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froggie-recs-fics · 3 years

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Fic Roundup (up to 9/26/21)

I'm gonna start collecting fics I've read recently to recommend them, because making trope lists takes too long and many fics fall by the wayside. Let me know if you like this new format!

The fandoms in this list are as follows: Marvel (SamBucky, HTP, SpideyPool, WinterHawk, WinterIron, Stony, Stucky, SpiderShield), DCU (Bane/Blake), Inception (Arthur/Eames), Teen Wolf (Sterek).

A * signifies a particular favorite (though I love all these fics)

Marvel

Sam/Bucky

double back by flowermasters (E, 12K, Post-Endgame, Time Loop, Time Travel)

Sam gets stuck in a time loop. In 1943.

Things could be worse, but they could certainly be better.

Companion piece here: quick time

I'll explain everything to the geese by napricot (Post-Endgame, E, 50K, Sam can talk to birds)

Bucky is so competent that it hurts my feelings is not a rational complaint to have about a person, and yet, after a year of being Captain America and partnering up with Bucky for the new and improved, post-Blip Avengers, that’s kinda how Sam’s feeling.

It’s not great. It maybe leads to Sam making some rash, ill-advised decisions like claiming he has a previously undisclosed superpower, and then getting caught in a web of lies when he ends up actually developing that surprisingly inconvenient superpower. Talking to birds had seemed like a harmless superpower, but it turns out that birds have a lot of opinions, and they don’t hesitate to tell Sam about them, especially when it comes to his supposedly subpar courting skills. Which is ridiculous, because Sam isn’t courting Bucky. Right?

Rumlow/Bucky

**blueprints for a better world series by itallstartedwithdefenestration @astralhux (CATWS, Post-CATWS, Noncon, E, 115K, Dark Main Character)

When Pierce discovers the asset is no longer capable of getting himself hard during recreational use, he tells Rumlow to figure out what the problem is, and to fix it. The solution turns out to be more complicated than anyone expected.

I can't recommend this series enough

Peter/Wade

*Dead Men Walking series by doctorestranged @lazystrawberrymilkshakes (E, 235K, Identity Porn, Slow Burn)

When a series of murders take place, Peter Parker goes undercover in Sister Margaret’s to get intel on Tony Stark’s prime suspect: Deadpool. Peter goes in hoping to get enough information so that Spider-Man can save the day, but like everything in Peter’s life, it becomes a bit more complicated than that and it soon becomes apparent that he might not be the best fit for the job.

All About Chemistry by TwiceBakedPotato @sedatedkoala (No Powers AU, M, CNTW, 74K, Teacher-Student Relationship, Slow Build)

After serving his 20 years in the Marine Corps, Wade Wilson is cashing in his GI Bill and going back to college. He feels like the old man on campus, but that doesn't matter. He likes his classes. He likes learning. And he especially likes his Chemistry professor with the messy brown hair.

Clint/Bucky

Making Me A Habit by Kangofu_CB @kangofu-cb (No Powers AU, T, 20K, Pet Store, Slow Burn, Pining, Misunderstandings)

Bucky is a disabled vet struggling with reintegrating into civilian life. He has a routine and a rhythm, and he doesn't like to let anything - big or small - disrupt it. That all changes the day Bucky finds himself inside CATastrophe, the local pet rescue, recovering from a panic attack in the back room of the shop.

He’s used to walking by the place, not visiting, but the next thing Bucky knows, he’s hanging signs and being used as a climbing tree for a bunch of freshly-acquired kittens. And he just...keeps going back. First for the kittens, then for the disaster shop owner who rescues actual kittens from actual trees and teaches archery as a side-gig, and eventually because he’s hopelessly in love.

(Clint was in love before Bucky ever walked in the door.)

*Nameless by AvaKelly (Post-CATWS, M, 101K, Time Travel, Time Loop, Slow Burn)

A gun is pointed at him before he can even move from his position, the Soldier's metal arm steady in its aim. Clint sighs.

"Nemo," Clint says. "It's tattooed on your wrist, right here," he lifts his right hand and taps his left index finger where his palm ends.

The Soldier's eyes widen. "How do you know this?"

"I put it there."

Glitter, G-Strings and Other Mission Hazards by flawedamythyst @flawedamythyst (T, 16K, Undercover, Stripper Clint)

“Which is why you need me to shake my booty for cash,” said Clint.

“Precisely,” said Coulson. “You’re the only agent we have who wouldn’t need additional training in the skills of an exotic dancer to take on the mission, and we want to get someone in there as soon as possible.”

Clint nodded, shutting the file. “Okay, awesome. I’ll dig out my sequined g-string.”

“You’ll have full access to requisition any costumes you might need,” said Coulson.

A mission requires Bucky to be Clint's back-up as he goes undercover as a stripper, which gets more difficult with every new costume he comes out in.

Paternal Error by EVVS @skylarkevanson (Post-CATWS, T, 33K, Kid Fic, Established Relationship)

Bucky has never once thought of being a parent. Not since the Winter Solider happened.

Until he falls in love with Clint Barton. And that idiot just keeps collecting children for his flock.

Now Bucky has to pretend like he's good at parenting.

Bucky/Tony

Forms of Love by bear_bell (Post-CACW, E, 33K, Split Personalities)

Months after the Avengers' dispute in Germany, the team returns to the US and moves back into the tower. As always, everyone pretends that nothing happened. Tony is just fine with this. He's used to pretending, and he'll be damned if he lets any of them see him flinch.

Tony's the bad guy, after all. He's used to it. He's fine with it. He's good at it.

Only now, there's something far worse loitering around the tower - The Winter Soldier. No one notices the guy at first, but when they do, Tony figures that he should have the soldier's back.

Birds of a feather should flock together, and the bad guys should start a book club.

Steve/Tony

While You Were Sleeping by betheflame @betheflame (No Powers AU, M, 65K, While You Were Sleeping AU)

It's been years since Steve Grant Rogers Drysdale has spoken to his twin, Ransom. So it was quite a shock when he was summoned to a hospital and found out that Ransom was in a coma.

Even more shocking? That Ransom is engaged. To Tony Stark.

Steve/Bucky

The Road Goes Ever On And On by PipGraham (Omegaverse AU, M, Noncon, Graphic Violence, 20K, Road Trip, Pre-Serum Steve, Past Domestic Violence)

When Brock's continued domestic abuse puts not only Steve's life in danger, but also that of his unborn pup, he flees into the night with just a small backpack of clothes and almost no money to his name.

Steve quickly runs into trouble as he tries to embark on a 3-day cross-country bus journey back home to New York City.

He meets a kind veteran when he most needs a helping hand.

Just Words by LadyRazzle (crimegimp) @ladyrazzle (Pre-CATFA, Soulmate AU, T, 2K, Fluff)

Inspired by that now legendary post: "soulmate AU where you wake up on your 18th birthday with the first words your soulmate will say to you tattooed on your body so you’ll know them when you meet them." Well what if they appear the moment you turn 18, rather than just the day? And what if by the time you turn 18, you'd already fallen in love?

Bucky wasn’t eager to discover what the words said. He already knew what he wanted them to say. He always had.

Peter/Steve

Forgetting It's There by spinstitcher (stygian) (NR, 8K, Crack, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn)

“You’re Captain America,” he blurts out.

“What?” says Captain America, looking a little wide-eyed. He casts a nervous glance at the girl at the counter – he has nothing to worry about there, she’s rocking out to her iPod and could care less what they’re talking about – and says, “No, uh, Steve, it’s just, I’m Steve.”

“Right,” says Peter, and then because his brain-to-mouth filter had apparently been completely destroyed in the fight on Oscorp Tower: “Hey, your butt really is as tight as it looks on TV.”

DCU

Bane/Blake

7 Deadly Ass(as)sins by teacuphuman @teacuphuman09 (AU, E, 23K, BDSM)

Bane and Barsad own a sex shop and John needs a job.

Straws by Menirva (Bane/Blake/Barsad, AU, E, 38K, BDSM)

John works in a smoothie shop.

He has a knack, a second sense if you will, for being able to look at a person and know what they're going to order. It's not the most spectacular gift in the world but he likes being able to figure people out and he's never wrong.

Except for this scruffy asshole who is clearly just ordering the wrong thing to fuck with him.

How is he even finishing an extra-large?

Inception

Aurthur/Eames

Rough Trade by Whisky (whiskyrunner) @whiskyrunner (AU, E, 23K, Internalized Homophobia)

Arthur is an investment banker. He is professional and efficient. He's a halfway decent cook. He's totally independent and has been since the age of eighteen. Maybe he's tired all the time because he works about ninety hours a week which is twice what normal people do, but he's rich and he's competent at his job. He's almost thirty, and already a success.

And there are some things Arthur is not. For instance: Arthur is not gay.

Lucky by earlgreytea68 @earlgreytea68 (M, 37K, Kid fic)

Arthur finds a baby.

Teen Wolf

Stiles/Derek

Cut to the Bone by standinginanicedress (Omegaverse AU, E, 112K, Secret Relationship, Enemies to Lovers kinda)

“Not that it’s any of your god damn business, but my name is Stiles. Do you need something?”

The alpha grins. All teeth, shiny white, straight as an arrow. He’s got this sculpted perfection to him that Stiles is sure has worked on all the omegas he’s ever encountered before, but Stiles stands his ground and narrows his eyes. “A date.”

Stiles looks him up and down, slowly, from the black shoes on his feet, to his uniform khakis and blazer littered with pins, to his face. He frowns, makes a face, and says, “pass.”

Cornerstone by Vendelin (Human AU, E, 83K, Marine Derek, Blind Stiles, Friends to Lovers)

Suffering from PTSD, ex-Marine Derek Hale moves back to Beacon Hills to open a bookshop and find a calmer life. That’s where he meets Stiles, completely by accident. Stiles is talkative, charming and curious. Somehow, despite the fact that he’s blind, he’s able to read Derek like no one else.

Stand Fast in Your Enchantments by DevilDoll, Rahciach (AU, Graphic Violence, E, 76K, Captivity, Feral Derek)

"Stiles knew damn well what a pissed-off wolf sounded like, and every hair on the back of his neck was telling him that somewhere in this room was a very pissed-off werewolf." An AU in which Derek is feral, Stiles is magical, and they eat a lot of fast food.

The Payoff Pitch by Leslie_Knope (Sports AU, E, 83K, Coming Out, Friends to Lovers)

Derek is on the cusp of his second season with the LA Dodgers, and as the reigning runner-up Rookie of the Year, the pressure’s on him to become the team’s star pitcher and lead them to the playoffs for the first time in five years. He’s trying to deal with the burden of expectations and really has zero desire to spend any extra time or energy on anything that isn’t baseball.

But then he meets Stiles.

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deniigi · 3 years

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So @petrichordiam and I are menaces and giggled over our ideal dinluke flower shop AU for like 4 hrs and then I wrote this.

Title: murderer next door

Summary: Din works as a florist and Luke works as a bookseller and they’re both assassins trying to keep the other off their turf.

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

Two times now, Luke had crashed past that flower shop, and two times now, the fucker inside had taken out his mark. Now all Luke had to say about the whole thing was that it was too bad that he was going to have to kill the guy.

Han told him not to turn back. The mark was dead; the mark was gone. They weren’t fast enough this time, but there would be others.

Luke just couldn’t let it go, though. He had rent to pay, and McFloristApron over there was smashing through all his targets and making that nigh impossible—regardless of how many marks there were in the area.

Luke waited until Han had closed up shop for the night and remained there in the dark with his arm slung over the back of the chair in the backroom, surrounded by books. He rolled his shot of whiskey in its tumbler. The sound against the old wood table offered no comfort.

He stood up and left the glass to get his laptop.

He wasn’t losing to some florist, Han, sorry. Only one family could take innocuous cover on this street, and it was them.

---

McFlorist’s name wasn’t listed on the florist’s staff page, but then again, none of the people on that page had names. In fact, the website’s whole vibe was all wedding-chic until you clicked on the ‘staff and contacts’ tab. Then, it may as well have been a line of mugshots.

Luke squinted along the row of increasingly involved headgear until he got to someone with a reasonably-sized neck with no tats. The ladies on either side of him appeared to have sapped all the ink out of McFloristApron. He wore a mask over the lower half of his face and gave a stoic thumbs up to the camera.

Under his picture was the number fifteen.

Damn.

Luke was only making eight per pop. Who the hell was this guy eating up all the feeder fish, huh? Them lower division folks had to eat too, you know.

Well.

‘Lower division’ in a sense of the word. Being two times undercover wasn’t super glamorous, Luke had to say. But when your dad fucked it up for the first family, sometimes you had to take what you could get.

Luke pointed at Fifteen on the screen.

“You and me, pal,” he said. “You and me.”

Step one was to get paid first.

Luke chased down three marks on the other side of town to pay the rent and the medical bills for now. His hand’s new sleeve felt like a dream. It didn’t overheat like the nylon black one did, and the hand was far less shiny now as a bonus. That had certainly reduced the number of people catching something move out of the corner of their eye.

Was it worth fifty grand?

No.

Was it worth the last nine that Luke had left to pay on it?

Yeah. It was definitely worth the nine.

------

Step two was to go make it clear to Fifteen McFlorist that he and his folks needed to back down in the face of the established guard.

Luke put on his biggest sweater and the thickest glasses he could find. He stole Chewie’s messenger bag with all the pins on it. He slung it over his shoulder and rolled the hems of his jeans up just a smidge too much, then scurried over to the florist’s across the way.

Fifteen was off to the side of the register, fucking around with something in the refrigerator. Luke busily and noisily looked through the wall of foliage on the side of the shop nearest the window. He hummed. He hawed. He made anxious nerd-sounds until a voice asked, “Hi, can I help you?”

Luke glanced out of the corner of his eye and found that Fifteen was standing facing his way now. His mask was gray this time. His apron was orange. His boots were too heavy-looking for florist work.

“I’d love that,” Luke gushed breathlessly. “See, my mom just got engaged and I’m on the way to her house.”

Fifteen lifted his chin slightly.

“What’re her favorites?” he asked tonelessly.

Terrible customer service skills, dude.

“Roses,” Luke said.

“Ours are shit today,” Fifteen said. “How about dahlias?”

Luke didn’t know what those were but sure.

“That sounds great,” he said. “You have any in pink?”

--------

He watched Fifteen brutalize some pink, orange, and white flowers into a bouquet wrapped with a silver bow and was sure to smile every time the guy looked up.

“That’ll be $37.59.”

Sir, these are dead flowers. There is no need for that price.

“Can I put it on card?” Luke asked. “How long have you worked here, if you don’t mind me asking? I work just across the way is all.”

Fifteen’s dark gaze flicked up. His hair was covered by a gray beanie two shades darker than the mask.

“At the club?” he asked.

“The bookshop,” Luke corrected him with a shy, but widening smile.

Please be gay. Please be gay. Please be gay. Leia wasn’t going to want to cooperate. She thought it was beneath her to establish boundaries like this.

“Blue paint,” Fifteen said. “Yeah, that place. How long have you been there?”

“My brother-in-law’s place, actually,” Luke said. “I started there last year after I finished college.”

Or, you know, maybe even eight years ago when he’d finished college. No one had to know. Baby faces don’t kiss and tell after all.

“Huh. You must like it there,” Fifteen said.

“It’s fine,” Luke hummed. “You like it here?”

“The kid does.”

“Oh, you’re a father?” Luke asked. “How old?”

“He’s three,” Fifteen said. “Godson. His folks were in an accident; didn’t make it.”

“That’s terrible, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Luke said. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Fifteen handed him his card back. Luke’s hand didn’t close in time to catch it and it fell onto to the wooden counter.

“Sorry about that,” Luke said, reaching for it with the other hand. His knuckles bumped into Fifteen’s when he went for the card at the same time. They both paused and went for the card again with the same result. Luke laughed.

“Slippery, am I right?” he asked, flattening his fingers on top of the piece of plastic and snatching it away.

“Very,” Fifteen said. “I hope your mom likes them.”

“Me too,” Luke smiled. “I’ll see you around—What was your name?”

“You can call me Armando,” Fifteen said.

“Armando,” Luke sounded out. “It suits you.”

It was a falsie.

“And yours?”

“James.”

“It suits you.”

It didn’t.

“Bye now,” Luke said. “Thanks for your help.”

He let the door fall closed behind him with the tinkle of the bell.

--------

He informed Han that “Armando” had a toddler and received only a warning look and a scolding for all his effort. Han told him not to get jealous. If there was a kid in the balance, then Fifteen, for better or worse, was going to have to see each day after the next until there was no longer a kid in the balance.

Luke offered to call CPS and report “Armando” as an assassin.

“You do that and those folks across the street are gonna call the VA and tell them I’m an assassin,” Han said. “Lay low, Luke. Lay low.”

Never.

“Christ. At least until that thing’s yours then.”

Luke glared at his right hand.

“Gimme a double,” he told Han without looking away from it.

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

It was never easy to hunt in the daylight, but Luke wasn’t here to do easy things. He needed to get Mark No. 1 alone. The man took the train once a week to a gentleman’s club on his lunch break. Luke needed a change of clothes.

He had a rainbow windbreaker, white boots, and fishnets all ready to go.

He got on the same train as the mark and dropped his phone nearby. It clattered loudly and the case came off. Luke swore and squatted to drop it at the same time that two girls next to him decided to become good Samaritans. They crouched with him and one of them caught the phone first. They handed it back with a smile.

