#angus hall

[basicallyanotherwitchesthing]

Angus Hall with Jeremy Kingston - Great Mysteries: Mysterious Cults - Aldus - 1979

[nawolff]

Heres the trailer for The Line

[ebiemidnightlibrarian]

𝕰𝖇𝖎𝖊'𝖘 𝔓𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔰

Here are my playlists separated by fandoms! I hope you enjoy! You can always see what I'm up to on my Spotify!

ℌ𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔏𝔦𝔫𝔨𝔩𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔯

𝕱𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝕻𝖆𝖚𝖑 𝕵𝖔𝖍𝖓 𝕿𝖞𝖑𝖊𝖗 𝕸𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖜 𝕶𝖎𝖒𝖇𝖑𝖊 𝕹𝖔𝖆𝖍 𝕭𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖗 𝕬𝖓𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖜 𝕶𝖊𝖆𝖓𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖞 𝕵𝖊𝖗𝖗𝖞 𝕯𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖆 𝕻𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕮𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖘 𝕵𝖊𝖇 𝕸𝖆𝖌𝖗𝖚𝖉𝖊𝖗 (𝕳𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖌𝖗𝖚𝖉𝖊𝖗) 𝕭𝖗𝖎𝖈𝖊 𝕮𝖆𝖙𝖑𝖊𝖉𝖌𝖊 𝕵𝖎𝖒 𝕰𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖘 𝕯𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖉 𝕿𝖚𝖗𝖓𝖊𝖗 𝕮𝖑𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕯𝖊𝖇𝖚𝖘𝖘𝖞 𝕿𝖔𝖒 𝕾𝖕𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖑𝖊𝖗 𝕷𝖞𝖘𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝕸𝖎𝖑𝖊𝖘 ℌ𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔶 𝕿𝖎𝖒

𝕺𝕮'𝖘 ℌ𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔶 𝔓𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔠𝔬𝔱𝔱

𝔇𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔡 𝔇𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔪𝔞𝔩𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔞𝔫

𝕸𝖚𝖗𝖉𝖔𝖈 𝕵𝖔𝖍𝖓𝖘𝖔𝖓 (WIP) 𝕬𝖇𝖓𝖊𝖗 𝕶𝖗𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖆𝖐𝖆 𝕻𝖔𝖑𝖐𝖆-𝕯𝖔𝖙 𝕸𝖆𝖓 𝕵𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝕯𝖊𝖑𝖗𝖔𝖞

𝕺𝕮'𝖘 ℌ𝔞𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔊𝔯𝔦𝔪𝔞𝔩𝔡

𝔇𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔩 𝔅𝔯𝔲̈𝔥𝔩

Nothing here yet :D 𝕺𝕮'𝖘 𝔉𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔐𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔬 ℜ𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔯𝔬 𝔏𝔢𝔫𝔷 ℌ𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔫

𝕺𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝕱𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖒𝖘

𝔓𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔭 𝔎. 𝔇𝔢𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔯 𝔖𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔐𝔞𝔯𝔶 𝔈𝔲𝔫𝔦𝔠𝔢 𝔍𝔢𝔯𝔯𝔶 𝔇𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔯𝔦𝔡𝔤𝔢 𝔐𝔞𝔲𝔡𝔢 𝔉𝔦𝔫𝔡𝔩𝔞𝔶 (WIP) 𝔇𝔬𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔶 ℨ𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔞𝔨 (WIP) 𝔅𝔩𝔲𝔢 𝔍𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔰 (WIP) 𝕾𝖙𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓 𝕲𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖙 (WIP) 𝔗𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔰 𝔞𝔨𝔞 ℜ𝔦𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔎𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔯 (WIP) 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔊𝔯𝔞𝔟𝔟𝔢𝔯 (WIP) 𝔄𝔯𝔱𝔥𝔲𝔯 ℌ𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔬𝔴 (WIP) 𝕬𝖓𝖌𝖚𝖘 𝕱𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖙 (WIP) 𝕿𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖋𝖙𝖍 𝕯𝖔𝖈𝖙𝖔𝖗 (WIP) 𝕾𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖆𝖌𝖔 (WIP) 𝕮𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖆𝖑 𝕽𝖎𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖊𝖚 (WIP) 𝕺𝕮'𝖘 𝔖𝔢𝔟𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔞𝔫 𝔅𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔴𝔬𝔬𝔡 (𝔒𝔰𝔠𝔞𝔯 ℑ𝔰𝔞𝔞𝔠) 𝕷𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖓 𝕮𝖆𝖗𝖋𝖊𝖑𝖑 (𝔓𝔢𝔱𝔢𝔯 ℭ𝔞𝔭𝔞𝔩𝔡𝔦) 𝔐𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔩𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔢 ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔪𝔴𝔬𝔬𝔡 (ℜ𝔢𝔟𝔢𝔠𝔠𝔞 ℌ𝔞𝔩𝔩) ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔶 𝔅𝔢𝔠𝔨𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔡 (𝔉𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔪𝔞 𝔄𝔤𝔶𝔢𝔪𝔞𝔫) ℌ𝔢𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔞 ℌ𝔞𝔴𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔢 (𝔄��𝔫𝔞 ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔯) 𝔄𝔟𝔦𝔤𝔞𝔦𝔩 𝔐𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔯 (𝔏𝔞𝔯𝔞 𝔉𝔩𝔶𝔫𝔫 𝔅𝔬𝔶𝔩𝔢)

𝕿𝖍𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖉

ℌ𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝕬𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕮𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖞 𝕲𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖘 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔠𝔯𝔞𝔣𝔱𝔦𝔞𝔫 𝕮𝖎𝖌𝖆𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖘, 𝖆𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖍𝖔𝖑 & 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖒𝖎𝖙𝖍𝖘 𝖂𝖎𝖙𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖘𝖔𝖚𝖑 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖉 ℌ𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔠 𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔰, 𝔳𝔞𝔪𝔭𝔦𝔯𝔢𝔰, 𝔡𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔰, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔤𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔰 “𝖎'𝖛𝖊 𝖇𝖊𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍 𝖉𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖞𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖉𝖘” 𝕷𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙, 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖎𝖓 𝖆 𝖑𝖎𝖇𝖗𝖆𝖗𝖞 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖆𝖓𝖞 𝖔𝖋 𝖌𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖙𝖘 𝖜𝖆𝖑𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖗𝖔𝖜𝖉 — 𝖕𝖙.1 𝖜𝖆𝖑𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖗𝖔𝖜𝖉 — 𝖕𝖙.2 𝕻𝖔𝖛: 𝖄𝖔𝖚'𝖗𝖊 𝖆 80𝖘 𝖘𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖓 𝕻𝖔𝖛: 𝖄𝖔𝖚'𝖗𝖊 𝖎𝖓 𝖆 𝖌𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖈 𝖙𝖆𝖑𝖊 𝕻𝖔𝖛: 𝖞𝖔𝖚'𝖗𝖊 𝖆𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖎𝖓 𝖆𝖓 𝖔𝖑𝖉 𝖍𝖆𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝕻𝖔𝖛: 𝖆 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖕𝖑𝖊 𝖆𝖉𝖒𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖆𝖜𝖓 𝖔𝖓 𝖆𝖓 𝖔𝖑𝖉𝖘𝖒𝖔𝖇𝖎𝖑𝖊 𝕻𝖔𝖛: 𝖞𝖔𝖚'𝖗𝖊 𝖆 𝖌𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖙 𝖎𝖓 𝖆 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖗𝖊 𝕻𝖔𝖛: 𝖞𝖔𝖚'𝖗𝖊 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖆𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖔 𝖗𝖔𝖞𝖆𝖑𝖙𝖞 𝕻𝖔𝖛: 𝖞𝖔𝖚'𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖙.𝖆.𝖗.𝖉.𝖎.𝖘. 𝕻𝖔𝖛: 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖋𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖘 𝖙𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖙𝖔 𝖒𝖆𝖒𝖇𝖔 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 1950𝖘 𝕻𝖔𝖛: 𝖞𝖔𝖚'𝖗𝖊 𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖔 𝖔𝖑𝖉 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝖎𝖓 𝖆 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖎𝖆𝖓 𝖈𝖆𝖋𝖊́ 𝕿𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖎𝖈𝖚𝖑𝖆𝖗 𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝕭𝖗𝖆𝖟𝖎𝖑 𝖍𝖆𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖇𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝖒𝖚𝖘𝖎𝖈 𝕵𝖆𝖟𝖟 𝕹𝖔𝖎𝖗 𝕹𝖔𝖎𝖗 𝕾𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖘

