Arthur held him there for a few seconds, swallowing around him, then slowly pulled back as he took a deep inhale of breath.

He repeated the action, sucking him in slowly, again, and again, and again, until Zeldris was trembling all over. He had sunk down a bit more in the chair, his head rolling back a bit and his eyes fluttering shut every time Arthur’s mouth covered him completely. Arthur reached into his trousers and cupped the flesh inside, weighing the sac in the palm of his hand and gently massaging him as he held him in his mouth.

Suddenly the phone rang, and Zeldris jumped a mile. “Shit, shit,” he muttered again, and Arthur pulled back a bit to laugh, making him groan with the vibrations in his throat. “Please, just give me--” Zeldris fumbled with the phone, sucking in a breath to compose himself before answering, “Yes? Hello?”

Zeldris was visibly sweating as he listened to the other end, so Arthur started to move. He rocked his head up and down, letting the thick cock slide in and out of his wet mouth. The head pressed on the back of his throat every time, and Arthur moaned a little, the excitement of taking him so deeply while under his desk making his own body tighten as well. He applied pressure to the sac in his hand just as he would have wanted it, feeling satisfaction when Zeldris’ voice on the phone faltered.

As he pulled back to catch a breath, rolling his tongue around the head, he felt Zeldris’ hand grip his hair. Arthur moaned softly, lapping at the underside of the head, and heard him say, “Yeah, yeah I’ll… I’ll hold.” There was a dull thud on the table, then both of Zeldris’ hands were in his hair, pulling and tugging in a way that had sent sparks of pleasure down Arthur’s spine. “Please, please Arthur,” Zeldris begged. “Please I don’t--”

Arthur pulled away, hearing Zeldris groan behind clenched teeth. But his hand started stroking him again, hard, long strokes that went from root to tip, his thumb rubbing right in the spot that he knew would have him seeing stars. As his hand worked, Arthur pushed his thighs open a bit, and leaned in to begin pressing his tongue along the base and darting out to push against his flesh. He started working him with a wet precision, mouthing one of his balls and then the other, not stopping the furious pace of his fist.

There was another thud and then Zeldris said breathlessly, “Yeah, yeah I’m here.” The strain in his voice was obvious, so Arthur moved his mouth back to his cock. It was salty and rich and so hot he thought he might be enjoying this more than Zeldris. He closed his eyes and focused on getting the suction just right, wanting to get him off with something to remember.

“What do I think? Uh…” Arthur worked faster, his hand jerking the base as his mouth slid up and down the shaft, sucking him with a wet noise that was erotic and had his own cock pounding. “I think--” His voice went up a pitch as Arthur sucked on the head, so Zeldris cleared his throat. “I think if Mr. Galen want to pursue that he’s--ah--he’s going to lose the ca-aaase.”

Then Zeldris grabbed Arthur by the back of the head, thrusting hard into his mouth once, twice, three times; finally he started to orgasm, his seed shooting into Arthur’s mouth in thick spurts that he eagerly swallowed, mouthing hotly along his length.

“That sounds… that sounds much better.” Zeldris sighed into the phone. “Yeah, I’m fine I… I just need some coffee I think. Okay I’ll see you in ten minutes.”

Arthur heard the click of the phone being replaced, followed by a low groan. His lips were gently moving up and down the softening cock, and when he looked up he saw Zeldris sitting back in his chair, his arm covering his eyes as he breathed deeply.

He let his sex fall from his mouth, and when Zeldris peeked down, Arthur licked his lips. “Arthur,” he sighed. “I’m going to kill you.”

“Kiss me instead,” he replied, standing up and leaning back on the desk.

Zeldris grinned and slid forward, his hands sliding up Arthur’s thighs. He reached for the button on the front of his pants but Arthur shied away. “Nope, no time.”

“I have--” Zeldris checked his watch, “--six minutes. Don’t doubt me.”

Arthur laughed. He bent down and kissed him, but when Zeldris eagerly pressed back he pulled away. “Nah. I got what I wanted.”

“Oh really? And what are you gonna do with this?” Zeldris teased, his brows sliding up as he nodded to the very prominent erection under Arthur’s pants.

“Mmmmm… I think I’ll go home and fuck Gelda. Have her ride me right in the middle of the bed.” Zeldris whimpered and pressed his forehead on Arthur’s thigh. “I’ll describe to her how you tasted, she’ll like that.”

Zeldris gave a groan of protest, but Arthur simply pressed him back and planted another kiss on his lips. “Don’t work to hard,” he whispered.

He headed to the door before glancing back at Zeldris. “Don’t forget to put that away,” he nodded with a grin, and Zeldris tossed a chopstick at him as Arthur slipped out the door, laughing.

#nnt #nanatsu no taizai #zeldris #arthur #zelthurweekendnsfw #zelthur #fan fiction #modern au #happy birthday arthur

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