“I like your jacket,” she said.

Luke let his face struggle to find a smile at her kindness to him, a sweet little twink trying to find the pride parade that happened two weeks ago.

“Thanks,” he said. “I like your bracelet.”

He stood up. The girls were pleased with themselves. Luke glanced back to find Mark No. 1 turn his head abruptly away.

Come here, Markie.

Do you like what you see?

Mark No. 1 didn’t make it out of his hotel room. A pity. Luke took the elevator down and huffed and puffed about a cheap date when he passed the front desk. He stopped abruptly and went back to ask the receptionist what the cross street was. She judged his go-go boots.

He told her she wasn’t his type. Her manager gave him the cross street.

Mark No. 2 had different parameters.

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Mark No. 2’s parameters involved chasing him through a maze of boiler rooms and dumpsters. He was chump change towards a hand that Luke hadn’t wanted in the first place, but alas. The anger still roared.

Luke cornered him, still in go-go boots—no need to sacrifice style for speed—and watched those pale eyes look every which way as Mark No. 2 realized that there was no getting out of this.

“You got options, friend,” Luke said. “I can bring you in hot or I can bring you in—”

“—cold.”

His head snapped up and he lurched out of the way just as the crack of a bullet exploded in the alley. A car backfired around the corner in a sympathetic cough. Luke stared at the body then twisted around just in time for a thick glove to latch onto the back of his neck.

“Well, look who it is,” Fifteen drawled.

Luke glared out of the corner of his eye.

“Hands off, Armando,” he warned.

“I like your boots.”

“You’re gonna love ‘em when they’re on your dick,” Luke warned.

“Back off, Nayberry.”

Fucking hell, Han. This is why they should have set up boundaries weeks ago.

“I prefer ‘James,’” Luke said sweetly.

The glock levelled at his face didn’t care.

“You took my mark,” Fifteen said.

“Aw, poor baby,” Luke pouted. “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you took mine.”

Fifteen’s orange apron was gone. He’d swapped it for an old leather jacket—something he could more easily wipe clean. He should’ve gone for patent leather. The brown really wasn’t working with his grey mask-beanie situation.

“Stay in your lane,” Fifteen warned.

“Only if you stay in yours,” Luke beamed.

Fifteen huffed.

“Bookstore,” he scoffed. “Who’d you give the flowers to?”

Luke tsked.

“Myself, jackass,” he said.

“Do you even have a mom?”

“What the fuck business is that of yours? You even got a kid?”

Fifteen’s stare was deadly—the cooling body before them notwithstanding.

“Take one step near him and we won’t be talkin’ so friendly, yeah?”

Mm. Yeah.

“You owe me four grand,” Luke informed Fifteen as the glock went down and Fifteen left him to go take a pulse.

The man’s back stiffened.

“Four?” he asked. “You took this job for four?”

Luke rolled his eyes.

“I got bills, Armando,” he drawled.

“How do you keep that shed open? Have you sold even one book?”

Rude. Luke was a great sales associate. If he actually cared to put his mind to it, he’d be worthy of a promotion to manager.

He pulled the rising legs of his shorts down and adjusted the weapon in his windbreaker. He couldn’t leave the alley the way he’d gone into it. Someone might have seen. He was going to have to take a side street. Hmmm, which one? Choices, choices.

“I’ll give you a Dad’s discount. Gimme two grand, and you can have him,” Luke negotiated as he thought.

“Two.”

Hey, no need for that tone. This was a great deal.

“What’re you gonna do with two?” Fifteen asked, already knelling down to heft the body over his shoulder as proof for payment.

“Buy some more tights,” Luke deadpanned. “Two, final offer.”

Fifteen stood up all the way and gave him a weird look. A long look. His beanie was pulled down low, but Luke got the impression that he was frowning at him.

“Take the four,” he said out of nowhere. “I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

Luke recoiled a step at first, then recoiled another when the reality of the situation hit him full in the chest.

“Forget it,” he snapped.

He spun around and started to leave.

“Wh—hey. HEY. Where are you goin’?”

“I don’t need your fuckin’ pity,” Luke called ahead of him as he set to climbing the chainlink fence separating him from the adjacent dead-end alley.

“You what?”

“You heard me,” Luke said.

He jumped down. His left hand found his right wrist and squeezed as he walked.

-------

The phantom pains kept him up all night, and it was definitely that and not the humiliation that made him call in sick. Han told him to answer his therapist’s emails. Luke told him to go do something useful and hung up. He rolled onto his back on his bed and focused on letting his body relax, his jaw unclench, his joints go limp.

There was sunlight finally streaming through his apartment windows again. It had been months.

Spring was almost here. He just had to hold out a little longer.

--------

He came in to work the next day and found an envelope on his chair in the backroom. It was thick.

“McFlorist dropped it off,” he said between aggravated sounds at his spreadsheets.

“Is it tax season already?” Luke asked him as he tried to burn a whole in the center of the envelope with his mind.

“Sure fuckin’ is.”

He stepped forward and snatched up the envelope, then deposited it squarely in Han’s lap. He made an unattractive noise of confusion and alarm.

“For the taxes,” Luke called as he went out to grab his lanyard and name tag. “Gotta keep this place open for another six months at least.”

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

There were new books in. A new shipment to shelve. Two kids’ displays to set up. And Luke was actually good at this stuff, thanks; he started stacking.

He got peace until he nearly got to the end of the second display, and then what he had was a heart attack. Two liquid brown eyes surrounded by an ocean of ringlets stared up at him from between his knees. The child curled a hand in and out in hello.

Luke jerked himself up to locate the thing’s parents immediately, and promptly found himself in deadly eye-contact with Fifteen.

Armando.

“You were gone yesterday,” Fifteen said flatly.

Luke looked between him and the kid. He was pinned between two enemy parties. How to escape, how to escape.

“Are you sick?”

How to escape. How to escape. How to escape.

“Are you hurt?”

H—what?

“I’m fine, stalker,” Luke snapped with more heat than this present cover allowed. He caught himself and pulled it back. “I’m fine,” he repeated. “Thank you for asking. Is this…?”

Fifteen blinked once. The child blinked once as well. It was creepy.

“He’s mine,” Fifteen said. “And apparently the only thing that will get us through the next two hours is a book.”

Dude.

“Kids are kids,” Fifteen said. “You got any books?”

Luke stared at him, then checked the shelves to make sure he hadn’t teleported into another dimension.

You always had to check.

“We’re in a bookstore,” he said.

“He can’t read,” Fifteen said, pointing.

The kid grinned. His teeth were gapped in that toddler sort of way. He was kind of cute.

“You can’t read?” Luke asked him.

“Hi,” Baby said.

Oh no.

Luke loved him.

“How much?” he asked Fifteen.

“Touch him and you’ll be permanently comatose,” Fifteen said.

“Not if I died out of spite,” Luke said.

There was a long pause. Then Fifteen started laughing? Kind of hard?

“Oh my god, that was so unprofessional. I am so sorry,” Luke blurted out.

Fifteen collected himself and shook his head. His little one giggled and reached for Luke’s fingers.

“Boo,” he said.

Luke couldn’t feel the hand, but he could feel all the heart.

“Book?” he asked, crouching down. “Do you want a story?”

“Mmmm.”

“I have the perfect one,” Luke told him. “It’s about a caterpillar. Do you know what a caterpillar is?”

He got a slow, exaggerated head shake back and forth, back and forth. He stood up straight.

“I’m conducting a temporary kidnapping,” he informed Fifteen. “Do I have consent?”

Fifteen looked from him towards the front entrance and mulled over the merits of leaving his kid with his rival assassin. Then he shrugged.

“Consent granted,” he said. “Luke.”

Luke’s heart stopped.

“James,” he said.

“Your name tag says ‘Luke.’”

Well, fuck.

“Luke Nayberry. It suits you.”

Hhhhhhh. This was karma, wasn’t it.

“Thanks,” he gritted out. “And yourself, Armando?”

“Din.”

Woah, look out. Mr. One-Syllable-Cool-Man had entered the building.

“Din, what?” Luke asked as his arm registered tension. Din’s kid had latched onto his fingers and started pulling incessantly with a chubby hand gesturing in the direction of the wall of children’s books.

“Don’t you worry about it,” Din said.

“Fine, go trip then,” Luke said.

He swore that there was a smile under that mask.

----------

#dinluke #luke skywalker #ficlet #fic #I can't take any trope seriously it turns out #perhaps I am simply too old now to appreciate them #the mandalorian

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qqueenofhades · 3 years

Note

Fake dating AU for the idiot Heartrender Husbands! I beg of you!

As ever, I am preposterously easy to enable, and since they will eventually make an appearance in A Phantom in Enchanting Light, I decided to write their backstory for that verse. Also, “fake dating but it’s only fake because they’re both idiots” is an Aesthetic. I love them.

Moscow, 2010

The guy is most definitely late. Fedyor got here early – probably too early, since they’re supposed to meet at eleven and he arrived by quarter past ten – but it’s now 11:08 and still no sign of him. Fedyor has claimed a corner table in the coffee shop just off Red Square with its splendid old tsarist-era décor, surrounded by the murmur of conversation and clicking laptop keys as his fellow Muscovites get on with their daily lives. The rule is fifteen minutes, yes? If Ivan Sakharov doesn’t show up in another seven, Fedyor is free to bail. But it’s been so long, and Nadia, the mutual friend responsible for this set-up, has begged Fedyor to give him a chance. And since it is understandably difficult to date as a gay man in Russia, Fedyor’s patience must be tested longer than usual. He sips his flat white and glances at the door again. Still no Ivan.

Fedyor opens his phone and checks the photo that Nadia sent him, trying to decide if this man is attractive enough to compensate for his tardiness. It’s hard to tell. It is 11:14, and he is absolutely about to pack up and leave by no later than 11:25, when a tall, grim-faced man in a red windbreaker strides in. He stops short, glances around, spots Fedyor, and powers over with such single-minded determination that Fedyor fears he’s about to be arrested. “Hello,” he says curtly. “I am Ivan Ivanovich Sakharov. I believe you are waiting for me?”

“Ah – ? I am Fedyor Mikhailovich Kaminsky, yes,” he manages, offering a hand, which Ivan crushes in a Terminator grip. “It’s – nice to meet you?”

Ivan snorts, pulls out the other chair, and drapes his jacket over it, then orders a small plain coffee (black like his soul, evidently). Then he returns, sits down, and claps his hands as if he is calling a misbehaving class to attention. “Where are you from?” he barks. “How long have you lived in Moscow?!”

Fedyor continues to gape. He’s genuinely not sure if this is Ivan attempting to get to know him on speed-run, or if he’s being interrogated by a FSB agent who can’t even act for two seconds like he’s not. It’s ominously possible. Dmitry Medvedev is the president and there are hopes that there might be a social liberalization, but the Orthodox patriarchs and the far right have been increasingly agitating against Russia’s embattled LGBTQ community, and things could just as easily get worse. Is this a setup or a setup? Nadia would never knowingly put him in a dangerous situation, of course, but maybe she was likewise fooled. You’d think that if this was a sting, they could have found a guy who was actually capable of pretending to be on a date, but maybe that’s the point? What the hell is going on here?

Fedyor opens his mouth, then shuts it. As a matter of fact, he is originally from Nizhny Novgorod, but moved to Moscow for university and has lived here for seven years, but if Ivan is with the FSB, he probably already knows that. Is this a trick? Is Ivan trying to match him to some police intelligence file or see if he’s a liar? Fedyor is seriously about to get up and walk out (or maybe sprint out) when Ivan, perhaps realizing that he’s blowing this to a heretofore unprecedented degree, says, “Sorry. I am from Krasnoyarsk. I enjoy rugby.”

Of course he likes rugby if he’s from Krasnoyarsk. This is a disaster. “Uh, what side?”

“Krasny Yar,” says Ivan, in the tone of a man about to stand up and belt out the fight song. “I also enjoy football. Yenisey Krasnoyarsk. Though I have begun supporting Lokomotiv since I came to Moscow. That was five years ago.”

So, he’s definitely a hooligan. Fedyor does his best to keep smiling. In the flesh, Ivan is definitely not unattractive. His hair is crisp and brown, there are glints of hazel in his eyes, and he has that hard, chiseled handsomeness that Fedyor always ends up getting suckered into. Except for the fact that he is lively, extroverted, and outgoing, likes clubbing and mingling and making friends, and this man does not appear to have ever heard of a single one of those things. What was Nadia thinking? It’s not like her to whiff this badly. Or did she have to be so circumspect in asking Ivan if he would like to meet Fedyor that, even if he’s not an undercover cop, he is in fact clueless about the true nature of this social engagement? Thinks it’s guys being pals?

“Did you have somewhere you were coming from earlier?” Fedyor asks, after another excruciating silence. “Is that why you were – ?”

“My apologies. The bus was late. I am normally very punctual.” Ivan scowls ferociously, as if the bus ever dares to do such a thing again, he will personally murder it. “What hobbies do you enjoy, Fedyor Mikhailovich?”

“I think you can call me Fedyor, yes?” They are clearly nowhere near “Fedya” and “Vanya” just yet, but “Fedyor Mikhailovich” always makes Fedyor look around warily for his grumpiest professor at MSU. He tries to think of subtle conversational gambits to find out what Ivan knows, without being obvious. Oh God, he really should just cut his losses, but something – perhaps the pathetic conviction that even a terrible date is better than no date at all – keeps him in his seat. Presuming that he does get out of here alive, he will call up Nadia straightaway and ask her many, many questions, mostly consisting of Why??! “Well,” Fedyor says at last. “I like having fun?”

“I also enjoy fun,” Ivan says, stone-faced. “I am very funny.”

Russian humor is normally extremely deadpan, to the point that Fedyor does wonder if Ivan is in fact a diabolical troll genius, but somehow he doesn’t think so. The rest of the conversation proceeds in this fashion, but by the end of an hour, Fedyor still has no idea if he has just been on a date or a trip to the gulag. Ivan gets up, administers another bone-crushing handshake, thanks him for his time, and marches out. Fedyor can practically hear the Red Army Choir thundering some patriotic anthem in his wake.

When he gets home that afternoon, Fedyor is resolved to write off the whole thing, except it was weirdly kind of not as bad as he first thought, maybe, somehow. If nothing else, he’s fascinated by this, like watching a slow-motion train crash. He takes out his phone with the intention of calling Nadia, only to see a text message from an unfamiliar number. When he opens it, it reads, Hello. Your company was agreeable today. Thank you. Perhaps we could meet again next week. Please reply yes or no. The message uses the formal styles of address, and some of the spellings are slightly old-fashioned. He has also signed it – Иван Сахаров – in case there might be some confusion with another Ivan the Terrible at Dating of Fedyor’s recent acquaintance. It is a bit like getting a text from the undertaker.

Fedyor stares at it, insanely tempted to burst out laughing, and finally, just because now he’s too curious to refuse, texts back his gracious acceptance. Still chuckling, he makes dinner, and then, as his phone pings with Ivan’s response, wonders in horror what on earth he is getting himself into.

This is how things continue for the next six weeks. Ivan and Fedyor meet up for the second time, stroll sedately around one of Moscow’s many city parks together, then part ways, and this time it’s Fedyor’s turn to ask if he would like to do it again. He isn’t sure exactly why, except that Ivan is unexpectedly easy to spend time with, and he nods in stoic approval of whatever Fedyor says. Of course, they follow the usual rules of dating which are especially important in Russia: don’t talk about politics, don’t talk about religion, don’t talk about America, don’t talk about Ukraine, don’t talk about Chechnya. From what Fedyor can glean, Ivan’s views tend to the doctrinaire, but he is surprisingly undogmatic, and willing to at least act as if he has an open mind. If he was an FSB agent, it feels like he would have busted Fedyor by now, but maybe he is waiting for him to do something unmistakably gay. That’s not it. Right?

Nadia calls, wanting to know how it’s going, and Fedyor grills her for forty minutes over whether Ivan is a law enforcement plant, a lonely guy looking for a friend, the world’s most method practical joker, or just extremely stupid. Nadia insists that he is actually very nice once you get to know him (HA, thinks Fedyor) and has no particular affection for either the ruling classes or the oligarchs. He can certainly be an acquired taste, but he is not evil.

Forced to accept it, still chickening out of asking Ivan whether he knows they’re dating, wondering if they are dating, if Ivan knows that Fedyor knows they’re dating, if Fedyor only thinks he knows that they are dating while they are not actually dating, or if Ivan thinks he knows that they’re dating while they’re… whatever the fresh-fried fuck is truly happening here, Fedyor trudges off for what has become his almost-weekly rendezvous with Ivan the-Maybe-Not-Quite-So-Terrible. They manage to have a few conversations verging on meaningful, and Fedyor has found himself telling Ivan about his family and Nizhny Novgorod and other such things. Fedyor likes to talk and Ivan likes to listen, though he breaks in now and again with a bone-dry quip. He’s still never what you would call loquacious, or easily forthcoming, but Fedyor likes that. Ivan is tough, complex, enigmatic, guarded, occasionally willing to let down his walls but only if the other person is worth it, and Fedyor finds, to his surprise, that he wants to be worth it. If this is a long-con mind game, he almost doesn’t care. (Almost.)