[lisamarie-vee]

[thesharkspajamas]

James and Angus play cricket - NO SPOILERS

@im-kikimon

Harriet: James' pallas cat daemon. Assume only James can hear her unless is specified as 'aloud'

Context: James and Lydia are staying with the Bells post season one (dw no spoilers here for the show or the books). James has discovered a love for baking with Helen and a talent for pipe icing. He and Lydia have agreed to help her ice 100ish cupcakes for a commission to the bakery. - I have actually posted a similar scene before if you want to read it, but it DOES CONTAIN SPOILERS for season 1.

This is also part of a larger chapter of a growing fic (~20k words) so some parts have been omitted/added to make it make sense, sorry if the flow is a bit off.

Anita is an OC, she's Helen's sister and is a foster parent. Helen rang her to get some advice about James and Lydia staying with them.

Some cricket terminology:

Whites: cricket is traditionally played in white trousers and t-shirt. This kit is often referred to as ‘cricket whites’ or just ‘whites’

Lad: young man - British slang

Guards: here it’s cricket terminology for where a batsman stands in relation to his stumps.

Stumps: the three sticks behind the batsman in cricket

Bails: little pieces of wood that sit on top of the stumps. If these are knocked off in the right circumstances then the batter is out. They indicate that the stumps have been hit.

James was up early on Sunday morning - hardly surprising as he’d been asleep by eight-thirty last night. He left a note on the chopping board and went for a run with Harriet trotting along beside him. 

His thoughts turned to everything he had to sort out, his obligations to the Beaufort name, supporting Lydia...

“But you’ve got cricket with Angus today. We haven’t played since summer,” Harriet interjected, “and we’ve got to ice the cupcakes for the party.”

Good old Harriet for not letting James get too deep in his own head. He was looking forward to both of those things, “Bet you’re looking forward to the cricket, might be some cricket balls.” He teased Harriet.

She stuck her tongue out at him. Harriet had scratched and gnawed four cricket balls beyond repair while James had been focussing on his bowling once, and since then all unattended cricket balls had had to stay in a zipped bag. She didn’t regret it: not her fault they were leather, and stitched, and ball shaped - like yarn, but better.

They passed a florist’s brimming with colourful blooms and James stopped to take it all in. This was (of course) research for his cupcake designs, not because he liked the look and smell of pretty flowers. 

A young woman came out to meet him, “Morning!” she greeted him cheerily.

“Morning,” James greeted politely, “what are these ones called?” He gently turned a large cluster of blue flowers towards her.

“Those are hydrangeas,” she smiled, “You shopping for anyone?”

“I’m decorating some cakes this afternoon and need some inspiration.” But, now he thought about it, some flowers might be nice for Helen and Ruby as a thanks for last night, and a live model was always better for drawing with - icing was probably the same. “Actually, could I make a bouquet?”

“Yeah, if you want to pick some out, bring them in and I’ll wrap them and arrange them for you. Take your time. I’m still setting up.”

Thank goodness for Apple Pay. James returned from his run with a gorgeous pink, white, blue and purple bunch of flowers. And a red rose for Ruby, just because.

He’d been out longer than he’d realised. He saw Helen clearing some space in a cupboard - “good morning, süßer, nice run?”, she smiled at him.

“Great. Thanks for your help last night.”

“Of course, süßer." held up the list of his and Lydia's favourite childhood foods they'd made last night, some of the baked goods had green stars next to them, “I was going to go food shopping this afternoon. I noticed I used to make quite a few of these at the bakery before we slimmed down. I’m happy to buy you some supermarket stuff, but I still have the original recipes if you’d like to try some at-home baking?”

James felt his eyes widen. “You made the brookies? And the apricot-honey things?” He couldn’t believe it, after his mum had stopped bringing them home from her commute, he’d never been able to find those again, and the Beaufort cooks had never got it just right. 

“I’d love that.” He said sincerely. Speaking of at-home baking…

He pulled the bouquet out from behind his back, “I passed the florist. The brief was pink, blue, white, and purple flowers, right?” he suddenly felt embarrassed; he’d never given a woman flowers before, even if she was Ruby’s mum.

“Oh they’re perfect! That’s very thoughtful of you.” Helen exclaimed and sniffed them. She didn’t mention the rose. “I think you and Angus are leaving for cricket at half-nine, but you’ll be back by one so we can do them after lunch?”

James nodded, “Would it be okay if we listened to some of the prescribed podcasts while we ice? Just as background..” he trailed off. ‘Idiot’, he thought, ‘this was supposed to be fun and here you are wanting to listen to-’

“-That’s a good idea.” Helen cut off his thoughts, “I hope you don’t mind but I called Anita again while you were out. I just wanted some more on how I could help with the preparation and school and stuff like that. She said that creative stuff like this is perfect for prep, listening without distraction might be pretty depressing.” Anita had also recommended positive enforcement of good behaviour, so she continued, “Well done for asking. I know it’s hard to ask for what you need.”

James felt his cheeks heat, “I’ll go and shower”, and beat a hasty retreat. He still had the rose for Ruby. He should be able to catch her before she left for her shift.

Percy and the Range Rover arrived right on time. Percy handed James his Maxton Hall cricket whites, “Good morning, sir. Your cricket bag is in the boot.”

“Thanks Percy,” James ran back inside to change while Percy loaded Angus and the chair into the car. James had just jumped in the shower when Harriet reminded him that he didn’t have any other sports wear besides his (now-stinky and sweaty) running kit. A quick call to Percy had remedied that.