The problem, however, is that they’ve been seeing each other regularly for a month and a half and they haven’t gotten any closer than walking through a park, outdoors, in full view of their fellow comrades. Even the first time Fedyor takes the plunge and invites Ivan to his apartment, they sit three feet apart on the couch, watching a badly-Russian-subtitled version of Die Hard and providing critical commentary. Fedyor’s English is a lot more fluent than Ivan’s, and his middle-class family, while not exactly wealthy, is definitely better off than Ivan’s hardscrabble clan of miners and loggers in Siberia. That upbringing certainly does explain, to some degree, why Ivan is the way he is, and Fedyor wonders anxiously if Ivan views him as an insufferably posh city boy. Ivan barely finished high school and went straight to working in a Krasnoyarsk aluminum factory. He definitely did not faff around Moscow State University and attend global development seminars in Paris.

Nonetheless, despite their obvious differences, they do get along, and Fedyor is unable to deny the fact that he would, if it’s all right with everyone, like it to be more than that. Of course, finding out if Ivan knows, etc. etc., has been the paramount challenge, and there is no way to find out other than to go for it. Fedyor is 75% sure that they’ve been going steady for two months, but if it’s actually the other 25%, this is going to get awkward in a hurry. Is this essentially a fake relationship, or is it only fake because they’re both idiots?

After having duly commended his soul to God, Fedyor invites Ivan over on Saturday night. He rents a tiny flat by himself since he’s been burned on rooming with strangers, but Ivan is used to it by now, and it doesn’t feel too small with the two of them. Fedyor strains his limited culinary skills to cook supper, probably making his babushka cluck her tongue and sigh in a judgmental fashion back in Nizhny Novgorod, and they sit down and eat in silence for five minutes. Then Fedyor says, “Vanya?”

The consistent use of the diminutive has started sometime in the last few weeks, neither of them remember quite when. Ivan doesn’t correct him. “Yes?”

Fedyor clears his throat. “Do you…” He winces. “Do you… like me?”

“Yes?” Ivan says again, looking confused. “I would not have spent so much time with you if I did not, don’t you think? We are friends.”

“Yes, I know that we’re friends, but…” Fedyor looks at the ceiling. It doesn’t help, so he looks back at Ivan. “Are we… special friends?”

Ivan continues to look blank. “Are we?”

Fedyor resists the urge to tug at his collar, thinking that it’s a damn good thing that he didn’t go with his other idea of just leaning across the table and passionately kissing him. With absolutely no change of tone or expression, Ivan says, “Please explain. Special friends how?”

“Friends who want to…” Fedyor takes a deep breath. “Be… more than friends?”

“How?” Ivan orders again, ruthlessly. “Be clear, Fedya.”

“Are we maybe… boyfriends?” Fedyor’s voice squeaks on the word. “As in… we have feelings for each other that aren’t just… friendly? Like… feelings which are… romantic?”

Ivan continues to stare at him like a statue for several more seconds, and Fedyor contemplates the feasibility of tunneling directly through the floor of his apartment and running all the way to Latvia. Then at last, Ivan throws his head back and – startling Fedyor deeply – breaks into real, genuine, belly laughter, the kind that he has never heard from Ivan before. “Oh my,” he chortles, slapping the table. “Your face. You were sweating bullets.”

“WAIT, WHAT!?!” Fedyor pushes his chair back and stands up with a clatter, incandescently outraged. “Are you – were you messing with me?!!”

“Maybe a little,” Ivan says, wiping his eyes. “You know, all this time, I have not been sure if you are shy or a terrible prude. Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

“God’s Mother in Heaven – ” Fedyor feels another prick of disloyalty to his babushka for swearing on the Bogomater, but some people deserve it. All inhibitions forgotten, he charges at Ivan like a runaway train, as Ivan springs out of his own chair in readiness, and starts pounding on his chest in transports of fury. “You are the worst! You are the worst person ever! For two months, what have we been doing?! I have been afraid this whole time that maybe you don’t know what’s really going on, and now – ?! You are the worst!”

Ivan catches Fedyor’s flailing arms, holds them away from him, and picks him up bodily, swinging him around and pushing him against the wall. “Maybe I am just a dumb country boy from Siberia,” he remarks, “but even I am not that stupid, Fedyor Mikhailovich.”

“I hate you,” Fedyor pants, their faces and their mouths an inch away from each other. “Get out of my apartment.”

“Mmm?” Ivan cocks an eyebrow. Then he plants both hands on either side of Fedyor’s head, leans in, and deeply, savagely captures Fedyor’s mouth with his own.

Every remaining vestige of barely rational thought in Fedyor’s head evaporates in screaming shock. He still wants to shove Ivan away, knee him in the balls, or break a chair over his head, but if he did that, he would have to stop kissing him, and he can’t do that either. He moans, Ivan’s tongue takes the opportunity to slip into his mouth, their hands clutch and claw and their legs melt out from under them, they turn away or break contact only to gulp a breath before diving back in again, and the next time Fedyor is aware of anything, they have collapsed on his kitchen floor in a wrung-out, entangled, gasping heap. Ivan says in his ear, “Do you still want me to leave, Fedya?”

“No,” Fedyor manages. “Because now, I am really going to make you suffer.”

Ivan’s smile is dark and full of promise. He pulls back, gets to his feet, and holds out a hand. “Then I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

(Ivan doesn’t leave Fedyor’s apartment that night. He doesn’t leave it the next night either. At the end of the week, Fedyor calls up Nadia and informs her that he hates her so much, and when they do next see each other, he’ll shake her by both shoulders and then thank her for introducing him to the no-good, truly awful, very bad love of his life.)

#ivan x fedyor #heartrender husbands #henchmen deserve happiness too okay #a phantom in enchanting light #mearcatsreturns #ask #fivan ff

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danrdarrenc · 2 years

Text

100 Different Kisses

88. kisses in which ‘i’ll kiss you right now to prove i don’t feel anything for you’ but the kiss proves the opposite & 52. kisses in which, “i can’t believe this is real, but i love you so much”

It starts when Will walks into the Pub in the middle of June to find Abby having breakfast with a dark-haired man he doesn’t know. Within minutes, he’s discovered the man is her cousin Sonny, son of Justin and Adrienne Kiriakis. When Abby leaves for work, leaving Will and Sonny alone to talk some more, they hit it off right away.

In the first half hour of meeting they’ve discovered: that they both love baseball (although Sonny would never be caught dead on a field), they’d both come out to their families at fifteen, Sonny lived in Dubai while Will lived in Switzerland, they both love to read, they both love trashy TV shows (The Bachelor is Sonny’s favorite; Keeping Up with the Kardashians is Will’s), and that they each have three siblings.

Will is immediately smitten.

What Will hadn’t noticed at breakfast, however, was the shining gold wedding band on Sonny’s finger. So when he arrives that night at his grandparents’ townhouse for a welcome home dinner for Paul, Will is surprised to find Sonny there.

“Sonny?”

“Oh. Have you met?” Paul asks.

“We met this morning. I ran into him having breakfast with our cousin Abby. How do you know each other?”

“Sonny’s my husband,” Paul announces, a huge grin on his face.

Sonny laces his fingers with Paul’s, but his eyes find Will’s, almost in apology.

And so begins the longest year and a half of Will’s life.

Although Paul is his stepuncle, because they’re close in age, Will has grown up alongside Paul, as close as brothers, the only brother Will had known for thirteen years until Johnny was born.

So when Paul returns home to join John at BlackPatch, they fall into their natural rhythm of hanging out - watching movies, playing basketball, meeting for breakfast or lunch. Only, now Paul has a shadow, an extra appendage, a husband who joins them, but Will cannot separate himself from them without seeming suspicious.

But he’s gotten ridiculously attached to Sonny in so short a time and Will hates it. He doesn’t want to be attracted to his basically-a-brother’s husband, but Sonny is everything Will wants for himself: kind, funny, smart, beautiful, easy to be around, confident. So Will sticks around, spends as much time with them as he can, joins them in creating Sonny’s new coffee shop cum event space, and he tries to stop his feelings for Sonny, he really does, tries to see Sonny as a friend only, goes to The Spot, the gay club in Salem, to try to find someone else, except fighting his feelings only makes them stronger. By the time September rolls into October, and Common Grounds has its grand opening, Will is madly in love with Sonny.

Working at the paper, Will has much more flexible hours than Paul, who’s always off somewhere investigating and at all hours of the day and night, and so as fall turns into winter, Will finds himself alone with Sonny more and more often. His daily routine is to stop by for a cup of coffee in the morning, a cup of coffee and a bagel at lunch, and help Sonny close up shop after work. It’s so domestic and so ingrained into his life that Will can almost pretend it’s their life and that Sonny isn’t married to someone else. But he is and when Paul is there, Sonny only has eyes for Paul, and on those days, Will leaves them to it, slips out quietly at night while Sonny and Paul are laughing softly together or making plans for the weekend that don’t include him.

Will’s had unrequited feelings for guys before but it’s never been this bad, never felt so out-of-reach as it is with Sonny and yet so close as when he’s alone with Sonny and he can imagine them sharing a life together.

Things get strange when Paul goes incognito undercover with John and Steve just before Christmas.

From all the time they’ve spent together in the last six months, Will knows that the holidays are Sonny’s favorite time of year. He loves the cheer, the spirit, the generosity, the gift giving and receiving, and the time spent with family. But this year, Justin and Adrienne are in Arizona visiting Sonny’s three older brothers and Paul is literally nowhere to be seen or heard from. So Sonny is understandably a bit down.

Will makes it his mission to make Sonny’s Christmas and New Year’s cheerful ones.

“Are you doing anything for Christmas?” Will asks over coffee two days before Christmas, three days after Paul’s disappeared.

“Uncle Vic wants me to attend the annual Titan Christmas party but I really don’t want to. I don’t even work for Titan.”

“Come to the Horton tree trimming with me tomorrow.”

“I’m not a Horton,” Sonny hedges.

“Your aunt and cousins are Hortons. I’m allowed to bring a guest. Aunt Jen won’t kick you out, I promise,” Will assures with a grin.

Sonny huffs out a laugh.

“Come on. Pleeeeeasssse,” Will begs jokingly and bats his eyelashes obnoxiously.

Sonny laughs fully and shakes his head in amusement. “Okay. Okay. I’ll close up here at noon and we can go to Aunt Jen’s.”

Will’s heart leaps and he just barely refrains from telling Sonny he loves him.

So at noon on the dot the following day, Will picks Sonny up at Common Grounds and they walk together to the Horton house. As promised, Sonny is welcomed with open arms and plied with eggnog and cookies. The rest of the day passes uneventfully with Sonny quietly observing the horde of Hortons hanging their ornaments until things get uncomfortable as they’re getting ready to leave. While they’re putting on their coats and saying their goodbyes, they inadvertently get themselves stuck under mistletoe in the foyer.

“Come on. You know what mistletoe means,” Julie insists.

His heart beating wildly in chest, Will stares at Sonny, who has a strange look on his face that Will can’t decipher. After a long beat, Sonny steps forward and pecks Will’s cheek quickly.

Will blinks, his cheek burning where Sonny’s lips touched it, and turns to Julie who is smiling, apparently satisfied.

They don’t talk as they leave the Horton house and they part ways soon after with a silent wave goodbye, their homes being in opposite directions.

For the next week, Will attempts to maintain their routine of coffee, bagels, and close up, but suddenly Common Grounds is twice as busy as it usually is and Sonny is almost always occupied when he comes by. Considering the strangeness between them after the mistletoe incident, Will suspects that at least part of Sonny’s constant occupation is purposeful.

The morning of New Year’s Eve is the first time in a week that Will catches Sonny alone and at a quiet moment.

“Hey,” Will greets him cautiously, unsure if Sonny will spook.

But Sonny grins at him and Will relaxes. “Hey. I’m sorry we haven’t seen each other since Christmas. It’s been absolutely insane here.”

“No worries,” Will says honestly since Sonny doesn’t appear to be weird around him. “Are you having a party tonight?”

Sonny nods.

“If you need an extra set of hands, I’d be happy to help,” Will offers.

“Are you sure? You don’t have plans or anything? Not meeting anyone for a kiss?” Sonny asks and Will has a niggling feeling that Sonny is fishing for information on his dating life.

“Nope. Completely plan free.”

“Okay. I’d love the help. Thanks. Actually, are you free now? I could use a hand doing some inventory.”

Will rolls up his sleeves dramatically. “I absolutely love doing inventory.”

Sonny throws his head back with laughter and Will’s heart flutters.

Twelve hours later, Common Grounds is packed like a can of sardines and so loud no one can hear anything even said directly into their ear. But the shindig is a hopping success and Will, Sonny, and Sonny’s staff are running themselves ragged keeping up with all the partygoers.

Will has been so busy that he doesn’t realize it’s almost midnight until the DJ announces it and the entire place erupts in a countdown. He thinks briefly that maybe he should have gone to The Spot instead to get a New Year’s kiss from a random stranger, but he’s never really been that kind of person and he would much rather be staring longingly at Sonny, imagining a different universe where he throws his arms around Sonny’s neck, their lips meeting at the stroke of midnight.

Will and Sonny finally collapse on the sofa in Sonny’s office at three in the morning, both yawning and half asleep.

“I should go home,” Will says, his eyes drooping.

“You’re almost asleep, silly,” Sonny mumbles. “C’mere,” Sonny adds and pulls Will’s arm as he lies back on the couch.

Will goes willingly, almost asleep, as Sonny said, slotting himself into the space between Sonny and the back of the couch. His head falls automatically onto Sonny’s chest and he’s fully asleep within seconds.

It’s only six hours later when Will blinks slowly awake that he realizes he slept curled into Sonny’s side, Sonny’s arms tight around him.

In the weeks that follow, they don’t discuss falling asleep together on Sonny’s couch but Will senses something has shifted between them. Sonny’s always been happy to see him, but Will’s almost certain there’s an extra twinkle in his eyes when he spots Will walk into Common Grounds or a wider grin at something Will says or that Sonny sits just a little bit closer to him when they eat together or just talk. It’s driving Will crazy because it’s not obvious enough for Will to broach the subject with Sonny but Will swears that he’s not imagining it either.

Valentine’s Day is when Will knows absolutely without a doubt that he’s not imagining it.

Sonny is short-staffed for all the reservations he’s booked for the night so, based on Will’s one summer waiting tables at the Brady Pub, Sonny hires Will for the night. After they’ve closed up, they share some left over food and Sonny offers to walk Will home despite living on the other side of town.

“If you ever get tired of writing your articles, I’d be happy to add you to my staff, even if you are a bit green,” Sonny propositions as they stop in front of Will’s apartment building, knocking his shoulder into Will’s playfully.

“Oh, thanks. I’ll keep that in mind,” Will teases with a laugh.

Sonny grins. “No but really,” Sonny says with a hand on Will’s elbow. “Thank you for the help tonight. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Will doesn’t know how to respond to that and is preoccupied anyway thinking about how beautiful Sonny looks in the moonlight and how much he wants to kiss him right now.

So Will just says, “You’re welcome.”

Sonny’s grin turns soft at the edges as his eyes trace Will’s face, flicking down to Will’s lips and back up to Will’s eyes. Will’s breath catches in his throat as the air thickens around them and he realizes just how close they’re standing, and that Sonny’s hand is still cradling his elbow.

They stare at each other, the moment of tension building and hanging between them, and Will’s face, unbidden, leans forward, slowly closing the space between them. His heart beats a drum against his chest as Sonny’s face moves forward to meet his and their lips are just about to touch when a car alarm goes off.

Sonny jumps like he’s been shot, his hand dropping Will’s arm and his eyes wide and horror-stricken, like a deer in headlights.

“I have to go,” Sonny says quickly and disappears into the dark within moments.

It takes Will a long time to fall asleep that night.

The next morning Will stands outside Common Grounds for five minutes before gathering the courage to walk inside. He needn’t have worried, though, because Sonny grins at him the second he sees him.

Will’s stomach flutters with nerves as he walks over to the counter but Sonny greets him like nothing happened last night and his nerves turn to confusion and a bit of paranoia when Sonny acts completely normal. It’s only when their hands accidentally brush over a packet of sugar and Sonny snaps his hand back like it’s a rubber band that Will knows he hadn’t imagined them almost kissing last night. But still Sonny doesn’t say anything and then quickly rushes off to his office to make an apparently very important phone call. Will leaves Common Grounds confused and returns later for their nightly close up only to find the shop already closed.

Hurt, Will retreats home like a wounded animal.

It doesn’t get any better as winter stretches into spring.

Sonny never acknowledges it, continues to pretend like there’s nothing wrong, like there’s no tension between them, like things are exactly like they used to be before Valentine’s Day, despite Sonny jumping a mile in the air whenever their hands brush, despite Sonny never letting himself be alone in a room with Will, despite Sonny unilaterally changing their routine to closing Common Grounds before Will gets off work and never mentioning it. Sometimes, when they are together Will catches Sonny staring at him and then quickly turning away.

It’s absolutely driving Will up the fucking wall with want and frustration and a tiny bit of anger. He wants to shake Sonny, to get him to admit his feelings, but Will has always been a bit of coward, and so he lets the tension between them simmer unacknowledged, albeit with great effort.

When he knew his feelings were one-sided, he was able to suffer in silence, to hope that one day they would morph into something softer, something more brotherly and he could let Sonny go. But with the way Sonny’s been around him since Valentine’s Day, Will’s got so much hope that Sonny returns his feelings, it’s all he can do to not do something stupid like ask Sonny to marry him.