James got into the car.

“I saw Ruby looking very happy this morning, that got anything to do with you?” Angus smirked as he handed James a tupperware of sandwiches. Neither he nor Helen had seen James eat that morning so Helen made something just in case…

“Oh thank you”, James took the food. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was. “I popped by the florist this morning on a run. They had some roses, and, well, turns out Ruby likes roses.” He shrugged, he’d picked it up on a whim, really. No real thought behind it.

He looked out the window and ate the sandwiches, trying to avoid more questioning. ‘It wasn’t that big of a deal’, he thought. ‘It’s just a flower.’

“It’s cute though,” Harriet teased him aloud from her seat. She loved Range Rover heated seats - they were so much better than the Merc’s.

“You’re such a girl.” James teased her back. It was an inside joke between them.

He missed Percy and Angus stifling their laughter in the front seats.

…

A few Adidas-track-suited local boys decided that James was an easy target in his pristine Maxton Hall whites and expensive kit, “Hey posh boy! Wrong club innit?”, “The fuck you doin’ere?” Their jibes echoed around the sports hall.

“He’s with me, lads.” Angus interjected firmly. “He plays the same cricket we do. Josh, Wills, pad up. We’re working on guards today.”

Jams was impressed by how quickly they fell in line under Angus, and the session continued calmly with only the occasional jibe. He’d rarely experienced this sort of bullying - what with his expensive private school education and closely engineered circle of friends - but  he ignored it easily thanks to his father’s training in Beaufort Nonchalance.

Cricket was one of the very few things he and Mortimer had bonded over. Mortimer had had some nets permanently constructed at the mansion so they could practise year round: the result was that James was seriously good at cricket.

When it was time to go into the nets, James warmed himself up slowly; starting with some basic and slow ones, then gradually getting faster, spinning more. He was fast outstripping Josh and Wills as batsmen, watching them get frustrated as they missed and had to right the stumps every time (they’d given up on bails). 

James let rip: alternating fast bowling with different spins, watching as their frustration boiled over.

Angus called it after Josh swore and flinched away from a particularly fast one, “Alright,” He flashed a torch he kept in his pocket until he had everyone’s attention. “Let’s switch batters. James and Callum, pad up!” He made a batting motion with his hands. 

James and a ginger lad jogged over to the kit pile where Harriet was lounging about with the other daemons. It took James a moment to recognise her in the form of an Italian Greyhound. He narrowed his eyes at her and she privately replied, “If I’m fetching cricket balls, I’m doing it comfortably.”

James shrugged, ‘good paparazzi cover’ he guessed, and turned to the ginger boy.

Angus saw them shake hands. Callum was seventeen, basically deaf, and didn’t have many close friends at the club on account of going to a special school. He also knew that Callum liked spending time with people without necessarily talking to them - on account of the extra effort it took to make out conversation with hearing aids - perfect for James.

He overheard Josh and William muttering as they left the nets, “crazy fucker”, “what the fuck is a player like that doin ‘ere?” Angus let them go, he figured they’d learned their lesson.

To absolutely no-one's surprise, James’ batting was also excellent. One of the boys’ dads who stuck around to help sidled up to Angus, “With a player like that, we might just win the league. Where'd you find him?”

Angus didn’t take his eyes off the nets, “He’s one of Ruby’s schoolmates, he’s staying with us for a while.”

“Maxton Hall,” the father read the crest of James’ bag, “that the posh one up the road?”

Angus saw the ‘how do you afford that?’ question coming and shut it down quickly. “Yeah, Ruby’s on scholarship. I dunno if we’ll be able to keep him, but the other lads are copying him, so however long we do get him, we’ll see some permanent improvement.”

It was true: Josh and Will aside, the other boys had watched James’ bowls intently, and they’d all been chatting with him in the queue. It seemed that James fitted into this little club quite nicely.  

[artschoolglasses]

Belchamp Hall, Essex, published in 1804

From the Victoria & Albert Museum

[magstorrn]

Despite what the papers encourage you to imagine, this life you want is not easy. In fact, most days, it’s nothing short of hell on earth. One false step, one bad judgment, you could be shot dead or made to dance on nothing.

The Legend of Ben Hall (2016), dir. Matthew Holmes.

[rarecentral]

[slrmagazine]

AC/DC Return To The Road In North America For Power Up Tour 2025

AC/DC Return To The Road In North America For Power Up Tour 2025. #acdc @acdc

AC/DC return to the road in the United States for the first time in nine years on the 2025 Power Up North American Tour!  Much to the delight of millions of fans across North America, the legendary GRAMMY® Award-winning Rock and Roll Hall of Fame®-inducted band will perform in 13 stadiums coast-to-coast next spring. This run kicks off on April 10, 2025, in Minneapolis, MN at US Bank Stadium,…

[weewilliewinkie]

oregano bakery

[almightyellie]

i'm not in love

in which angus always preferred being alone. at least, he used to.

pairing is angus tully x fem!reader

word count is 3.4k

author says don't look at me <3 not proofread bc it's me

you should watch out for college-aged angus, mostly just two besties who are so in love it makes them stupid

title song is i'm not in love // 10cc

angus tully answers his mother’s biweekly calls diligently. not because either of them truly want to speak to each other—it’s more perfunctory than anything. she calls and asks about school, and he tells her it’s good. then he asks about stanley, and she tells him about stanley’s job, and then she’ll ask angus about his job. he tells her it’s fine, and she offers him money that he’ll accept only if he’s in a particularly foul mood. after three years, they almost have it down to a perfect script. 

at least, he thought they did. 

“how’s y/n?”

the question catches him so off-guard that his sharp intake of breath makes him choke, but judy waits patiently for an answer. he mentioned you every once in a while. mostly, he likes that you’re an entirely separate part of his life from his mother and stanley. he’ll bring you up if she asks why he isn’t coming home on a holiday, or on the off-chance she asks about his weekend plans. yours is one of the only names he’s ever given her when he talks about school, and one of the only ones that seems to stick around longer than a few months at a time. “she’s…good,” he responds tentatively.

“what are you guys doing tonight?”

he stares at his phone in bemusement. “what is this?”

she sighs, and he can almost see that displeased look on her face. he had it memorized. “when are we going to meet her?”

“why do you want to meet her?” he asks. if he really thinks about it, it makes sense. you two had lived across from one another for three years, and you had fallen together in a way that almost felt predetermined. you are the longest standing person in his life post-high school, and his mother knows this.

he had always preferred being alone. even as a child, he had no interest in playing with the neighborhood kids in the middle of the street. he liked doing things by himself. he liked doing what he wanted without having to inform anyone else. when he had gone to college and found a semi-affordable apartment that he wouldn’t have to share, he had been elated. the cute girl across the hall had just been a plus. 

you two had always just worked. he holds everyone at arm's length, but it had never even occurred to him to shut you out. you two end up together most nights, watching movies or doing homework. it happens so easily that he hardly recognizes how strange it is. perpetual wallflower angus tully is attached.