It comes to a boiling point at the welcome home party at the beginning of May for the BlackPatch spies. The whole family is there at Common Grounds: John and Marlena, Steve and Kayla, Tripp, Stephanie, Joey, Justin and Adrienne, Paul, Sonny, Will, Brady, Eric, Belle, and even Sami makes an appearance.

Sonny’s been avoiding him all night, running around making sure the food and drinks are ready and available, counting and recounting napkins, plates and bowls and silverware, and mingling with his family. Will has watched Sonny’s frenzy, so unlike his usual calm and steady assurance, and his clinginess to Paul unlike anything Will has ever seen from Sonny in the year that he’s known him. Paul and Sonny have always been affectionate, never afraid of PDA, but Sonny’s never attached himself so thoroughly to Paul’s side before now, like they’re glued together.

It’s easy for the guests to pass it off as Sonny having missed his husband for six months, but Will is certain there’s a different reason for Sonny’s unbreakable attachment and it snaps something in Will.

As the party winds down, Will follows Sonny into his office at the back of the club.

“Need any help?”

Sonny nearly jumps a foot in the air at his voice. “No. I’m fine,” Sonny says sharply.

“Are you though?”

“Yes,” Sonny grits out, rifling through papers and not looking at Will.

“You know you’re a terrible liar, right?”

“What’s your problem, Will?!” Sonny shouts at him from behind his desk, spinning around to finally face Will.

“What’s my problem? Will asks. “What’s your problem, Sonny?”

Sonny’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Will barks out a bitter laugh. “Of course you don’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sonny asks angrily, finally emerging from behind his desk.

“How long are we going to deny this, Sonny?”

“Deny what?”

“My god. You are so frustrating,” Will mutters to the ceiling. “There’s something between us. You know there is. You’re just too afraid to do anything about it.”

“There’s nothing between us,” Sonny denies. “Anyway, even if there was, it doesn’t matter because I’m married.”

“I think we both know that doesn’t matter.”

Sonny glares daggers at him.

Will can’t blame him. He can’t believe he’s said that; after everything he’s said to his parents about unfaithfulness, he can’t believe he’s even thinking about hurting Paul like this. But he wants Sonny so much, desperately needs Sonny to admit that he returns his feelings, that right now Paul just seems like necessary collateral damage.

“I’m sorry,” Will apologizes, because he hates that he’s willing to hurt Paul to get Sonny. “You’re right it does matter. But Sonny,” Will almost pleads and takes a step into Sonny’s space. “Can you really stand there and pretend like we haven’t been dancing around each other for months?”

“We haven’t,” Sonny denies again, his mouth a thin, angry line.

Will takes another tentative step closer to Sonny. “So, us almost kissing on Valentine’s Day, and every time since that our hands have accidentally brushed and you’ve pulled away like you’ve been scalded, every time I catch you staring at me when you think I’m not looking, every time you run out of the room when we’re left alone, you purposefully changing the club’s hours so that I’m still at work when you’re closing up, that was all because I mean nothing to you?”

“You don’t mean nothing to me,” Sonny answers immediately. “But I’m not in love with you.”

“Prove it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Prove it. Prove you’re not in love with me. Prove that I’ve just been imagining the tension between us,” Will challenges.

Sonny stares at him, his mouth hanging open slightly.

Will stares back boldly, a dare.

After a long minute, Sonny says, “Fine. Fine. I’ll prove it. I’ll kiss you right now to prove that I don’t have feelings for you.”

“Great,” Will says, his heart beating a mile a minute against his chest. He hadn’t actually expected Sonny to give in and now he’s suddenly been granted the opportunity to kiss Sonny.

“Fine,” Sonny says again.

Then he swallows thickly, stalks forward, grabs Will’s face with both his hands, and slams their mouths together.

It’s a hard kiss, bruising lips and too much teeth, Sonny’s fingers digging painfully into his cheeks, nothing like Will imagined their first kiss to be, and it’s over before Will can fully process the feel of Sonny’s lips against his.

When Will opens his eyes, Sonny is back behind his desk and he looks absolutely wrecked, close to tears.

“There, see. Nothing,” Sonny croaks, a blatant lie.

“Sonny, I -” Will starts, not quite knowing what to say. This hasn’t gone at all like he planned and now he feels even more miserable than he’s felt all year pining after Sonny. Somehow this has made things worse and he thinks that he might have just ruined their friendship and possibly his brotherhood with Paul.

“Please leave, Will,” Sonny pleads, his voice a broken whisper.

Will swallows his heart and leaves, but not before taking a last glance at Sonny, who’s collapsed into his chair, his head in his hands, quietly sobbing.

Will avoids Sonny for the rest of May and into the beginning of June. When Paul asks why the three of them haven’t been hanging out the way they had before he’d left on his mission, Will says simply that he’s been overwhelmed with work and he’s leaving them alone to make up for the six months that they were apart. For his part, Sonny never asks.

But as Salem turns hot, Paul insists that Will start spending time with them again. Unable to decline without raising questions, Will agrees. The first time Will sees Sonny in over a month it’s at the lakeside and he’s shirtless and dripping wet. Will nearly turns around on the spot but Paul catches sight of him and waves, so Will swallows the lump in his throat, plasters on as sincere a smile as he can, and walks over to their beach spread.

“Hey! Haven’t seen you around in awhile,” Sonny says to him as Will drops his beach bag on their blanket. “Everything alright?”

Will stares at Sonny in disbelief; he never realized Sonny was such a good actor, or else that he is extremely successful at compartmentalizing.

“Uh, yeah. I was just giving you and Paul some space,” Will answers flatly.

“You really didn’t have to do that,” Paul replies, draping his arm across Sonny’s shoulders.

“It’s fine. I wanted to,” Will says, watching Sonny gently move out from Paul’s arm to grab a bottle of suntan lotion.

“In case you didn’t bring,” Sonny says, holding it out to Will.

“Thanks,” Will says politely as he takes it, deliberately brushing his fingers against Sonny’s.

Will feels Sonny’s fingers flinch under his, but he doesn’t jump away as he had been months ago, and Will’s certain Sonny holds his gaze for longer than is strictly necessary.

“Meet us in the water?” Paul asks.

Will nods and watches them walk down to the lake hand-in-hand. Five minutes later, Will joins them and it’s more than a bit easy to fall back into their old camaraderie. As they joke and laugh together and splash each other, some of the tension in Will’s shoulders eases and he ends up having the most fun day he’s had in months.

After that, Will finds it slightly less painful to be around them and he manages an internal balance of desperately wanting Sonny and studiously ignoring his feelings the way Sonny seems to have done himself. Thus, June passes in playing basketball games, going to baseball games, watching movies, and the three of them generally spending most of their free time together.

Things get uncomfortable for Will in the middle of July when Paul suggests they all hit The Spot for a night out.

“We can be your wingmen!” The excitement on Paul’s face sinks Will’s heart.

“I’m not interested,” Will says over the top of his coffee mug.

“Come on, Will. For as long as you’ve been out you’ve always been boy crazy,” Paul announces.

Will’s cheeks flame. “I have not,” Will mumbles, embarrassed, and avoids meeting Sonny’s eyes.

“Really?” Paul challenges with a raised eyebrow. “You had a crush on every football and baseball player in high school. And how many boyfriends did you have in college?”

“Two! I had two boyfriends in college! I’m not my mother, thank you very much,” Will replies, indignant and offended that Paul is making him out to be a runaround. But Paul just laughs and, to Will’s chagrin, Sonny is grinning into his donut.

“No, but really. Are you even dating around?” Paul asks more seriously. “Since I came back last summer I haven’t seen you with anyone.”

Will swallows. “I told you. I’m not really interested right now,” Will answers, but his eyes flick to Sonny, who’s frowning at something apparently very interesting on his napkin.

Paul shrugs. “Whatever. But come with us tonight. Maybe you’ll meet someone.”

Will turns his attention back to Paul and agrees to join them.

As it turns out, Will does meet someone. His name is Neil Hultgren and he’s wonderful. Smart, an athlete, kind, everything Will would normally be attracted to, if only he weren’t fiercely in love with Sonny. But Neil is fun and the sex is great, so they date casually, Will, Sonny, and Paul’s hang outs now becoming double dates, and Will thinks it might be the start of a long road of getting over Sonny.

As summer fades into autumn things get serious with Neil. Will likes him a lot, more than he expected to, and so Will agrees to be exclusive, considering he’s not seeing anyone else anyway. He’s still in love with Sonny and he’s certain he’s not in love with Neil, but he immensely enjoys the time they spend together and being with him greatly takes his mind off of Sonny, at least until Will is alone again without Neil to distract him.

Sometimes, when the four of them are together, Will thinks that Sonny has a scowl on his face after he and Neil share a kiss or that Sonny stares at their linked fingers just a little too long, but with how Sonny was before the disaster confrontation at Common Grounds in May and how he’s been since that brief unmentioned kiss, Will thinks he’s probably just imagining it.

September and October pass uneventfully under the same routine of work, dates with Neil, double dates with Sonny and Paul, and family gatherings. As November blows in with a blizzard, Paul insists on making Will and big 25th birthday party at Common Grounds.

“I don’t know,” Will hedges. “You know I don’t like birthday parties.”

“Come on, Will! It’ll be fun,” Paul promises.

“Everyone always says that and something always inevitably goes wrong,” Will counters.

“Don’t be a spoilsport.”

Will sighs. “Fine.”

Paul grins and sweeps Will into a big bear hug.

So for the next two weeks, Paul, Sonny, and Neil buzz around town inviting literally every person in town that Will is related to, any and all Hortons and Bradys, and all of Will’s other friends and coworkers. There’s sure to be at least fifty people there and Will dreads it.

But they’ve all worked so hard on this party that Will can’t do anything but appreciate it.

So on the morning of November 16th, Will is just getting ready to hop in the shower when there’s a knock on his door. As far as he knows he’s not expecting anyone; they’re all busy getting Common Grounds ready for his party.

Curious, Will opens the door.

“Hey,” Will says, surprised to find Sonny on his doorstep. “I didn’t think I was seeing you until the party tonight.”

“Can I come in?” Sonny asks and Will swears he sounds nervous.

“Sure. Everything alright? Where’s Paul?”

“He’s with your grandparents getting stuff ready for the party. Is Neil here?”

“No,” Will says slowly. “I’m meeting him at Common Grounds. Sonny? What’s going on?”

“I wanted to give you your birthday present before the party.”

“Oh no. Did you and Paul get me some kinky sex stuff you don’t want my family to see?” Will laughs.

“I love you,” Sonny blurts out.

Will blinks, thinking he’s misheard. “What?”

“Neil’s going to ask you to marry him tonight. Please don’t say yes,” Sonny responds.

“What?” Will asks again, confused because that’s definitely not what Sonny said before and also because he’s in a little bit of a panic now. Will’s been considering breaking up with Neil because despite how much he’s tried, he still hasn’t gotten over Sonny and he’s still not in love with Neil and that’s unfair to Neil who Will knows is in love with him.

“I don’t want you to marry Neil.”

Will is so confused. “What are you saying, Sonny?”

“I love you,” Sonny repeats and Will definitely doesn’t mishear it this time.

“Please don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” Will pleads.

“I do mean it. I love you,” Sonny says for a third time.

“Why would you say that to me?” Will asks angrily. “For almost a year you’ve made it very clear that you don’t have feelings for me and now you come barging in here on my birthday to tell me you supposedly love me and you expect me to believe you?!”

“I - you’re right. I’m so sorry, Will. I’ve been terrible to you. I have had feelings for you since Paul went undercover, probably even before. I was lying to myself and to you, trying to make myself believe that I didn’t because I didn’t want to. I’m married, Will! I didn’t want to fall in love with someone who isn’t my husband! But you - you just - you just happened. I don’t know. I don’t know! You snuck up on me. With Paul busy all the time and then gone without a trace for months it was just the two of us and it felt so domestic, y’know? Like it was our life,” Sonny says, pointing to himself and Will.

Will can barely hear Sonny’s ranting over the blood rushing in his ears and the pounding of his heart. That’s exactly how it had felt to Will, and Will has so much hope he doesn’t dare breathe for the possibility that this is all a dream.

“And it was so easy to imagine that we could have that forever,” Sonny continues, caught up now in his confession. “And when we almost kissed on Valentine’s Day, I got scared. I got scared shitless, Will, because I wanted to kiss you so much that night and I didn’t even think about Paul until that car alarm went off. I just forgot about my husband because I was with you. So I ran away.

“I pretended that things were the same between us, but I couldn’t, not really, so I kept my distance from you, just like you said at the welcome home party. And I hated being called out like that because you were throwing everything in my face that I was trying to deny. So I kissed you to prove you wrong but it only made it clear that I was in way deeper than I thought I was.

“With Paul back, I thought it would be easy for me to convince myself that I didn’t have feelings for you, but right away I knew that something had changed within me because suddenly things felt different for me between me and Paul. I couldn’t stop thinking about you and wishing that I was living with you instead of him. I was so grateful that you stayed away from me after the party because I thought with the space I could shift things back. Get myself back on track with Paul, but it just made things worse, honestly. Because you weren’t there, but I was thinking about you anyway all the time. Missing you and wanting to be around you. Paul started feeling like a nuisance and I hated that. I hated that I didn’t want to be around my husband but it happened and I couldn’t fix it.

“And then you started dating Neil and I’ve been so jealous, Will. Like, it’s insane how jealous I’ve been watching you with him. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to punch him in the face for kissing you or holding your hand. And that’s when I knew that I loved you. That I was in love you and that I wanted to be with you for real. Because I wanted to be the one casually kissing you and holding your hand.”

“You really love me?” Will whispers, hope fluttering wildly in his chest.

“I’m crazy about you,” Sonny answers.

“Prove it,” Will says, the ends of his lips curling up in amusement.

Sonny laughs a full-belly laugh and closes the distance between them.

Will’s heart is beating painfully against his chest, threatening to explode, and his breath in coming in short puffs, so close to an anxiety attack, as he watches Sonny walk towards him.

Sonny stops toe-to-toe with him, their faces inches apart. Will can see the gold flecks in Sonny’s brown eyes and the beginnings of the moustache and beard Sonny had mentioned last week that he wanted to grow for the winter.

“What about Paul?” Will asks quietly into the air between them.

“I have to have a long and painful conversation with him. Not tonight but I will. I promise. I don’t want to break his heart, but I have to because I want to be with you, Will. I want to be with you so much I can hardly stand it. Can I kiss you?”

“It wouldn’t be much of a birthday present if you didn’t,” Will deadpans.

Sonny laughs again, bright and loud, and shakes his head in exasperation. “C’mere,” Sonny mumbles and places his hands on Will’s cheeks, cradling Will’s face gently, so different from the pinching grip of the fleeting kiss months ago in Sonny’s office.

Their lips meet softly, and this time it is exactly what Will imagined their first kiss to be. Sonny’s hands slide off his face to cup the back of Will’s head, his arms resting loosely around Will’s shoulders and his fingers tangling in Will’s hair. Will whimpers when Sonny’s tongue darts into his mouth and he wraps his arms around Sonny’s waist, pulling him closer so they’re chest-to-chest.

They kiss unrushed and unheated for a long time, Will’s not sure how long, but at some point his lungs start burning and he regretfully breaks away for air. He drops his forehead against Sonny’s, his eyes still closed, and whispers, “Is this real?”

“Yeah,” Sonny whispers back.

Will opens his eyes to find Sonny watching him, a tiny smile curling his lips. “I love you so much, Sonny.”

“What about Neil?” Sonny asks, an echo of Will’s earlier question.

Will lifts his head away from Sonny’s to better look at him. “I don’t love him. That’s not true. I do love him. I’m just not in love with him. I’ve loved you since that first day I saw you with Abby and I’ve tried to stop, I really have. I tried to fall in love with Neil. I wanted to. But you’re the one in my heart, Sonny. You’re in my bones. You are a part of me. I’ll always love you.”

Sonny’s face splits slowly into a blinding grin and Will’s lips curl into a matching grin, his heart bursting with joy.

They grin stupidly at each other for a long minute, their arms still around each other, until Will asks, “What did you mean that Neil is going to ask me to marry him tonight?”

“Oh. Neil told me and Paul last week that he was planning to propose to you at the party tonight. He has a ring and everything.”

Will bites his lip, thinking. “I have to talk to him before the party then. I can’t let him come and propose and turn him down in front of everyone.”

Sonny nods. “Can you ask him not to say anything to Paul? I can’t let him hear about us from anyone but me.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“I should go,” Sonny says unconvincingly. “I told Paul I had to run an errand for the party. He’ll be wondering where I am.”

“Okay,” Will says and regretfully drops his arms from Sonny’s waist as Sonny’s arms pull away from Will’s shoulders. Will misses them already.

“I’ll see you at the party,” Sonny says and heads towards the door.

“Yeah,” Will agrees, following behind Sonny.

“Good luck with Neil.”

“Thanks.”

At the door, Sonny turns around and grins again at Will. “Happy birthday, Will,” Sonny says and kisses him quickly before slipping out of Will’s apartment.

Will closes the door behind Sonny, the reality of the last half hour fully sinking in. Sonny loves him. Sonny is leaving Paul for him. Sonny loves him!

Will laughs into the emptiness of his apartment, giddy with nerves and happiness. He knows that the fallout from this is going to be messy and painful for everyone involved but Sonny loves him and wants to build a life with him and that’s really all that matters.