“well, you two have been together for a while. if things are serious, i think it’s best that we meet her.”

angus blinks, shocked, before a nervous laugh bubbles up in his chest. it starts low, but the longer she waits in her own confused silence, the louder and more unruly his laughter becomes. he’s laughing—not because the idea is ridiculous, but because it’s so plausible that it takes him by surprise. he had spent the last two years trying to bury his feelings for you, and he had been so unsuccessful that even his mother had picked up on it.

“angus,” she snaps, and he giggles, even though it isn’t funny, even though his stomach twists and rolls in a way that makes him feel sick.

“i’m sorry,” he gasps, covering his eyes. “just…we—y/n and i aren’t together.”

there’s a long moment of silence where he catches his breath before his mom says, “angus, that’s not funny.”

“well, it is, if you think about it really hard,” he offers. she sighs, exasperated, and angus rubs his eyes. he can’t possibly explain to his mother what about this situation is truly amusing, because really, it isn’t funny. it’s not funny that he’s desperately in love with his best friend, and it’s not funny that she oscillates between entirely oblivious and seemingly aware. 

“you’re telling me you’ve been missing family holidays for a girl you aren’t dating?” 

he can tell she doesn’t believe him, and he doesn’t bother reminding her that they haven’t had a real family holiday in years. long before he started university, and long before he met you. besides, answering that question honestly is dangerous, and should he not handle this delicately, he’ll find himself on the wrong side of his mother’s wrath.

“uh…”

he’s fumbling, panicking, and it only gets worse when he hears his front door open. “angus?” you call, and his whole body cringes, his head falling to rest on the wall.

“angus,” judy warns.

“yeah,” he blurts, watching you round the corner. you smile, offering only a small wave as you drop your bag onto his kitchen table. “no, mom, obviously not. that would be ridiculous.”

as he feels her anxiety cease, his own skyrockets. he’s focused entirely on you; your back is turned toward him as you open his fridge, searching through the shelves for something to eat. if it were anyone else, he’d be irritated, but he almost loves it when you do it. loves that you feel comfortable enough in his home to make yourself feel at home, that he can take care of you in the smallest way. most nights, when he lies in bed and thinks of you, he finds himself thinking of the ways he could take care of you. the ways he could give you what he never had, the things that had been ripped from him. security. unconditional affection. peace. he’s barely listening when his mother sighs again. “you know, i don’t understand your humor sometimes.”

“i know,” he says. you kick the fridge closed, enough food in your hands to feed both of you. “hey, she actually just got here. can i let you go?”

“not until you answer my question.” her voice is clipped now, and angus winces. some nights she’s a little more forgiving with his distraction, a little more responsive to the things he says that she doesn’t necessarily understand. tonight, he’s more distracted than usual and less decipherable than ever. “when can we meet her?”

angus groans, and you smile over your shoulder. you know better than anyone how much he struggles with his mother. you’ve listened in on many of their phone calls, and patiently listened to him complain about them later. “i don’t know, mom.”

“how about easter?” she asks. angus turns to lean against the wall and watch you, and you lean against the counter, waiting for him to be done. he rolls his eyes, a silent cue that things are taking longer than he’d like. “stanley and i can drive up that saturday and take you guys out for a nice dinner. on us.”

reluctantly, only because he knows that she’ll blow a gasket if they don’t nail down plans on this phone call, and because he wants this to be over, he huffs. he pulls the receiver away slightly and asks, “you want to have dinner with my mom and stanley easter weekend?”

you blink owlishly. “what? why?”

“they want to meet you.”

“why?” you insist. he glares at you impatiently; knowing angus—more, knowing what you know about his mother—an answer is needed now, and explanation must come later. the idea of meeting his mom makes your stomach turn uncomfortably, but there he stands. even with a hard glare, you feel safe with him. you feel the need to do what he asks of you, and you know him well enough to know that he wouldn’t ask if he thought it would be something you couldn’t handle. “uh…i guess, yeah.”

he offers a grateful smile. “easter weekend sounds great, mom.”

they quickly finalize plans before hanging up, and the second the receiver is back on hook, he groans loudly, rubbing his eyes. you wait for him to speak, but he stands with his hands over his eyes, hiding from you. “angus.”

“she thinks you’re my girlfriend,” he blurts.

you really don’t mean to start laughing. “what?”

his lips turn up in a sheepish smile. “i guess they’ve thought we were together this entire time,” he chuckles. “and i panicked! she accused me missing holidays to spend time with you and i didn’t want to get in trouble—”

you clutch your stomach, doubled over in laughter. he doesn’t want to laugh—frankly, he’s a little hurt that you find the idea so laughable, but he had laughed, too. “you caved,” you gasp. “you caved and told a lie because you didn’t want to get in trouble with your mommy.”

“okay.” he rolls his eyes. “whatever. you’re part of this now, too.”

your giggles die down and you turn to take the food out of the microwave. “hey, i could back out. i could break up with you at any time.”

he scoffs, but doesn’t respond. often enough, when you’re doing exactly what you’re doing now, angus’ feelings become overwhelming. watching you move around his kitchen with the kind of natural domesticity makes him feel choked, buried under his overflowing affection.

the harder he fights his feelings, the worse they get. you’re his best friend—it’s not on purpose, either; you aren’t at all the kind of person he ever thought he would fall for. you were bitingly funny, of course, but you fought him constantly. he wouldn’t even say you were particularly nice for the first few months you two knew one another. you’re entirely out of left field, and he can’t even get a read on you half the time—not that he even really wants to. part of him thinks that knowing exactly what you think about him would be truly crushing.

“i guess a free meal could be nice,” you tease, stirring your dinner with a knowing smile.

“yeah, you’re so unused to those,” he bites, pushing himself off the wall. you beam.

it’s surprising, in a way, that you hadn’t met angus’ mom and stepfather already. he’s met your family a thousand times over; they take you both out to dinner every single time they visit you. they had sent him a birthday gift this year, for christ’s sake. but you could probably count the amount of time angus had seen his mother in the last three years on both hands. you were surprised enough that she even remembered your name.

you had spent your entire friendship with angus thinking about his mother. being angry with her. your best friend is caring, in his own stilted, modest way. he’s witty and so smart that it intimidates you, and he’s loyal. it tells you all you need to know that his relationship with his mother isn’t strong. 

he bumps you out of the way, and you let him. you watch him open the cupboard for plates to evenly split the leftover pasta, and your chest nearly heaves with confused affection. you see the way he looks at you when he’s not careful. with an unrestrained reverence, with a tenderness that can’t be forced. it had made you uncomfortable, at first. made you feel like you couldn’t be around him anymore. you had tried to pull away—for a day or two. 

the reality of the entire situation is that angus tully belongs in your life. you adore him too much to cut him out, and even if you didn’t, it kills you to think of him alone. he’s a lone wolf; it’s amazing enough that you two have connected the way that you have. if angus didn’t have you, he had a few friends from class. maybe two or three guys from work. but nothing as deep, nothing as serendipitous as your friendship. 

discomfort with his feelings had grown into a tentative acceptance once you realized he had no plans on acting on them, and after a few months, tentative acceptance had grown into…something else entirely. you aren’t sure exactly what it is. it isn’t like those juvenile, giddy crushes you had harbored in high school. angus doesn’t keep you up at night, nor does he make you lovesick. he puts you at ease. he makes you feel safe. he makes you feel like yourself.

you don’t want to confront the strange sense of peace that angus has offered you without even knowing. without even trying. you don’t want to change your friendship, or misattribute your feelings, so you ignore them. and you ignore the way he looks at you, and how he insists on making your favorite dinners, even though he complains about you eating his leftovers, and how he uses your spare key to lock your door every single time he leaves your apartment without fail. 

your knees bump together under the tiny table in his kitchen as you two eat dinner. you listen to him talk about his coworkers, lulled into relaxation by his deep voice; you always loved your dinnertime conversations. mostly, one of you just talked. you would talk about school and work and your classmates and your days; they aren’t even really conversations. it’s just an excuse to talk and an opportunity to listen. he doesn’t mind when you don’t respond, and neither of you care if the other person talks the entire time. it’s time spent together more than anything else. you think about how effortless it feels. how you could do this every night with intention, not under the guise of getting out of your apartment. you think about the dinner with his mom, and how you’ll both put on nice outfits to go out, and how you’ll come home together, and how you’ll dissect every detail of the dinner and the conversations for the entire night, if not for days afterwards.

you notice only a moment too late that you’ve zoned out, and angus kicks your shin gently. “you good?”

with a reassuring smile, you nod. “yeah. i’m just thinking about dinner with your mom.”

he’s bashful when he laughs quietly. “yeah…sorry. i know i kind of screwed you over.” you can tell that he truly does feel bad, but the longer you think about it, the less you dread it. you think you might actually like an excuse to acknowledge the way angus looks at you, for him to not have to hide it. 

“i don’t know…i’m kind of excited,” you admit, pushing food around your plate. angus looks at you from under his lashes, taking pause at your tone. you refuse to look at him, and it sends his heart into overdrive; he’s panicked, certainly, and so in love with you that it makes him nauseous. he isn’t entirely sure that he’ll survive a night of you pretending. of it all feeling so real.

he can feel a confession coming, bubbling up in his chest, and he swallows in panic. “she’s—she’ll like you, i think.”

with a slight smile, you push your plate away from you. “i’m not sure i’ll like her.”

which he loves about you, naturally. 

he clears his throat to bury the confession and stands; angus grabs both plates and turns his back to you to hide his flushed cheeks. shamelessly, since he can’t see you, you watch him, soothed simply by the way he moves. by how familiar he is. by how you can almost predict every move he makes. the words fall out before you’re even cognizant of them

“just so you know, i don’t mind your mom thinking i’m your girlfriend.”

the way he freezes makes your shoulders tense. you hadn’t meant to say that. it was true, but he didn’t need to know that. angus’ mind screeches to a full stop before it starts running ten times faster than before. what did that mean?

slowly—so slowly that you almost don’t notice—he sets the plates in the sink. you won’t get out of this. you know you won’t, because you know angus. once the door is open, he’ll take the opportunity to push it every single time. “why?” he asks, his voice a carefully constructed tone of ease. he plays it well; his nonchalance is almost perfectly natural. it nearly tricks you.

still kicking yourself, you shrug even though he can’t see you. instead, you start emptying your bag to distract yourself. textbooks and notebooks and pencils clatter against the table. “just…we could sell it, don’t you think?” it’s not even close to what he wants to hear, and you buckle down even though you know you won’t win this one. “we know everything about each other.”

he snorts, and it puts you at ease. not because you’re going to get out of this. you know something dangerous is going to come out of this conversation, but because it’s angus. it’s your best friend. and you know him, and you know the way he treats you is symptomatic of something much larger. it used to scare you, but it doesn’t now. not now that he washes your dishes, the sleeves of his sweater pushed up to his elbows. you trust him. you know that any vulnerability you share will be returned to you tenfold.

“yeah, right. that just makes it convenient,” he says knowingly, head tilting. he watches you sort through your textbooks, hiding your anxiety while you busy yourself.

part of you hopes that he’ll just drop it. not because you don’t think things will work out, but because you love how things are between the two of you. the almosts, the what-ifs, the wondering is something you so love to savor. it’s still so easy between you two; all of those what-ifs still exist only in your minds, only in the silent space between you that neither of you are willing to acknowledge. there’s plausible deniability. there’s safety.

you smile shakily, glancing up at him. “i guess i mean…that we…work?”

he smiles back, comforting but still audacious. “and by that, you mean…”

with a groan, you fold your arms and bury your face in them. you know this leap can only be beneficial, but you’re struggling to let yourself admit anything. it’s more frustrating than the denial. 

angus stares at you, suddenly the emotionally constipated one, and his heart is pounding in his ears. he can feel it beating against his chest; he’s not brave enough to hope. it’s too scary for him to wonder if this is finally it, if you had been as keenly aware as he had assumed you to be. 

“just…i think there’s a reason my mom thinks we’re together. just so you know.” you groan louder, unmoved by his words, and he continues, “beyond the fact that we’re constantly together.”

you peek up at him, your chin still pressed against your forearms. he watches you, big brown eyes wide open with vulnerability. he’s waiting. you figure it’s as good of a segue as he’s going to give you. with a deep breath, ignoring the turning and rolling of your stomach, you say, “i feel like…things could be like that between us.”

he breaks into a smile so wide that you have to look away from him. “oh, is that what this is about?” he asks facetiously. 

you grunt, irritated. “don’t tease me.”

he laughs, uncrossing his arms. you don’t even want to look at him, humiliated. he hasn’t rejected you—in fact, you know he’s just keeping you on the line to tease you. it irritates you, but he seems giddy, even if he tries to act like he’s unaffected. he can’t keep that goofy smile off his face. it entirely gives him away. “hey,” he says, voice bright. “c’mere.”

“no,” you spit, annoyed. you know that the second you give in, everything will change. for the better, you think, but it will change. you hold on to the wondering for just a moment longer, but you can’t help yourself. he waits patiently at the counter, holding on to the ledge. you like the wondering, but you think you’re ready to find out if it’s as good as it seems it would be.

self-conscious, you cross the room to him. you stand only centimeters apart, and he grins at you, fingers gently stroking the hem of your collar. “you know, right?”

you don’t have to ask what he means. you know. maybe not the depths, but you know. the way he looks at you is enough to let you know. the way he takes care of you tells you what his words haven’t yet. they will. “you can’t hide from me, angus tully.”

he loves that about you, too. he’ll tell you all the specifics later. for now, he kisses you, a long arm around your waist, and you think that this is much better than the what-ifs.