As he makes his way into his bathroom to take a shower and get ready for the party, Will thinks this is the best birthday he’s ever had.

#will horton #sonny kiriakis #wilson #my fic #mywilsonfic #100 different kisses

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inevitably-johnlocked · 3 years

Note

Hello Steph! First, thank you for everything you do for this fandom!! I don’t know what we would do without you!! ♥️ I am looking to start my first novel length Johnlock fic. I found your list, and was wondering if you had a specific one to recommend to start off with? I’m looking for something that won’t make me too sad (the world does that on its own), and of course, lots of Johnlock!! Any recommendations would be appreciated, thank you!! Sending love!! *hugs*

HI NONNY!

Hmm, this is tough, because Novel Length is anything over 50K words, but some people don’t want to read “novels that short”. So I get a lot of requests for Epic novels over 100K, so like WOOO HOO LOL.

Hmm. How about I give you a few recs varying lengths, based on your requirements, and you can decide how long you want to go, since I list all my word counts on my recs?

First off, for when you become obsessed with the lengthy fics like I am now LOL:

Novel Length Fics: 50 to 100K (Nov. 2018)

Novel Length Fics: 50 to 100K Pt 2 (May 2020)

Novel Length Fics: 100K+ w. (May 2019)

Novel Length Fics: 100K+ w. Pt 2 (Aug 2020)

Novel Length Fics: 100K+ w. Pt 3 [MFL’s] (Dec 2020)

Next, here’s something for each range between 50 and 100K+ <3

BUT BEFORE I BEGIN: honourable mention because it IS my fave fic ever, and it fits your criteria minus the length so SORRY but please check it out:

A Promise Made to Be Broken by PlantsAreNeat (E, 37,018 w., 7 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Pining, Slow Burn, RST, Eventual Relationship, POV Sherlock) – A young John makes an ‘if we’re still single at 40, we’ll get together’ pledge to a woman who ends up all wrong for him. She keeps reminding him of the promise, and won’t let go of it. John asks Sherlock to pose as his boyfriend at a family wedding, so as to dash her hopes permanently. Sherlock, who has at last acknowledged his feelings for John, reluctantly agrees despite knowing how painful it will be to ‘have’ John, but not keep him.

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Okay, now the main event, of more-fluff-than-angst:

NOVEL LENGTH NOT-SO-ANGSTY FICS FOR NEWBIES

Spare Change by Ermerness (E, 51,966 w., 14 Ch. || Rich Holmeses AU || First Kiss / Time, Holmes Family, Virgin Sherlock, Anal, First Meetings, Bossy Bottomlock) – The Holmes family is one of the richest and most powerful in England. Sherlock spends his time flying around the world on the family's private jet drinking a lot and shopping at expensive boutiques as a way of trying to alleviate his endless boredom. His mother decides it's time he settles down with someone powerful, wealthy and well connected. John Watson happens to be none of those things.

Guilty Secrets by Ellipsical (E, 55,086 w., 16 Ch. || Post-TRF, Drumsticks, First Kiss/Time, Love Confession, Self-Sexual-Discovery, Anal, Rimming, Orgasm Denial, Butt Plugs, Cooking, Furniture Sex, Bath Sex, Rimming, Double Penetration, Prostate Massage, Anal Beads, Dancing, Romance, Tantric Edging, Internalized Homophobia, Case as Foreplay, Anal Beads, Tickling, Dancing, Dry Coming, Romance) – John has a prostate exam and discovers something surprising about himself. Experimentation follows. Sherlock wants to help. They're in love. You know the drill.

Bridging the Ravine by SilentAuror (E, 58,887 w., 3 Ch. || Post S4, Couple For a Case, Bed-Sharing, First Times, Confessions, Awkwardness, Sex Trafficking, Massages, Wet T-Shirt Contest, Group Therapy, Past Loss of Child) – Sherlock and John go undercover at Ravine Valley, a therapy centre for same-sex male couples in an investigation into a possible human trafficking ring. As they pose as a couple and fake their way through the therapy sessions for the sake of the case, it quickly becomes difficult to avoid discussing their very real issues. Set roughly six nine months after series 4.

Perdition's Flames by i_ship_an_armada (E, 63,435 w., 21 Ch. || Treklock AU, Est. Rel, Genetic Engineering, Angst & Fluff, BAMF!John) – Sherlock would do anything to save him. Risk anything. Give anything. His money, his life. His soul. What he does, though, is change both of their destinies forever. Genetic re-engineering is the only option left. It turns out researchers underestimated the life expectancy and potential abilities of genetically re-engineered subjects. The British government and what would eventually become the United Federation of Planets, however, had not. Part 1 of PF Universe

A Cure For Boredom by emmagrant01 (E, 81,665 w., 8 Ch. || Dirty Talk, Threesomes, Light Dom/Sub, Sex Club, Experiments, Anal, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rimming, Cheeking, Double Penetration, Mild Kink, Porn Watching, Voyeurism, Masturbation) – They’d never talked about sex in the year they’d known each other. Well, that wasn’t quite correct: Sherlock had never said a word about sex; John had bemoaned his personal dearth of it on many occasions.

Uphill by scullyseviltwin (E, 84,945 w., 18 Ch. || Olympics AU || Sherlock POV, Skier!Sherlock / Medic!John, Rivalry, 2014 Olympics, Happy Ending) – Sherlock Holmes is striving for gold in this, his fourth and final Olympics as a downhill Alpine racer.

A Study in Winning by Jupiter_Ash (E, 106,658 w., 11 Ch. || Tennis AU || John POV, Dirty Talk, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Happy Ending, Sherlock Speaks French, Switchlock, Wimbledon) – John and Sherlock are professional tennis players and it’s Wimbledon. One is a broken almost was at the end of his career, the other an arrogant rising star tipped for greatness. It should have been a straightforward tournament. It really should have been. How were they to know that a chance encounter would change everything? Part 1 of Tennis

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Facial Shaving, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

The Horse and his Doctor by khorazir (T, 129,003 w., 13 Ch. || Horse / Vet AU || Magical Realism, Horses, Vet John, Horse Sherlock, Implied Alcoholism) – Invalided after a run in with a poacher in Siberia, veterinary surgeon John Watson finds it difficult to acclimatise to the mundanity of London life. Things change when a friend invites him along to a local animal shelter and he meets their latest acquisition, a trouble-making Frisian with the strangest eyes and even stranger quirks John has ever encountered in a horse.

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w., 37 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Dev. Rel., Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

Midnight Blue Serenity by BeautifulFiction (E, 151,907 w., 19 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, Gay Bar / For a Case, Drugs, Pining, Case Fic, UST) – When Sherlock infiltrates a club in order to track down a serial killer, his altered appearance is enough to make John question his assumption that Sherlock is beyond his reach. However, is he the only one who appreciates his flatmate's charms, or is Sherlock at risk of becoming the next victim?

Gimme Shelter by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (E, 159,368 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || 70′s Surfer AU || Period Typical Homophobia, Hawaii, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Professional Surfers, Gay John / Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, John was a Sailor, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining) – All John Watson wants is the feeling of a freshly waxed surfboard under his feet and the hot California sun baking down onto his back. To finally go pro in the newly formed world of professional surfing and leave the dark memories of his past behind him as he rips across the face of a towering blue barrel. To lounge beside the beach bonfire every evening with an ice cold beer tucked into the cool sand beside him and listen to Pink Floyd and the Doors while the saltwater dries in his sun bleached hair. That's all he wants, that is, until the hot young phenom taking Oahu and the Hawaiian shores by storm steps up next to him in the sand in the second round of the 1976 International Surf Competition. (PUBLISHED AS ‘The Sea Ain’t Mine Alone’)

Mise en Place by azriona (M, 161,004 w., 28 Ch. || Restaurant (Kitchen Nightmares) AU || Sherlock is Gordon Ramsay / Celebrity Sherlock, Restauranteur John, Harry Plays Prominent Role, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, Cranky Sherlock, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn) – John Watson had no intentions of taking over the family business, but when he returns from Afghanistan, battered and bruised, and discovers that his sister Harry has run their restaurant into the ground, he doesn't have much choice. There's only one thing that can save the Empire from closing for good – the celebrity star of the BBC series Restaurant Reconstructed, Chef Sherlock Holmes. Part 1 of Mise en Place

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Hope you enjoy those!!! <3 PLEASE read them all, though, and THEN READ ALL THE ONES ON THOSE LISTS. Because once you start long fics, you get REALLY INTO THEM. Hah hah <3

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #long fics #my fic recs #fave fics #johnlock for newcomers #sort of #Anonymous

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pop-punklouis · 4 years

Note

top five HL fanfic!!!!

biiiiitch you all know how hard it is for me to choose only 5. but sigh FINE here’s my all-time favorite list that isn’t 5 sorry i can’t choose 😔:

• Here in the Afterglow (89k)

“If you hadn’t noticed, I don’t have many friends,” Louis whispers, the blossom of insecurity in his stomach unfurling and clawing its way into his throat.

Harry is silent for a long time, and then he speaks; a soft, slow uncurl that makes Louis’ stomach shake. “I’ll be your friend.” 1970’s AU. In a tiny town in Idaho, Louis’ life is changed forever by the arrival of a curious stranger.

• Coax the Cold (86k)

England, 1897.

English Professor Louis Tomlinson’s passion for the occult has been a source of mockery and derision for most of his life. When he hears whispers of a travelling freak show newly established in London claiming the existence of a monstrous sea hybrid, half-man, half-fish, Louis sees it as his ticket to credibility amongst his peers. The summer he spends undercover working on the show, however, gives him much more than that.

• Wild and Unruly (124k)

Harry is a cowboy sitting on the biggest oil reservoir in Wyoming, and Louis is the paralegal assigned to pressure him into selling his land.

• This Wicked Game (70k)

An AU in which The Bachelor is gay, Louis is a contestant, Harry is the bachelor, everyone drinks a lot of champagne, the entire world gets to watch them fall in love, and no one plays by the rules.

• Love is a Rebellious Bird (135k)

AU in which the boys still make music. Louis is the concertmaster of the London Symphony Orchestra, Harry is the New! and Exciting! interim conductor/ex-cello prodigy who "has made Mozart cool again" according to Esquire Magazine (Louis hates him immediately, which is definitely why he internet stalked him in his dark bedroom late at night that one time), and Niall is the best. Zayn and Liam are around too.

• Fixated On One Star (53k)

Louis is just a boy with the world on his shoulders, and Harry's just a boy from the wrong side of the galaxy. A little thing like love doesn't stand a chance against a thousand years of war, at least until the right two come along to break the mold.

Or: space Romeo and Juliet AU

• Finding Lou (60k)

Louis is the nomadic stranger who wanders into Harry’s bookstore. Harry is the skeptic who falls for him.

• California Sold

Notoriously closeted boyband member Harry Styles is famous on a global scale, meanwhile Louis, as his best friend, is back home in Manchester, living the typical life of a 24 year old. When Harry needs Louis with him in LA, a publicity stunt gone wrong changes their friendship forever.

A fake-relationship AU between two lifelong best friends.

• Empty Skies (134k)

For three years, Harry has been running from his past. Now, he is moving to London and pledges to fulfil his only dream -- making it big in the music industry. Not everyone has a place, though, and the competition is tough. As is his past catching up on him.

Louis is part of the biggest boy band of the world, and getting there had meant a lot of hard work, as well as sacrificing parts of his heart and soul. He's still happy. Maybe not as happy as he could be, but who is he to complain?

• And Then a Bit (159k)

“We’d like to give the fans what they want.” Magee states, placing his hand on the table in front of him and leaning forward. “We want to give them Larry Stylinson.”

Or, take a parallel universe where Louis and Harry were never together, mix in a two year hiatus and an impending comeback, pour in a dash of lost fans, two tablespoons of strong friendship and a Modest! employee with a good idea. Add a squeeze of pretending to be a couple, lots of kisses and a tattoo or two. Stir. Serve: the mother of all publicity stunts. (aka Harry and Louis fake a relationship for publicity. Eventually it becomes a lot less fake and a lot more real.)

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The sun leaks through the tent wall behind him the way it leaks through eyelids, bathing the boy in an ethereal half-light as he croons. The crowd is mesmerized. Louis is mesmerized. This is the most important person in the world, he thinks wildly, and then can't figure out how to take it back.

On a hazy day in August, Louis sees Harry perform at a music festival as an unsigned act and convinces him to spend the rest of the weekend in his company. Harry gets signed; life changes. They never really wake up from the dream.

• Say You’ll Remember (93.5k)

au. louis and harry are best mates that are only half aware that they're also soulmates. alternatively, louis goes to university and harry travels the world, and they always manage to find their way back to each other.

takes place over nine years, in which they love and hurt, make mistakes and learn, and above all, grow.

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or a great british bake off au in which louis cares about winning and winning only, harry is made of sunshine and rainbow sprinkles, and niall sticks his nose into other people's business. also featuring liam as louis's best friend-slash-concerned mother, and zayn as a macaron connoisseur.

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Harry smiles. He's only known Louis for about two hours, knows nothing about him past his first name, but he's nice and sarcastic and helpful and so, so pretty. And Harry's still got a few days left in Barcelona, and he thinks he wouldn't mind spending them with Louis.

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AU. they take route 66 with only each other and their secrets.

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when a solar flare is announced to end the world in twelve days, harry reunites with the people that he used to know better than the back of his own hand.

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the one where Louis is a successful real estate agent and Harry works at a retirement home. They’ve never had a real home. Up until now.

(Starring Liam Payne as a fitness trainer, Zayn as an artist, and Niall, who busks.)

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Future AU in which nobody tries out for X Factor but the boys end up finding one other eventually anyway. Louis is a jaded bastard who owns a cat named Duchess and teaches drama to teenagers, Harry is an idealistic aspiring photographer/part-time footy coach, Zayn teaches English lit and wears leather jackets, Liam saves people from burning buildings, and Niall is Niall.

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AU. When Harry moves to a new city, his new flat come with a number of sweet, anonymous gifts and surprises that brighten his days. Could it be a friendly ghost? Another friendly presence in his new building is his tattooed neighbor, Louis, who seems determined to put a smile back on his face.

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When Louis first saw Harry at the 2010 X Factor Auditions, he thought he was watching a peculiarly special stranger. But Harry has known Louis ever since he was five years old. Because Louis has a rare genetic disorder that causes him to Time Travel to important moments in his past and in his future - and to Harry, always to Harry. When they’re put into a band together, it seems like everything Harry has been waiting and wishing for has finally come true. Except for the small fact that Louis doesn’t know that Harry is in love with him- that Harry’s always been in love with him. Fate, it would seem, is just getting started.

A story about growing up and growing together, and the impossible love that makes it all worthwhile.

• Paint the Sky with Stars (63k)

On 10 April 1912, Harry Styles boards the finest ship the world has ever seen. Still grieving the death of their mother, he and his sister are being sent to America to live with a callous uncle who cares more about his business connections than family. Harry prepares himself for a long, disappointing voyage alone in his stateroom. Louis Tomlinson has borrowed and saved, and finally has enough to purchase a Third Class ticket to America. With all of his belongings in a single ruck sack, he boards the Titanic filled with hope for a brighter future. Never one to sit still, he can’t resist exploring the massive ship, and soon goes sneaking into First Class in a stolen steward’s uniform. By a twist of fate, Louis finds himself in Harry’s stateroom, entranced by the most attractive man he’s ever laid eyes on. He keeps returning day after day, even if he doesn’t understand what it is about Harry that continues pulling him in. That’s all right; Louis has a week to figure it out, and Harry is plenty willing to help. Except they don’t have a week. They have four days. Because on 15 April, their entire world will be turned upside down.

Or, the historically accurate Titanic AU with a happy ending.

• Through Eerie Chaos (102k)

For as long as anyone can remember, Old Hillsbridge Manor has always been believed to be haunted. Everyone in the village agrees and keeps a respectful, fearful, distance. New in town after a bad breakup and an internship that led to disappointment rather than a permanent job, Harry Styles figures taking pictures of the decrepit building could be a great new creative project. Or at least a much-needed distraction while he searches for a job and crashes at his parents’ new house. No one warned him about the apparitions though; about the music, the laughter, the people who flicker and vanish when you call after them, the echoes of a past that should be long gone… Harry has never believed in spirits but even he can admit that there’s something weird going on. What starts as mere curiosity evolves into a full-blown investigation and soon enough, Harry finds himself making friends with an aristocrat from the 1920s and struggling with finding the best way to tell him that he’s dead.

The Ghost Hunter AU where Niall lives to prove ghosts are real, Zayn is a skeptical librarian and Harry gets caught up in a century-old mystery and catches feeling in the process.

#whew!#favorite fics #grey

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thefandomlesbian · 4 years

Text

We’re All Born Naked (The Rest Is Drag)

Summary: A series of crimes at a gay club leaves the BAU scrambling for a way to locate the unsub before they have another victim. After a surprising revelation about Spencer, he's assigned duty on stage--performing as a drag queen so he has the opportunity to spot the killer from above. While undercover with Hotch, feelings develop.

Read it here on AO3!

...

“We're all born naked, and anything anybody wears at any time is drag.” -Tede Matthews

…

The heady air of the club before it opened collected in thick clouds around the team. Hotch spoke with the owner a few yards away from the others. Spencer watched their conversation, unable to hear what they said, but understanding from the exchange of nods that they were making some kind of deal regarding the club and its patrons.

For the past three weeks, every Friday night, a man from this club had gone missing and turned up disemboweled two days later.

Tonight, they intended to catch him in the act.

Hotch left the owner and approached the rest of the team. Spencer fidgeted with the sleeves of his shirt. In a few minutes, the club would be opening, and he wanted to be far out of here before people began to arrive. It wasn’t a risk he wanted to take. JJ shot him a sideways glance. “You alright, Spence?” He nodded.

Hotch inclined his eyebrows as he stopped in front of them. “The owner has agreed to let us bug the place. Reid, you’re undercover with me.”

Spencer gulped. “Er—I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Hotch frowned. He kept fidgeting with his sleeves. “I’m… not sure that’s something I can do.” Defying a direct order? He never did that. Hotch had told him, not asked; refusing wasn’t an option.

Morgan pursed his lips. “C’mon, man, what gives? You fit the type. You’re gonna be a lot more helpful on the ground than the rest of us.”

“I know, I just—I have certain concerns that my ability to do this may, uh, may be compromised.”

Emily cocked her head. “Reid, are you… homophobic? ”

“No!” Spencer bristled. “No, I’m not homophobic, I just am worried about certain things—”

“What kind of things?”

Spencer opened his mouth to respond, but across the dance floor called a familiar voice, “Spencer!” that sent cold chills running down his spine. He closed his jaw with a quiet click and closed his eyes, willing the voice to go away, but it didn’t, and he could hear footsteps trotting up behind them. This kind of thing. Peter propped up an arm on Spencer’s shoulder. “Hey, buddy! I thought you said you had to work tonight! Listen, you are gonna be so excited— Damien B is back in town. Remember the last time he was here, I was too drunk to walk, so you went up to him and tucked that wad of cash into his G-string for me? Best night ever! Plus, the drag race is on. Are you gonna roll again? Runner up last time—you’ve got a real shot.” I wish I were the unsub’s last victim. Peter’s excitable grin did not fade as he looked up at the rest of the team. “And you got us some newcomers! C’mon.” He nudged Spencer pointedly. “Introduce me to your friends!”

Some part of Spencer prayed that if he willed it hard enough, the floor would open up and swallow him whole. He reluctantly opened his eyes, gauging the expressions on each of his teammates’ faces, ranging from shock and horror to Hotch’s completely impassive poker face (Spencer was quite grateful at least one of them had the grace to look like himself). He opened his mouth again, and again, Peter interrupted him. “Oh, who’s this tall drink of water?” He pushed into the circle of the BAU and brushed both of his hands down Hotch’s arms. Peter smirked and winked. “Who’s your daddy, big guy?”

Oh, please don’t hurt him, and please don’t hurt me. If he hadn’t been paralyzed to the spot, Spencer might’ve had the willpower to turn away and run, run out of the club, down the street, to the bus stop, and take the city bus all the way to Canada where he would change his name and never return. He cleared his throat. He could not move. That meant he had to speak. “Peter, these are… my… colleagues. We are working a case here.”

“Oh.” Peter blinked somewhat surprised. Then, he withdrew from Hotch. “Well, this one can arrest me any time. ” Spencer’s entire face and neck flushed maroon. “I’m Peter! Nice to meet you guys.”

Emily was the first to find her words. “So you two are…” She gestured between them with her index finger.

Peter’s eyes widened. “Us? Oh, no, ma’am. We’re just the twinks who have to try to find a ouija board to summon the top we both need. Right, Spencer? Up top!” Peter lifted up his hand. Spencer merely stared at his palm. “Oh, don’t leave me hanging!”

Hotch coughed, interrupting the shame circulating between all of them. “Thank you, Peter, but we really need to resume our investigation.”

“Oh, sure, sure. I’m gonna be hovering around the bar all night—and your drinks are on me.” Peter pointed at Hotch, and then he swung around and trotted back toward the bar.

Spencer released a long, pent-up sigh. “That. That’s my concern.”

Silence followed. Finally, JJ broke it. “You’re gay? ”

“Mhm.”

“Called it,” Rossi said, speaking for the first time in a few minutes. Spencer’s belly did a sick flip. “Morgan, you owe me.”

Emily tilted her head. “Were you ever going to tell us?”

“Honestly? No, I wasn’t.”

Morgan countered, “I don’t owe you anything. I called Emily, remember? We’re even now.”

JJ blinked incredulously. “You guys are taking bets on who’s not straight?”

“Yeah, princess, and my money says you and Emily bang it out before the end of the year,” Morgan countered. JJ’s cheeks flushed as red as Spencer’s.

Emily piped up, “So Rossi does owe you.” Morgan fist-pumped.

“Can we get back to work?” Hotch interrupted pointedly. Everyone fell silent and fell in line, looking back toward him. “Reid, you’re not on the floor anymore.”

Rossi snorted. “That’d be a bad idea. He might end up at the glory holes.”

Hotch shot Rossi a dark warning glance. Spencer flushed with warmth, but then Hotch continued, “I have a better idea.” His gaze swept the room, the flyers on the wall, taking heed of the layout, the speakers, the stage, the bar. “You’re on stage. You’ll have the best vantage point of the whole club from up there. You’ll see more than any of us can from the floor. Drag show starts at nine. Get dressed.”

I wish I were dead.

…

In a skin-tight dress, five inch heels, and a poofy blonde wig, Spencer crossed his arms and stood beside the foot of the stage. The crowd had packed into the room. I deserve a raise for this. He looked up as Hotch parted the crowd, coming up to him. Hotch hadn’t changed, and frankly, he didn’t look like he belonged, with his suit and his tie and his too-nice shoes.

“I didn’t exactly ask if you were okay with this.”

Spencer shrugged. “Less okay things have happened. This is something I’ve done before.” He hadn’t expected his team to ever know about it, nor would he have wanted them to, but now that they did… well, at least he could catch a killer.

Hotch gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, so have I.” What? Spencer wanted to ask. How? Why? “You have a smudge in your lipstick. Hold still.” Hotch licked his thumb and wiped at it, framing Spencer's face between his two large hands, and Spencer's words died in his throat, unable to make a sound. The floodlights illuminated the room, casting Hotch's face in bright light and the rest of him in shadow, giving his hickory eyes an odd gleam, his brows drawn together as he worked at wiping away the smear of lipstick at the corner of Spencer's mouth.

When his hands pulled away, Spencer's belly flipped over. He somehow felt hot and cold at the same time. He parted his lips, wanting to ask something, wanting to say something, but he couldn't conceive of the correct words. “Um, thanks—” He tried to push the stammer out of his voice. He didn't think he succeeded.

The announcer called out, “Now introducing Miss Sparrow Wings!” and Hotch offered him a leg up, thrusting him onto the stage before he could ask another question.

Spencer’s heels clicked beneath him as he strolled down the runway. He had done this before, the costume makeup, the dress, the wig, everything—the performance and the anonymity that came with it was all part of the fun. But knowing that somewhere down there, Hotch watched him, gave him some strange and embarrassing thrill. The MC held out the microphone to him. I didn’t have time to prepare an act. The last time, he’d sung a song—badly, but still, it was better than it would’ve been if he had tried to do stand-up, which was his first choice when Peter talked him out of it.

Of course, he had public speaking skills. He could use them.

“Today, I’m going to talk to all of you about string theory.” The crowd cheered. Either they were too drunk to know what he had just said or they thought he was joking. “In summary, string theory is the framework in which the point-like particles of physics are replaced by one-dimensional objects known as strings. String theory describes how these strings propagate through space and interact with one another.” This time, they did not cheer. They mumbled in confusion. “On distance scales larger than the string scale, a string looks just like an ordinary particle, with its mass, charge, and other properties determined by the vibrational state of the string. In string theory, one of the many vibrational states of the string corresponds to the graviton, a quantum mechanical particle that carries gravitational force. Thus string theory is a theory of quantum gravity.”

He scanned the crowd, ignoring the ones sloshing beer at his feet. They had a profile to work with. The man they were looking for would hang back from the main crowd and charm the lone wolves he spotted, the ones whose friend groups had abandoned them, and eventually lead them away. He would not be among the men popping molly crowded around the front of the stage.

Hotch worked along the back walls, patrolling, failing to look inconspicuous. He chose a corner and hovered there with his arms crossed. A younger man approached him, grabbed him by the arm, and gestured in the direction of the glory holes. Spencer’s abdomen clenched with something—jealousy, perhaps?—at the sight, but he forced himself to tear his gaze away. He could not focus on Hotch right now. He was looking for a serial killer.

“Now, you may be asking yourself, how could something be one-dimensional? After all, everything we analyze in basic life is either three-dimensional—like me and you, like this feather boa—” Spencer took the feather boa off from around his neck and tossed it into the crowd. The guy who caught it stumbled and landed on his ass. “—and then there are things that are two dimensional, like the little heart patterns on my panties. You boys will see that if you’re lucky.” Like hell. It kept their attention, though, which was what he needed. “One dimensional objects exist in physics and mathematics. Like on a number line, every single spot on the number line can be indicated by a single digit.”

At the bar, he spotted Peter far below, chatting up the bartender. He sifted over the crowd with his eyes, eager to find anyone looking or acting suspicious. Anyone without friends, keeping to himself, watching the others too closely, approaching loners… There’s a handful of them down there. He spotted a tall man with dark hair clinging to the corner, sipping his own drink. This man wouldn’t be drinking. He wouldn’t compromise his own judgment. But there was every possibility he had a virgin drink to give the appearance of inebriation. It’s all part of the act. Spencer knew about the act.

“Now, the thing about these theoretical dimensions is that they’re difficult to conceive of without some kind of proof. Not easy to believe. But then again, tons of things are unbelievable…” Spencer flipped his wrists over and produced another feather boa, one that had been concealed under the jangly bands on his wrists. “If you believe in magic, the thing about theoretical physics is that everything is magical in its own right—because just like physics, magic always has a logical explanation.”

Spencer spilled a deck of cards over the floor from where he had hidden them. He watched the figure cross the floor to the bar, and he vanished into the crowd where Spencer could not spot him. Shoot. He couldn’t continue to track him like that. He checked the clock. Two more minutes. He could lecture about string theory for two more hours—but he preferred not to have to do it while he was working and appearing on stage in drag.

Running his mouth? That was his expertise.

When his time was over, he swung off the stage and headed toward the bar. Hotch intercepted him only a few steps through the crowd, pushing the surging men away from one another and away from Spencer. “What did you see?”

“Dark-haired white guy, wearing a blazer. He headed toward the bar and I lost him in the crowd.”

“He wouldn’t head into the crowd unless he’s chosen a victim.”

“Yeah, I know. Should we start canvassing?”

Hotch’s dark eyes darted around the room in the flashing lights. “No. If he spots us, he’ll startle and leave, and we’ll have lost our shot. We need to be discreet until we’re sure, and then get him away from this crowd. If we cause a panic, we’ll lose him.” Spencer’s eyes scanned Hotch’s face. “Let’s sit at the bar and wait for him.”

“Together?” Spencer questioned.

“You’re wearing six inch heels. You’re not exactly in position to give chase if we split up,” Hotch pointed out. Spencer mused on this, and then he nodded in agreement; he wouldn’t have very much luck making chase in these shoes, and he didn’t have a gun under this dress, or cuffs, either. Trying to apprehend a suspect in this getup would be ridiculous at best, downright dangerous at worst. He needed to stay with Hotch.

They sat side-by-side at the bar. Spencer reached up and disentangled the poofy, blonde, Dolly Parton-esque wig from his hair and let it fall to the counter with a dull thump. At the sight of it, Hotch gave a muted smile—or something Spencer could only describe as a smile. The disco lights reflected in his eyes, giving them a certain illustrious gleam which drew Spencer into their depths. “The wig suits you. You clean up well.” Clean up well? Spencer felt a lot of things right now, but clean wasn’t one of them. He sat in a seedy club with smoke clogging up the vents, too loud pop music, flashing lights that hurt his eyes, the stench of vomit and liquor and everything in between, and he wore an ill-fitting drag dress with six inch heels, gaudy costume makeup, and a heavy hot wig that someone else had certainly sweated in before him.

The whole thing struck Spencer as fairly bizarre—that Hotch offered him these compliments, the nature of them as a whole. Spencer wondered what, if anything, motivated him to speak in this way. If anything? Something had to be behind it. Hotch would never ordinarily speak to him this way. “Er, thanks,” Spencer said. “It gets really hot,” he admitted, “especially under the floodlights, and… well, this stuff isn’t mine, so I’m trying not to sweat in it.” He didn’t cart drag materials around to work with him in case he needed to go undercover; he’d borrowed everything from Peter, and lord knew who else Peter had loaned it out to over the years.

“I’m sure you wear it better than any of the other twinks that came before you.” Spencer’s face flushed at that. He fisted his hand in the wig on the table, trying to distract himself, and studied the men mulling behind them in the reflections of the glasses and the bottles as they passed by, trying to spot their subject. He went into the crowd around this area.

Every moment they sat here without seeing him was another moment of the possibility he had already chosen his victim, had already led him away, had already packed him up into his vehicle and driven him away to his final destination.

“See anything?” Spencer shook his head. Further down the bar, the distinct sound of Peter’s laughter crowed through the crowd, but Spencer couldn’t see him through the blur of people—nor did he particularly want to. Peter had already managed to humiliate him in front of Hotch once today (more than once, if he was being generous, since almost every word Peter had uttered had sunk Spencer to new depths of embarrassment), and Spencer didn’t care to repeat the event. “Tell me about your friend.”

Weird. Spencer knew they had to talk—they had to give the appearance that they were participating socially here. It wouldn’t look right if they sat here without speaking, and it could head someone off. “Peter? He’s… a lot.” Hotch could’ve asked him about anyone, and he asked him about Peter. Maybe… he’s interested in him? Spencer found that hard to believe, though; he found it difficult to think Hotch could ever be interested in someone like Peter. And besides, Peter had made it pretty clear that he was available for anything Hotch wanted. There was no need for Spencer to act as a liaison between the two of them. The mere thought made Spencer all hot and itchy and uncomfortable on the inside. “He’s not looking to settle down. He just wants to have as much fun as he can.” That was an accurate assessment of Peter.

“And you are? Looking to settle down.”

Spencer fidgeted with the jangly bracelets on his wrists. “Er… I don’t know. I don’t exactly have a settling down type of job, do I?” Hotch looked steadily back at him. This is a weird conversation. “I guess, if I found the right person… I just don’t see it happening, though.” What did Hotch have to gain from asking him these questions? They could’ve talked about anything and it would’ve kept up appearances. Even particle physics would’ve made Spencer more comfortable than he was right now, sharing intimate aspects of his personal life with Hotch at his request. I didn’t even want them to know I was gay.

In a few short hours, he had gone from completely closeted to his entire team seeing him in drag from head to toe. He didn’t know how he felt about that yet. The ambivalence of the moment plagued him, the satisfaction from knowing he was doing something good to stop a killer, the shame… Oh, the shame. Logic told him he had nothing to be ashamed off, that being gay wasn’t a bad or embarrassing thing, that no one on the team would judge him, that their disparaging remarks were just jokes. But he didn’t want to face those disparaging marks anyway, no matter how teasing. And Morgan would undoubtedly dangle this over his head for the rest of his life, the moment when Sparrow Wings went on stage to spot a killer from above.

Hotch crossed his arms, resting his elbows on the counter in front of them. “You could’ve said something sooner,” he said.

“I know.” Spencer jangled his bracelets. “I didn’t want to.”

“Why not?”

He drummed his fingers on the counter and shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess… I guess JJ said it best, when she and Emily got together, that sometimes it’s easier not to have everyone up in their business. That we don’t really get to have secrets, so when there is something the rest of us don’t know about, it’s pretty sacred.” The rhythm of swinging the bands around his wrists grounded him in the moment. “And, I mean, Morgan is never going to let this go. He’s going to be making digs at me about this for the rest of our lives.”

Hotch inclined his eyebrows. “You’re right about that,” he confirmed grimly. “So you knew about JJ and Prentiss?”

Spencer nodded. “I was the only one who knew,” he said. “But… I didn’t know Rossi and Morgan were taking bets on, y’know, all of this.”

Hotch wore a somewhat grim look upon his face. “They still have one bet out on the rest of us.”

What? Spencer wanted to ask, and he jiggled his bracelets again, and finally, Hotch put his hand over Spencer’s wrist to still it and quiet the jingling. Spencer glanced down at where Hotch’s large hand covered his wrist. His stomach jumped and quivered at the sensation, the warmth of another skin pressing against his. The texture struck him, the roughness, the callouses on Hotch’s hands, the breadth of his grasp and his fingertips. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. He gulped, trying to remember how to breathe and how to speak, because suddenly both of those things seemed incredibly difficult. “Sorry—” His voice sounded strangled, and he wasn’t sure why he apologized—for making the noise that had irritated Hotch, for this weird reaction, for something else, and why was Hotch still touching him?

“Don’t apologize.” Spencer’s lighter eyes darted up to Hotch’s in the shadows of the club. His tongue flitted out across his lips, wetting them. What can I say? Words failed Spencer, and he could only think of something he wanted to do, something which Hotch would almost certainly reject—

There. In the reflection of the wine bottle to Hotch’s right, Spencer saw him. He spun on the barstool, and Hotch whirled around after him. Spencer didn’t point. The man walked right past them. His gaze flicked to Spencer, and he smiled and winked a coy thing, and then he continued through the crowd. “You think that’s our guy?” Spencer asked.