[basicallyanotherwitchesthing]

Angus Hall - A Long Way to Fall - Sphere - 1972

[isabelleneville]

Lady Margaret Douglas as portrayed by Agnes O'Casey

Margaret was the daughter of Margaret Tudor, Queen Dowager of Scotland and Princess of England and Archibald Douglas, 6th Earl of Angus who was part of the Scottish nobility. She was the granddaughter of Henry VII, King of England and Elizabeth of York, Queen of England making her the niece of Henry VIII, King of England. Through her mother, she was also the half-sister of James V, King of Scotland.

(BBC's Wolf Hall: The Mirror and the Light Promotional Material)

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the pained peace treaty

fused with the foe, chapter one

a/n: oh wow, i have no idea how to introduce this beast of a story except to say hi, hello, welcome! i really hope you enjoy this story, as well as the rest of the trilogy, idk if i've ever gone as in depth and all out with any story as i have with these.

summary: “now, everything is already set into motion, so we don’t have time for any of your theatrics,” not looking you in the eye, he frostily told you, “you are to be married. A carriage has just arrived a few minutes ago to pick you up and transport you to Eflorr.”

warnings: king!steve rogers x reader, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, slow burn, innocent!reader, abusive father (like super bad. he is a garbage person), wedding, blood, injury

word count: 4813

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“Your majesty, I must warn you, if, gods forbid, our people come to discover the great lengths you’ve been willing to go in this disagreement over the past two decades, they might start an uprising. And if you keep going, then it’ll turn into a full-blown war and you know our kingdom wouldn’t be able to survive that, not with them. Our city’s walls may be high, high enough to keep out any beasts that may wander this far south, but it wouldn’t keep them out. You know better than most how people from Eflorr are. If you don’t wanna lose your crown, one way or another, then I’d strongly advise that we come up with some peace treaty.”

“I know, I know…” King Ivan leaned back in his gilded throne with a huff, the quality of his voice was as thin as his towering frame, “a trade I think should suffice.”

A different advisor then timidly pipped up, “but our mines ran cold ages ago, what could we possibly offer that would be satisfactory?”

Not lifting his cold gaze, the king stared at a fixed spot on the marble floor as he said, “I know one thing the king lacks that we may be able to provide for him… a wife.”

“A wife–,” both of the men’s eyes grew wide, “but do you mean–, your majesty, she is your only daughter, are you certain this is the fate you want her to have? Those people are barbaric! If one of the dangers that rule the north doesn’t get to her first, one of their citizens surely will. Sire, what if history repeats itself?”

“Then let it do so. In fact, perhaps this could have been her purpose all along and I just didn’t realise it. Couldn’t see past my own rage to grasp how useful she actually could be…”

Sharing a nervous glance, one of the advisors asked, “should we send for her? See if she agrees with the plans?”

“No, I’ll tell her when the time is right. Wouldn’t want her to do anything stupid and ruin the one good thing she could ever provide,” finally lifting his stony gaze, the king commanded, “make the arrangements, I’ll see to it that she doesn’t ruin it.” 

Deep within the opulent halls of the gilded palace, standing grand and safe behind Ingorn’s tall city walls, twisting up towards the clouds, up in a window in the western tower, there you sat. 

Book in your lap, you leaned back against the small pillow you’d propped behind you to make the wide windowsill more comfortable. Small paper butterflies hung from strings above and some dangled so low that the childhood craft that still decorated your window trickled the crown of your head. Flipping the page, your fingertips brushed down over the illustration that appeared in the agricultural tome you’d found in one of your brothers’ rooms. 

As long as you put it back before Angus returned then you’d probably be good. And if he were to somehow notice, then as long as he didn’t rat you out to your father then it would be alright. Both Angus and a few of the others that were closer to your age, Oliver and Francis respectively, were always a bit of a gamble whether or not they would do such a thing. They didn’t always have the same spirit as the eldest pair of your older brothers, Xavier and Callum. 

You missed them so much your heart ached. The older they got, the longer their diplomatic missions seemed to stretch out, making the quiet palace that much more lonely in your solitude. 

A knock then suddenly boomed at your door, causing you to jump edgily in your seat before you slammed the book shut and nervously stuffed it behind the firm pillow. 

“Come in!” you called out, swiftly straightening out your dress that had crumbled around your legs at the comfortable seat. As the door to your room slammed open, the figure that stood in it caught you by surprise, “Father–, oh, hello,” you straightened your posture that much further at his arrival. 

Skipping over any niceties, King Ivan simply stated, “you need to pack up your stuff.”

Your brows knitted into a fierce furrow, “what?”

“Not everything, of course,” he cast a cold glance around the room though didn’t take a step to enter it, “just the things you are particularly attached to.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” your head lightly shook from side to side, “where am I going?”

When his eyes finally gave you the time of day, it swiftly dropped to the floor as a heavy sigh flowed from his lips, “why do you have to be the spitting image of her…” the muttering was unfortunately just loud enough for your ears to catch. His disappointment was always just loud enough for your ears to catch. When he entered the room and you moved to get up, he swiftly said, “stay seated, Y/n,” before he planted himself next to you on the wide windowsill, “now, everything is already set into motion, so we don’t have time for any of your theatrics,” not looking you in the eye, he frostily told you, “you are to be married. A carriage has just arrived a few minutes ago to pick you up and transport you to Eflorr.”

“To Eflorr?” your gaze grew wide, “you wish for me to marry someone there?”

“Not just someone, you are to marry their king.”

“I–… I–…” your chest rose and fell rapidly beneath your rosy dress, “but father, you can’t–, I can’t go live with the people who killed mom.”

“We don’t know if they actually murdered her. But I do know that you did,” his glare locked upon you as he let himself seethe, “if you hadn’t been born then she’d still be alive,” the fact that the only thing he blamed more for his late wife’s untimely demise then the kingdom she’d perished in was you, remained a point that the sovereign had never been shy about sharing with you for as long as you could recall, “your duty is to protect and serve this land, this crown,” your eyes naturally fluttered up to gaze at the twisted gold balanced upon his head, “if you don’t go through with this, then those savages will come pillage and ruin your home. You are, regrettably, the very last hope this kingdom has of survival. You have no choice, Y/n. This marriage is the only thing that can stop a war we would never survive,” exhaling slowly, he then dominantly nodded in a concluding fashion, “pack your stuff, you have an hour.”

You felt tears sting your eyes as your bottom lip quivered, “an hour? But–, can’t we wait at least a few days before I leave? Can’t I get a chance to say goodbye to at least one of my brothers? None of them are home yet.”

Regret instantly washed over you as your father’s nostrils flared angrily. Seizing your arm in a bruising grip, he yanked you close as he hissed, “you listen, and you listen carefully, you little brat. You have been the bane of my existence ever since you took your first breath. You took away the love of my life. You don’t deserve a goodbye, you don’t deserve anything. Do you think I got a goodbye when your mother suddenly went into labour on that diplomatic mission? No. All I got was you. Not another son, but a living, breathing reminder of what I lost that day,” your eyes squeezed shut as your cheek tingled at the memory of his strikes, “now, be a good girl and go wet his prick, give him a few babies, do anything he’d fucking please, so that him and his barbaric army doesn’t come here and slaughter everything you know and love.”

“Your highness, are you cold?” the high-ranking warden sitting across from you in the carriage noticed the shiver that your body couldn’t seem to shake. 

Tearing your eyes off of the scenery along The Emerald Path that the narrow window granted you a view of, you glanced back at the warrior. The brown hair he had practically tied off at the base of his neck blossomed into a dark beard. A bare palm clasped over an inked one in his lap as you met his gaze and said, “no, I’m–…” in truth, you were scared, so scared that you were trembling like a leaf, but you couldn’t tell the foreign king’s advisor that, too much weighted on your shoulders, you couldn’t screw this up, “no,” glancing back out of the window, you only stared a moment at the sparse cottages that slowly came into view on the rolling hills before you turned your head again and let the nauseating nerves control your words, “pardon me, Barnes, is it?”

“Yes, your highness?”

“Sir, how much further till we get there?” your quiet voice echoed within the carriage, “it’s just–, it’s been days.”

“Oh, not long at all,” he shook his head lightly, “actually,” the knight leaned forward in his seat and cast his glance outside, “if you look out the window now, right there,” a small smile tugged at his lips as his finger shot up to point, “that river, that means we’re getting close to Borün city.”

As the river then suddenly curved before the dirt road, the clomping hooves of the horses that hauled the coach resonated as they trotted over a stone bridge. 

Twisting your head, you glanced out to your right and spotted farmlands curve over the rolling hills that swiftly blossomed into thickets and towering flora you’d only assume was the southern perimeter of The Noll Woods. Books about this kingdom had been banned in your homeland for as long as you could remember, but even though you were essentially going in blind, you still weren’t completely ignorant when it came to the dangers that called that sprawling forest its home, not that you were an expert in the slightest, but your brothers had from time to time told you tales of the monsters who dominated in this part. From giant and twisted insect-like creatures, to mischievous pixies, to even the rare dragon, those stories had always been your favourite. Apart from the rare occasion where Callum would share stories with you about your mother. Being the eldest, he was the only one who truly remembered her. 

Instinctively, your fingers fluttered up to fiddle with the opalescent stone that hung from a chain around your neck. In the middle of the milky jewel was a small rune engraved into it. You had no idea what it meant, but your fingers had still traced the carving countless of times before as it had hung from your neck for as long as you could recall. It hadn’t been till you were a ways into your teens that you’d come to discover that it had belonged to your mother. 

Casting your glance out the other side as you passed a tall watchtower, behind the wide city stables unfolded a port town so quaint that it surprised you. Over the small valley of gabled roofs towered a central tree, and beyond all of that, the sparkle of the sea caught your eye, a sight you’d never beheld before, haven not only stemmed from a landlocked metropolis, but also not haven been permitted to leave your room as much as your heart had desired. 

“This is Eflorr?” you asked as the carriage began to roll up the winding path to the stone castle that loomed on the cliff, granting you a new view of how the river that you’d crossed slid through the city and spilt into the ocean.

“This is Eflorr, your highness,” the corners of his lips twitched at the sight of how wide your curious eyes were. 

“It’s–… it’s–…” your stare danced over the lush ivy that climbed the solid towers, “not what I expected…”

“What did you expect?”

Tearing your gaze away from the window, you blinked, “oh, I didn’t mean–,” suddenly worried that your shock had come out sounding rude, “I just–… I don’t know a lot about this land,” in the few tales you’d heard about this place, there had been a running gag that the people of Eflorr had lived so close to the dangerous beasts that called this part of the continent their home that they too had turned into monsters, “it’s just different than I imagined.” 

Ascending the jagged hill and passing through the front gate, it opened up into a wide courtyard before you felt the carriage finally roll to a stop. 

The wagon creaked gently as Barnes stepped out first, though when his boots were firmly on the cobblestone, his frame twisted as he reached an outstretched hand back for you to grasp in support of your own exit. Ever so apprehensively, you slid your own palm into his as your other twisted in your long skirts before you slipped out of the carriage. 

Letting go of his gasp, the soldier's low timbre washed over you as your head tilted back to take in the vast stronghold, “his majesty, unfortunately, couldn’t be here for your arrival as there was a bit of a dryad problem further up north he had to take care of,” you gaze tore away from the fort and fell upon him, “but I assure you he should be back in time for the wedding.”

“Oh, alright,” you breathed, unsure if that fact made you feel better or worse about the entire predicament.

“If you’d like, I can give you a brief tour of the castle,” he offered as he led you towards the main entrance into the castle proper, “or if you’re exhausted after the journey, then I can just show you directly up to your chambers.”

Offering him a polite smile, you nodded, “a tour would be lovely, thank you.”

He only briefly went over the buildings surrounding the courtyard you’d entered into, as they were mainly designed as barracks and various other facilities for the local wardens, though the horses that stuck their heads out of the royal stalls in the corner did catch your eye before you moved on inside. 

Barnes’ voice echoed in most of the chambers he showed you in the castle’s western wing. The vast stained-glass windows that were in the ballroom for instance took your breath away as you saw how the light streamed through them and warmed up the room with glittering little rays of colour. 

Behind the great halls, squeezed in between and connecting the two major parts of the fort, there you crossed through a much more quiet and lush courtyard. The pebble paths that curved around the central fountain too curled around various topiary bushes that were trimmed to perfection like living sculptures. 

Though as your guide showed you the eastern wing that crested over the foaming sea below, your curiosity got the better of you. 

“Hey, Barnes?”

Slowing his leisurely stride, he tilted his head slightly, “yes, your highness?”

“What are dryads?” your brows knit lightly together, “you mentioned there was a problem with them, but what are they?”

“You don’t know?” he glanced over at you, clearly trying to mask his surprise as you shook your head, “oh, well, they are forest spirits, nymphs,” he explained as you roamed deeper down a broad hallway on the second floor, passing many private chambers both to your right and your left, “it’s not uncommon for them to wander and bother the folks who live further up the coast. Have you never encountered one? They are not as uncommon in Obelón as most of the other creatures that thrive this far north.”

“No, I’ve never seen one…” you shook your head as a low sigh flowed from your lips, “never really seen anything…”

“Not much of an outdoorsy person?” he guessed in a light-hearted tone. 

Forcing a smile, you replied, “you could say that…” as you hadn’t been allowed to be one even if you wanted to. Passing a set of double doors that stood wide open, the sight inside made you halt your steps, “is this the library?”

Shadowing you as your feet crossed the threshold, he nodded, “yes, it is,” then pointed back over his shoulder, “and your quarters are right down that hall.”