“Yes.” Hotch hopped up from the barstool. “Stay close to him. He’s still rounding the floor, so he hasn’t picked a target yet. We can’t take him until we have evidence of wrongdoing.”

Spencer nodded. The crowd made room for him to pass through; after all, he was five inches taller than normal and wearing a sequin-strewn dress which made it difficult for him to miss. He stuck the blonde wig back on his head so he didn’t have to drag it around in his hand, stuffing it over his hair. The unsub stalked up behind a handful of guys chatting at the bar. Spencer grabbed the empty table directly across from them so they could keep a close eye on him—they wouldn’t risk losing him among the ocean of people again. Spencer’s jaw shifted in discomfort. “If he sees me again, he’s going to know something’s up. I’m too recognizable like this. He’s going to realize we’re following him.”

“We have to risk it.”

From the distance, they could not hear the unsub’s words or see the men he approached, nothing more than their silhouettes, but within a few minutes, it became clear he had targeted one man. He eased this man away from the others, placing himself between him and the rest of the group, secluding him. He waved his hand to the bartender and placed an order, and then his arm reached around the man’s waist, trailing over the small of his back. The unsuspecting victim sidled up close beside the unsub. He turned his head into his embrace. The flashing strobe lights of the club illuminated the victim’s silhouette. Spencer’s eyes widened. The man tossed his head back and laughed a familiar, braying laugh. Spencer upstarted from his seat—

Hotch’s arm coiled around his waist and anchored him to the spot. “Don’t.”

“That’s Peter! ” Spencer’s heart clenched in his chest.

“He’s safe. We’re watching him. They won’t get out of our line of sight.” Spencer tried to wriggle out from under Hotch’s arm, which fit all too well around his waist, like something familiar, like something meant to be there, like hundreds of millions of years of evolution had transpired just to lead to this moment where Hotch’s arm was meant to fit around his middle and hold him there, almost pressing their bodies against one another. “If you go now, you’ll blow our cover, he’ll pick a different club, and we’ll have more victims before we have a chance to catch him again. Do you want that to happen?”

Reluctantly, Spencer settled down in his chair, his face and stomach both churning. Everything inside of him constricted like a snake, tense and hot. Hotch did not withdraw his arm. “We can’t let them get out of this building.”

“And we won’t.” Hotch was making a promise—Spencer understood that. He prayed it wasn’t a promise he was going to break. “Can I trust you not to fling yourself at them like Norman Bates wearing his mother’s clothes, or do I need to keep holding you in place?”

Spencer’s face flamed. He sucked his front teeth. “Maybe,” he said softly, “you can trust me…” Or maybe I like this, the way it is right now.

“Maybe?” Hotch arched an eyebrow, daring Spencer to say something else.

Spencer held his gaze. He did not fold. Sparrow Wings, after all, did not fold. She was a powerful woman, and she wouldn’t buckle, no matter how Hotch stared at her, and she would have no problem telling him exactly what she wanted—but she also didn’t give a flying fuck if Spencer was still employed tomorrow, so Spencer had to make some executive decisions on how much he allowed her influence to take over right now. “Or maybe… I think this is good for our undercover act. Maybe I think we blend right in, like this.”

The scent of Hotch’s cologne wafted off of his body from the proximity between them. In spite of Spencer’s layers of clothes and the heavy makeup and that damn wig (he left it on now, in case he needed to make a run for it and didn’t want to leave it behind), he craved the warmth bleeding through Hotch’s suit, the heat metabolized by Hotch’s blood and tissues through every minute of every day. Spencer found it intoxicating.

He didn’t imbibe any longer, but if he wanted to get drunk on anything, he thought he would start with the scent of Hotch’s cologne.

“Is that so?” Hotch asked, and his words sounded almost like a dare. “This is good for being undercover?” Spencer nodded. “Is that all?”

Spencer opened his mouth to respond, but the unsub began to turn, as if to glance behind him, and Spencer didn’t have a moment to think; at the first glimpse of movement, Hotch grabbed him, spun him around with his back to the unsub, and dragged him into a bruising, open-mouthed kiss. Spencer blinked hard, once, twice, This is a dream, this whole thing has been a weird dream, I’m going to wake up now and it’s going to make so much sense— Hotch’s hands intertwined in his wig, obscuring as much as his body from view as possible, and Spencer watched in the reflection of the wine glasses on the table as the unsub surveyed the room behind him and did not take note of Spencer, in spite of his colorful garb.

After all, two guys shoving their tongues down each other’s throats were pretty inconspicuous in the middle of a gay club.

The rough stubble from Hotch’s face scratched into Spencer’s, chin to chin, cheek to cheek. The unsub had turned around, but Hotch didn’t stop, molding Spencer’s mouth to his own like a potter over a lump of clay. Their tongues twisted and danced to the beat of the flashing lights and dropping bass, until Hotch pulled away and Spencer gasped for breath. His head spun. His limbs felt heavy. His stomach felt light. His head felt like butterflies had tossed out every piece of information he had ever known and now battered their wings against the inside of his skull, seeking a way out.

Arm around Peter’s back, the unsub pulled back from the bar, and they walked away from the bar, all wound up in one another. Hotch jumped up, hand wrapped around the inside of Spencer’s elbow, and jogged after them. “Do you know where they’re going?”

Spencer shook the delirium from the forefront of his mind. “Exit A, it’s the easiest way out without being spotted—”

“You stay on them, I’ll go around back, and we should be able to trap him.”

Before Spencer could say another word, Hotch vanished from sight, and Spencer trotted after the unsub and Peter, keeping them in his sights. He folded himself back between a pillar and the wall when the unsub glanced behind them, and when they rounded the corner, Spencer caught up to them, watching as they approached the exit.

The red lights from the sign marking the outlet illuminated their faces. “Before we go,” purred the unsub, “I’ve got a surprise for you.” He held his hands behind his back. Spencer spotted the refraction of light off of the blade of the knife he concealed. “Are you ready?” Peter nodded. “Close your eyes…”

“FBI!” Spencer ducked out from his hiding place in the shadows. “Put your hands up! You’re under arrest!” Hotch is right outside, he’s waiting right outside this door—

“Spencer, what the hell? We were just about to—” The knife clattered to the floor, and the door swung open. The unsub sprinted through the door out into the darkness of the night.

Spencer chased after him. “Stay right here!” he called over his shoulder to Peter.

The unsub vaulted himself over the railing of the short staircase and landed clumsily on the asphalt. Spencer hit the railing. He couldn’t climb over it—if he landed wrong in these shoes, he’d snap an ankle. Hotch rounded the corner. Spencer tore the shoes off his feet. “Where’s he going?”

Holding the heels in his left hand, Spencer jumped over the railing. “Around the block—you go that way, there’s an old plywood fence, he’ll come over that and meet you, I’ll stay behind him—”

His bare feet slapped the stony surface of the asphalt, kicking up old loose pebbles, splinters, and shattered glass, as again he and Hotch separated. In hot pursuit of the unsub, Spencer did not let the pain in his feet distract him. The shadow of the unsub up ahead circled the block, headed toward the fence, where Spencer had known he would try to climb to escape.

He flung himself up over the fence. Spencer stood there, watching him. From the other side, Hotch called, “FBI! Put your hands up!”

The unsub teetered there on top of the fence for a moment. He looked down at Hotch, then back at Spencer… and he dropped back onto Spencer’s side of the fence. Hotch discharged his weapon, but he missed. The bullet glanced off of the side of the brick wall beside them and ricocheted. Oh, shit. The unsub barreled toward Spencer.

Spencer didn’t have a weapon. He didn’t have handcuffs, or a taser, or a baton. He had himself, his wig, his bare feet, and the stilettos in his left hand—in his hand as he held up his hands to brace himself for impact as the unsub jumped on top of him.

The man intended to knock Spencer down and keep going. Spencer grabbed onto him, hands fisting into his clothes, dragging him to the asphalt. Spencer’s dress tore where it caught under his feet. “Don’t go anywhere!” Spencer couldn’t overpower him, but he could stall him long enough for Hotch to get over the fence and help.

An elbow shoved across Spencer’s face. Pain shot through his nose. White light blinded him. He tasted blood. A hand clawed its way into his mouth. He snapped his teeth together. He tasted more blood. “Get off me, you stupid fairy!” The man thrashed. Spencer took his left hand, the one with the shoes, and smacked him in the face.

The resulting shriek of agony shook the alleyway. The brick walls trembled with the power of it. Spencer, blinking through the pain, landed on top of the unsub with both knees between his shoulder blades, hands pinning the man’s arms to the ground, but he didn’t try to fight anymore. Now, he only tried to curl up into a ball, hands reaching for his own face, where the heel of one of Spencer’s stilettos had penetrated his eye, the shoe still fixed there and dangling.

Hotch vaulted himself over the fence. “What the hell, Reid?” Spencer wiped a smear of blood away from his nose, sliding off of the unsub when Hotch took him and cuffed him. “What’s the matter with you?”

Spencer stiffened. “I don’t have a gun. I had to improvise.” I didn’t exactly intend to impale his eye with my high heel, but it stopped him.

“So you weaponized stilettos ?” Hotch repeated, aghast. “Why aren’t you concealed carrying?”

“Do you see anywhere for me to conceal a weapon in this outfit?”

Hotch scanned Spencer, his heavy costume makeup sweating off, his blonde wig all askew, his skintight dress torn, many of his jangly bracelets lost in the chase, his bare feet cut and bloodied from racing along the glass-littered pavement, blood trickling down his nose. His gaze lingered on Spencer in an almost affectionate way. “Not the kind of weapon we use.”

Spencer’s whole body flushed.

The unsub turned his head from where Hotch pressed his face into the concrete. “It hurts! ” he wailed desperately. “My eye! You ugly fag, my eye —”

Hotch pressed one broad hand to the column of his throat. “If you call him that again, I’ll finish the job with the other shoe.”

A tingle rushed through Spencer as the unsub squeaked and fell into silence.

…

At Quantico, Spencer looked at himself in the mirror of the men’s bathroom, his face still dirty and stained from wrestling the unsub on the ground. His feet had pressure wrappings around them where they fit in his shoes; the paramedics had painstakingly dug the glass out of the soles of his feet and then treated the wounds. With gauze stuffed up the bleeding nostril of his nose, he looked worse for wear, though he had returned to his preferred clothes—his pants, his sweater vest, his long-sleeved shirt.

He stared at his reflection, hair all dirty and messy, face beginning to break out from the low quality makeup. Huh, he thought as he looked at himself. The whole thing felt so surreal. Had Hotch really kissed him? Had Hotch really put an arm around his body to hold him in place? Had Hotch really planted the heel of his hand against a man’s throat and threatened to blind him if he said another word against Spencer?

Was Hotch really entering the bathroom right now, silently nearing him, reaching for the paper towels, wetting one with warm water, pressing it to Spencer’s face, wiping away the itchy makeup and the dirt?

“You alright?” Hotch’s voice breached the calm. He smoothed the paper towel down Spencer’s face, not enough to hurt him, but firmly enough to take away most of the heavy makeup and dirt. When he’d soiled one paper towel, he wetted another one.

In the mirror, as Hotch stripped the layers of grime from his face, the rash underneath became more apparent. “Yeah,” Spencer replied. “I’m fine.” He looked away from his reflection in the mirror and glimpsed at Hotch’s face, afraid to let his gaze linger for too long—afraid of what he would or wouldn’t see. “Can I ask you something?” Hotch gave a noncommittal hum of agreement. “Why are you still here? Everyone else went home.”

Hotch ceased his ministrations, having gotten the most grime off of Spencer’s face, and he returned his gaze, a surprisingly tender expression on his face. “You made a pretty big sacrifice to catch this guy, and I owe it to you to make sure you’re okay.” Spencer grunted in response. He wondered if Hotch had something else to say. “Have you talked to Peter?”

Oh. Right. Again, Hotch expressed interest in Peter, and again, Spencer wondered if he meant to suggest something else. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s—he’s shaken up, but he’ll be alright. I think he’s thinking about taking a break from the club, though.” Hotch opened a tube of cream—anti-itch cream, Spencer noted. He squirted a small amount onto his fingertips and applied it to the rash covering Spencer’s face. “How did you…”

“You always get sun poisoning when we’re in the field,” Hotch said. The intimacy of this moment took Spencer aback, his face in Hotch’s hands as Hotch massaged a soothing lotion into his skin. “I thought the cosmetics might irritate your skin.” Spencer didn’t know what to say in response. “When will I get the opportunity to see Sparrow Wings again?” he asked as he capped the tube of lotion, having rubbed the cream into Spencer’s skin completely, leaving no residue.

Spencer puffed a short breath from his nose. “I think Sparrow Wings is retired permanently.” He spun his watch around his wrist. It didn’t jangle annoyingly like the bracelets had. “Everybody’s going to know she’s an undercover cop now. Gay people don’t like it when cops invade their spaces. The last time it happened, there was this big riot. You may have heard about it.” He crossed his arms, guarding himself—from what, he wasn’t quite sure. Was Hotch just mocking him in some elaborate joke? Asking about his drag persona, asking about Peter, cleaning his face, applying the medicated lotion, was it all some farce?

Spencer didn’t think so, but he also knew better than to trust anyone’s intentions.

A small, easy smile spread across Hotch’s face. “Then maybe I could arrange a private show.”

Spencer studied Hotch’s face in the strange, fluorescent light of the bathroom, seeking any hint of deception upon him, but he found nothing—nothing but the same steady and forthright look in those hickory eyes. Spencer’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Are you…” He didn’t know how to finish the sentence, the question, any of it.

Yet, Hotch still understood. “I am.” Hotch kissed him again. Now, Spencer understood, too. Hotch severed the kiss. “If you are—”

“I am.”

Hotch breathed a short sigh of relief. “Rossi and Morgan break even again.”

Spencer paused. “What?”

“The last bet. Rossi’s money is on this.”

Spencer blinked in surprise. Then, he shrugged. “Guess it’s better if they don’t owe each other.” He followed Hotch out of the bathroom, feeling lighter than he had felt in years.

#hotchreid #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer's writing

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spaceskam · 4 years

Text

our fainted thrill carries on (9/13)

ao3

Michael took a deep breath as he stared at the cabin.

Alex’s truck wasn’t there and he was supposed to just be getting his things so he could go back to miserable living in the airstream. Still, it hurt. He felt like he’d fucked up. Which, he had, but he also still felt like he wasn’t wrong either. Yeah, maybe Alex lied to keep him from leaving, but wouldn’t it have said more if Alex had given it to him and he’d chosen to stay? Why didn’t Alex trust him enough?

He rolled that key over in his palm, the one Alex had given him and that he’d never had the option to use. It got caught in his bandana and almost fell to the ground, but Michael caught it and pressed it into his skin. Was it weird that he kind of wanted to burn it there?

Michael walked up the steps of the porch and slowly fit the key into the lock, turning it with ease. He swallowed hard and pushed the door open.

It was strange to be there now. It didn’t feel like home anymore. Or, it did, but it was like he didn’t fit there. He’d gotten that privilege taken away. Alex had told him he was always welcome no matter what, but…

He made his way towards the bedroom and saw all of his clothes neatly folded on the bed, waiting for him. Beside the stack was the piece of that ship, glittering in all its glory. Michael’s chest ached and he looked away from it, walking to the other side of the bed and climbing onto it. It still welcomed him, still smelled like Alex, and Michael was probably tired enough to actually fall asleep. He didn’t realize how hard it would be to sleep without Alex again.

Instead, he reached over and grabbed the remote to the TV, turning it on to watch the cameras. He’d gotten used to watching them all the time and waking up in the middle of the night to Alex watching them after a nightmare. He was so paranoid at night regardless of how much he tried to hide it. Michael had yet to figure out how to counteract that. It hurt him to know that Alex probably hadn’t slept at all the night prior.

Stupidly, he rewound the footage to see Alex doing just that. He was curled up in bed, looking at his computer. Michael decided to be creepy and he watched him for a while, curling up in bed as he watched Alex stay up all night and look over to the empty side of the bed every once in a while. Fuck, why couldn’t they ever just talk?

“What are you doing?” Rosa’s voice suddenly said.

Michael nearly jumped out of his skin as he sat up, eyes feeling a little too heavy as he scrambled to make it look like he wasn’t watching Alex. He wasn’t really quick enough.

“You’re supposed to be getting your clothes and leaving, not taking over his bed,” she said. It didn’t take a genius to know that her tone wasn’t it’s usual playful anger. This was real anger and it was 100% for him.

“I’m gonna go, I just…”

“Wanted to make Alex feel worse?” she clarified. He pursed his lips and shook his head, leaning back into the pillows. He wanted to be welcome there again.

“You do realize Alex lied to me, right? For a long time,” Michael pointed out. Rosa nodded curtly.

“And you publically humiliated him,” she said. He sighed, shifting in the bed. He pulled a pillow into his lap and hugged it close.

“We’re both in the wrong then,” Michael said. Rosa rolled her eyes and walked into the room. She sat down on Alex’s side of the bed.

“You are,” Rosa confirmed, “And you need to tell him that. Because I learned that I would much rather have you two fucking above me than have him blaring Blackfire at 2 in the morning while making bread for comfort.”

Michael smiled a little bit, “He listened to Blackfire for comfort?”

Rosa swatted his arm, but that didn’t keep him from feeling a little bit of joy at that. Michael didn’t know much about Alex’s mother, but he did know that she’d spent the first five years of Alex’s life laying grounds for the punk he’d grow up to be. The idea that Alex went with political rock music for comfort was almost adorable.

“He’s really upset. He was happy with you,” Rosa pointed out. Michael’s shoulders slowly dropped and he nodded, eyes going back to the camera monitors. They were paused on Alex getting up to go into the kitchen, probably to do what Rosa had said.

“I know,” Michael said, “But he lied to me.”

“Why didn’t you just talk to him? Why let it build?”

“I tried. I gave him so many opportunities and he never did,” Michael scoffed, feeling that anger rise in him all over again. He didn’t know why Alex would be so insistent about honesty if he wasn’t going to abide by it himself. It didn’t make any sense.

“People make mistakes. Just like you did when you called him out in front of everyone,” Rosa said, “So talk to him now. Find out why he didn’t tell you.”

“He told me why. He said he didn’t want me to leave the planet, so he kept it from me,” Michael explained. Rosa was quiet for a moment, so quiet that Michael had to look over at him. She was just staring at him like he was the stupidest person in the world. “What?”

“You both have the emotional intelligence of a fucking thumb, you know that, right?”

“Like you have any room to talk.”

“I do because I’ve had nothing to do for the last three months but watch psychology videos on YouTube,” Rosa said. Michael rolled his eyes. “You need to just talk it out. No yelling from either of you. You guys were happy.”

“Is this what you told him?”

“No, I told him to leave you alone because you’re not worth it,” she answered honestly. He scoffed, but she didn’t seem phased. “Look, I’m on his side. But I do think the only way you two are going to be able to get past this is if you talk, you make it clear you’re not going to leave the plane, and he makes it clear he isn’t going to keep things from you anymore.”

Michael ran a hand through his hair. “You don’t get it. This whole fucking thing was built on us being honest. That’s what we established over and over and over. He broke that. It was the one thing.”

“Was it the one thing? Or was it just trust in general?” Rosa asked, “Because you know he was lying for a while before you freaked out. What changed?”

Michael let out a heavy breath. What had changed? Sure, he found out about Sanders, but what else? Why take it out on Alex?

“I… I guess it was because he’d become more open about everything else and it hurts that he was able to do that when he knew he was lying,” Michael tried, “Like, how could he say he loved me so much if he was lying about something he knew was important to me?”

“Yeah, he was wrong to do that. But he wasn’t lying about loving you, even I could see that,” Rosa said. Michael groaned, throwing his head back as he hugged the pillow tighter. How fucked was it that he’d gotten into the habit of wanting Alex when he was sad?

“So, what? I just should apologize, forgive and forget?”

“No,” Rosa told him, swatting his chest again, “You should talk to him.”

Michael breathed in deep and felt his hand seize up, letting him know that he’d been clenching it for too long. He hated this. He hated that he wasn’t allowed to have good things. Why couldn’t he just put in the effort once and everything that followed magically be fixed?

His eyes drifted towards the piece again and he stared at it for a while. It felt like it was taunting him. It was no longer something Alex kept from him to keep them together, now it was just a stupid reminder of what was keeping them apart. How the hell did he fix that?

“I hate everything.”

“Welcome to life, Guerin.”

“So, I talked to my uncle‒you’re welcome, by the way‒and I got him to believe that I stumbled upon our history naturally.”

“And he bought it?”

“Of course. He had no reason not to.”

Alex accepted the bag of Taco Bell that Cam all but hurled at his face. They’d agreed to meet up at Kyle’s apartment after work to go over some details of what to do next. He didn’t mind. More time away from home meant more time to not focus on the distinct smell of rain that Michael had left in his room.

“He told me he couldn’t tell me much over the phone, which I buy. He wants me to go to Alburquerque to have a talk with him and my cousins so they can catch me up,” Cam carried on as Alex unwrapped the burrito to put hot sauce inside, “I have a feeling they know Jesse Manes tried to talk to me.”

“But aren’t they on Jesse’s side? Like, M.V.C. was originally meant to help, but it went dark side. Isn’t all of it tainted? Meaning your cousins and uncle too,” Kyle said. Cam nodded, taking over the side of the couch.

“I’m sure, but that doesn’t mean they like Jesse. I mean, your dad was apart of it and he wasn’t Jesse’s biggest fan by the end of it,” she explained. Kyle nodded in understanding. “Point is, I agreed to go down there this weekend.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Of course not,” she scoffed, “Who do I look like?”

“A woman with a plan,” Alex chimed in. She flashed a little smile before nodding.

“You two are coming down with me. While I’m talking to my uncle, you two are going to go talk to my cousin. Just… a little undercover,” she said, looking between them, “I want you guys to get a feel on him without him knowing who you are and see if we can gauge just how much sketchy shit they’re in.”

“How are we supposed to do that?” Kyle asked.

“I did a deep dive and my cousin Casey frequents a gay club in his free time,” Cam explained, turning her eyes to Alex, “Gonna need you to turn on the charm, Manes.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Why me?”

“If I had to sweet talk your brother, you have to sweet talk my cousin.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that, that was Kyle.”

“Okay, and you think Kyle can believably flirt with another man for information?” she said, giving Alex that look like they both knew the answer. And they did. Kyle was a lot of things, but manipulative wasn’t one of them. He didn’t think he’d be able to do that at all.

“Okay, fine,” Alex agreed. Not like he had anything holding him back. Besides, maybe it could be fun.

“I feel like I should be insulted,” Kyle commented. After a few seconds of them staring at him with faces that said ‘really?’, he just rolled his eyes in reluctant agreement and went back to his taco.

“So, I’m thinking I go to my uncle’s and he gives me the rundown of the operation. When he tries to recruit me, I say yes, I get unlimited access to other information we might not have in the Valenti and Manes files,” Cam explained. They nodded, downloading the plan in their minds. It really was a good distraction. Much better than the bullshit Michael had decided on. “Alex goes to the club, charms Casey, ask him about his tattoo. I trust you to be able to dig into that without coming off as a threat. Kyle, you can either go with Alex or stay at the hotel and make sure we both make it back.”

“I’m going with Alex.”

“Why? I don’t need backup,” Alex said. Kyle just tilted his head in doubt. Alex raised his eyebrows. “Why the fuck do you think I need backup or that you of all people would be helpful backup?”

“Because…” Kyle said, waving his head in a flippant little circle as if he should know. Alex just kept staring and so did Cam, waiting for him to explain what his thought process was. He eventually sighed. “Look, you’re the strongest person I know, but… that’s going to be an overwhelming environment.” Alex rolled his eyes.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, I know you are, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to worry.”

“Kyle, I am a grown ass man.”

“Yeah, and I would feel better if I could watch over you when you’re trying to go after someone who may or may not want to kill you because you’re related to your dad,” Kyle said, “So just let me come and we’ll both be happy.”

Alex rolled his eyes, but decided that wasn’t really something he could argue. If Kyle wanted to play babysitter, he could.

“Fine,” he agreed. Kyle smiled like he was proud of himself.

As Cam started to go over how exactly she’d worded that conversation with her uncle, Alex’s phone buzzed. He very reluctantly fetched it out of his pocket in the middle of taking a bite of his burrito, feeling dread slowly build in his system as he saw Michael’s name. Now what?

Michael: I’m sorry

Michael: I shouldn’t have yelled at you in front of everyone like that. I want to be better than that and I’m sorry

Alex stared at the two messages, completely lost on how to respond or if he even should. An apology was nice and all, but it still felt weird. He wasn’t quite sure that he deserved an apology. Or, at least, not for that. That was a natural reaction to being lied to. He more so would’ve preferred an apology about the whole sleeping with him out of hatred thing. That hurt more.

“Alex.”

He snapped his head up to see Kyle and Cam staring at him in two completely different levels of concern. He locked his phone and dropped it.

“Are you okay?” Kyle asked, voice a bit softer, “We haven’t really… talked since yesterday. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Alex sighed, shifting in his seat.

“You can talk to us, you know?” Cam said honestly. Alex’s eyes drifted to her and she made unbreakable eye contact. He wasn’t actually sure what he did to deserve a friend like that.

“I’m just… I don’t know, I feel like he was being unnecessarily cruel. Which I guess, like, isn’t that out of character for him, but it… I don’t know, it feels worse than usual somehow,” Alex said before groaning and leaning back into the couch. His eyes mindlessly drifted to the front door and then the windows.

“Well, it is worse. You two have been on a good page for a couple months now. It hurts more because it is worse,” Kyle said. Alex shrugged a shoulder.

“I guess. Just hate that he decided it was okay to make me think we were moving forward when it was really just, like, fake,” Alex said, that wave of pain twisting his chest all over again. He tried to will it away, but it didn’t work. It still hurt. “Like why connect with me that way if it was a distraction?”

“He said it was a distraction?” Kyle clarified, “What a fucking dick.”

“That’s the thing, it kinda has been a distraction before. It’s always been easier to just fall into bed instead of talking, but this time… I don’t know, it felt like a step back and now I don’t know what to do,” Alex sighed.

“Honestly, my advice? Focus on the mission. Once we dismantle Project Shepard and it’s little cult counterpart, then we’ll be good and you can put all your focus into that,” Cam suggested. Alex sighed and nodded.

“You’re right.”

“But don’t bury your feelings,” Kyle jumped in, “If you’re upset, you can talk to us.”

Alex looked between them and gave a little smile. He actually believed that.

“I know. Thanks.”

“Now let’s get to planning.”

Michael Guerin wasn’t exactly known for his fantastic ideas and today was absolutely not an exception.

After his talk with Rosa and Alex leaving his apology on read, he decided that the best way to actually move a step forward was to do something useful for once. Alex had told him about that sheet of paper that was from the original M.V.C. with ink that was specifically tailored to be useful for aliens. He felt that was pretty advanced for 1948 America. He also had it on good authority (Kyle) that Alex got a little shaken up when it came to trying to get information out of his father. So, maybe, if he got information on that, Alex would sit down with him and they could talk it out.

Alex made a mistake, Michael made a mistake, Michael got the piece, Alex got the information, fair and square, right?

It was when he drove up to the Manes residence that he considered that he might have had a lapse in judgement. Yet, he still got out of the car and let himself into the front door, so maybe he was thriving on that lack of judgment. Part of him felt a little guilty for letting himself into someone else’s house without them knowing; he was committing Alex’s biggest fear. But he was committing it against a piece of shit who hurt Alex, so that felt like enough to excuse his behavior.

He moved as silently as his body would allow, but, as a telekinetic, he’d never really had to work on bodily subtlety. Jesse Manes was already aware of his presence by the time he made himself known, standing with his back to the fireplace. Michael smiled at the man in front of him.

“Hey, Chief,” he said, “Long time, no see.”

Jesse eyed him and nodded his head. It was like he had expected Michael to show up here some day and had just been waiting. Which, honestly, was sort of impressive. Even Michael hadn’t planned this out.

“What are you doing here?” Jesse asked, his walls up high as if actually scared of what Michael could do. That was almost funny given their history. Then again, here he had no weapons immediately on hand and he was alone. The only one around was Flint and he’d left not long before Michael pulled up, he checked. Besides, if something did happen, would Flint really be mad? Unlikely.

“Thought we could talk,” Michael said, walking around to sit on the couch and finding extra confidence in the way Alex’s jeans hugged his thighs. He figured if he acted all casual, it’d be for the best. The more unhinged he was, the more Jesse had the upper hand. It was easier if he pretended he had everything under control regardless of the situation. He learned that from Alex. “Heard of a little thing called M.V.C.?”

Jesse shook his head condescendingly.

“Clearly I can’t tell my son anything in confidence.”

“Clearly,” Michael said, smiling easily, “So why not tell me a thing or two?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Aw, come on,” he urged, “It’ll be fun.”

Things fell silent as Jesse seemed to look around and become aware of his exits. It was like getting whiplash, seeing one of Alex’s traits so obvious in his father. Was that how he was raised? To always be on edge? To always be aware of the monster under the bed, in the corner, on the couch?

“Someone directly involved in M.V.C. wrote my mother a note back in 1948,” Michael said blatantly. Jesse didn’t show his shock at that statement, but, again, he shared Alex’s tell signs. “They were warning her of the attack, but they told her it was later than it came. What do you happen to know about that?”

“What makes you think I know anything about that?”

“Because I happen to know that you’re obsessive ass probably has every single detail memorized,” Michael said simply, “So tell me.”

He said nothing.

“What, you plead the fifth?” Michael asked, “‘Cause I think you should tell me.”

“You do realize I get nothing out of it if I tell you? You seem to think I’m stupid,” Jesse said. Michael shrugged.

“Thought you might say that,” he said, digging in his pocket for that piece of paper with the writing on it, “Thought you might also want this. You tell me what you know about it and I had it over, no further questions.”

Again, silence. Michael didn’t waver as they stared at each other. He wasn’t going to back down. He wasn’t going to turn up to talk to Alex empty handed along with his apology. Classified information was so much better than flowers and chocolate.

“Listen, Alex located the C part of M.V.C. Whatever you don’t tell us, we’ll find out in a different avenue. Why don’t you play nice for a minute?”

And just like Michael had learned to read Alex, he saw the moment Jesse decided it was worth it.

“This information goes directly to my son, doesn’t it?” Jesse clarified. Michael raised an eyebrow as if to say obviously. He sighed and rolled his shoulders. “If I tell you what I tell you, you have tell him not to investigate the Camerons that are active.”

Michael couldn’t hide the confusion that overcame him.

“Why would I do that?” Michael asked. Jesse clenched his jaw and, for a moment, it almost seemed like he was worried for Alex. Or maybe that was simply wishful thinking and he was actually worried for himself.

“They’re dangerous.”

“You’re dangerous.”

“No,” Jesse said, huffing a laugh as he shook his head, “No, I do what I do because I understand your people are volatile and manipulative and I was taught to protect my legacy. Which is why I don’t affiliate with them. The Camerons that are still active are dangerous to everyone.”

Michael eyed him, but he still nodded. Sure, he wasn’t actually going to believe that 100%, but it wouldn’t hurt to tell Alex to be a little extra cautious. Even though it was strange to hear Jesse actually sound like he gave a shit.

“Right, then,” Jesse sighed, walking over to a cabinet. Michael watched him carefully, half expecting him to pull out a gun. Instead, he pulled out a bottle of old whiskey and two glasses. Michael watched with absolute hesitation as he poured them and handed one to him.

“You expect me to believe this isn’t poison?” Michael asked. Jesse simply shrugged and sat in the large lounge chair that faced him, taking a swig. As he got more comfortable, Michael got more on edge.

“I’m extending niceties,” Jesse explained, taking another swig, “Do you want information or not?”

Michael didn’t trust him one bit, he really, really didn’t. He was horrible and abusive and murderous. But he still took a sip of that whiskey and relished in the way it burned his throat.

Then Jesse started talking.

Alex was exhausted as he made his way into the cabin, struggling to drag himself around to check all the locks.

He had a busy weekend ahead of him and he needed to sleep. It didn’t matter that Michael wasn’t here, he would just have to deal with it. He’d accepted (with a little push from Kyle) that he would just have to take a Zoloft before bed so he could calm down enough to sleep. If he stayed up another night, everyone would be screwed.

So he looked over the locks twice for good measure and he made his way into his bedroom, noticing that Michael’s clothes and the piece were still on the bed. Had he not come at all? Was that what the point of the apology was? He just wasn’t coming back?

Alex shook his head and grabbed them, going to his closet to hide them away for the night. However, he scoffed as he realized his last pair of clean jeans were missing. What a fucking bastard.

Despite his annoyance, Alex grabbed something to sleep in and went into the bathroom to get ready for bed. He brushed his teeth, changed his clothes, washed his face, and even took his meds. He looked at himself in the mirror and forced himself to relax. He was going to be fine. He didn’t need Michael.

Yet, as he turned to leave the bathroom, the man in question was standing right there in the doorway.

Alex’s instincts were already in action though, fist swinging in self defense. Michael, however, caught it and decided it was okay to put his arm around Alex’s waist to steady him, looking him in the eye as he panicked. And Alex was indeed panicking, staring in his eyes as he tried to calm his heart rate. He allowed Michael to hold him there for a few seconds before he pushed him away, taking a step back.

“What the fuck, Guerin?!” Alex snapped. Michael held up his hands in defense, only looking slightly alarmed and that seemed to stem more from Alex’s panic than the fact Alex almost fucking hit him.

“Sorry,” he said, “Sorry, I’m sorry. I-I’ve never actually snuck up on you before, didn’t think that was possible.”

Alex shook his head, a weird mix of anger and hurt and embarrassment filling him as he stared at him. He was too tired, he was off his game. That was bad. But why the fuck was he even here?

“What do you want?” Alex asked. Michael licked his lips and swallowed harshly, hands still held up beside his head.

“We need to talk.”

Alex furrowed his eyebrows, slightly confused. Now they needed to talk? But Michael looked deadly serious, eyes wide and chest heaving.

“It’s important. We need to talk. About a lot of things.”

Despite any type of judgement, Alex nodded and gestured towards the bedroom. He had no idea where this was going, but he was nothing if not a sucker for Michael Guerin. He was willing to listen to anything he had to say.

“Alright. Let’s talk.”

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic #our fainted thrill carries on

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