Numerous grand bookcases stood lined up all the way down to where a tall window allowed the sunlight in and let it stream through the rows. 

“Can I–… would it be alright if I read some of them?” 

“Of course, your highness.” 

“Would you mind showing me which ones I’m allowed to read?” you briefly peeked back at him as a bubble of anxiety fluttered in your belly, “I don’t wanna accidentally read something that I’m not allowed to.”

Barnes then blinked back at you a moment before he uttered, “your highness, you can read each and every one of them if you’d like. Why wouldn’t you be allowed to read whatever you wish? They are yours after all, or will be after the wedding,” the corners of your lips twitched upwards as he then asked, “would you like to peruse the titles now or do you want to see your chambers?”

“Oh, uhm,” you tore your gaze away from the tomes and turned back, “I’ll look later.”

“Alright,” he nodded, extending his inked arm to show you the way. As he pushed the heavy wooden door open to the room at the very end of the hall, his voice rang out once more, “this is the peacock suite,” following him inside, he settled to a stop near the exit for you to explore the space on your own, “you can, of course, change anything you’d like for it to match your taste.”

“Thank you,” you breathed as you slowly made your way deeper into the chamber. It was gently divided with a more formal area towards the front where both tufted couches and a crackling fireplace stood, as well as a set of doors that opened up to a quaint balcony. Towards the left, under a swirling archway, twisted a broad canopy bed up towards the tall ceilings, warm with blankets and furs, and in the corner, by a breezy partition, stood a deep cobber bathtub.

Haven not noticed that he’d moved, you then heard as Barnes creaked the doors to a close, “if you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be right outside.”

With a loud creak, the heavy double doors opened before you and revealed the grand hall. As soft music gushed out, you nearly didn’t recognise the space from your tour the other day as it was now decorated with vibrant flowers and flowing banners that dropped down from the high ceilings above, as well as being completely packed with a swarm of people. A thin path parted the giddy crowd right down the middle towards the opposing grand door that guards opened simultaneously to yours. 

A shaky breath filled your lungs as you stared at the man crossing over the threshold. The flickering candlelight caught the honeyed shine of the locks that came down to tickle the nape of his neck. A bit darker, his short beard was full and warmed up the bottom half of his gruff features. He sure looked like a man who could slay a kraken with his bare fists, as the soft fur cloak that draped over his shoulders did not conceal his bulky physic one bit. The neckline of his indigo tunic stretched low enough for you to see the concave of his fuzzy chest and the impressive battle scars that broke up the rippling flesh. 

You’d seen the portrait of the king that hung in the hallway that stretched up towards the throne room, but to see him before your very eyes, in flesh and blood and not precise paint, was something else entirely. 

The long and embroidered train of the blue silk kirtle you wore dragged across the store floor behind you as both you and the monarch slowly stepped into the chamber to join in the very middle. 

The enchanting music stopped as you reached one another and the parted paths to either exit slowly closed as the crowd gathered and enclosed around the sacred vow that was about to ensue. 

Parting the sea of people like a divine force, an elderly woman, with a braided grey mane so long that it hit the floor, stepped up beside the both of you. 

“People of Eflorr,” the crone’s calm voice boomed, “today marks a day of unity, a day of peace, and most of all a day of love. Like a seed planted in the soil, tonight we will all witness this relationship blossom and go on the journey of growing into a magnificent tree, with roots strong enough to endure any storm, to propagate new seedlings that will watch over and shade our kingdom when yours have fallen.” 

Looking to the king, she handed him a small dagger from her belt and spoke, “blade across skin,” and he reached out for your right hand, “strike out your seedling’s love line,” your breath hitched as you felt him slice the top of your palm. Crimson blood trickled down onto his own hand as yours rested atop it, “and claim it as your own,” he flipped the blade around and handed it to you, before presenting you his own palm, open in yours. He didn’t even blink as you hesitantly pierced the calloused skin and traced the line already adoring his broad palm, “weave your lines together, so they become the same,” he then moved to clasp your hands together, his wide grip engulfed yours completely. Your teeth sank into just the faintest bit of your bottom lip at the fresh sting of your wound as it bled into his, “and may this scar serve you as a reminder, of the vow you made on this momentous day.” 

And as the last of the matron's words flowed from her lips so did the roar of celebration that erupted throughout the crowd as the festivities of the night bloomed at an instant.

The feast had been nothing short of immaculate. Countless of dishes had been spread out on the crowded banquet tables ranging from the savoury braised legumes to the sweet and shiny pies. It was an impossible task to try and taste every one of them, but an excuse you still used to stay glued to your seat and not get up and mingle with the boisterous gathering of strangers. 

As a stark contrast, you thought you only noticed the king take two bites before he rose to greet some latecomers who had arrived. Laughing and chatting with the sea of people, he hadn’t offered you a single word, barely even a brief glance the whole night. Though your gaze still followed him from your seat up at the high table as he moved through the crowd like they were all his dearest friends. 

When the moon had floated up to be high in the sky, clearly visible on the other side of the stained glass, your head had dropped down into a propped-up palm as a deep yawn forced its way out of your frame. 

“Are you tired, your majesty?” a deep timbre suddenly found your ears, a specific tone that caused your spine to straighten out at once. 

Whipping your head to your right, your weary eyes grew wide as you saw the king again at his seat, “no, I’m alright,” you hastily coughed out, “I’m so sorry for behaving like that in your presence. This party is exquisite.” 

“It’s alright, you can yawn,” you suddenly felt the need to look away now that his ocean stare was finally fixed upon you, “it’s late, I was about to retire for the night as well, so I can only imagine how you must feel. If you’d like, I could escort you back to your chambers. I’m not sure how familiar you’ve become with the castle since you’ve arrived, but even I can still get lost when the corridors are this dark and I’ve indulged in perhaps one too many goblets of wine.”

A flutter of nauseating nerves rushed within your belly, but even so, you still pushed through and forced a smile, “if that’s what the king desires, then sure, you can escort me.”

It was your wedding night. You knew what was about to happen. 

Or, actually, you didn’t quite know what the marital act entailed, but you were sure a man such as Steve had enough of an understanding to take charge. All you knew was what little you’d been told. To strip down naked, not whine or scream, and do as he tells you. 

The soaring butterflies within you only grew more ferocious as you followed his long stride throughout the castle. Out of the ballroom and through a cold stone hallway, when you crossed the bridge that linked the two wings over a part of the cliff that descended dramatically, you nearly doubled over the parapet to empty your stomach over the town of Borün that blossomed below. 

But with a shaky intake of breath, your fist closed around the silk of your skirt as you settled yourself and forced your feet to keep moving. Even as you passed the threshold into the eastern part of the castle, you still shadowed the monarch up the many steps until his broad palm held the door to your chambers open for you to enter. 

The fire had been lit while you were gone, and the room was encased in the warm glow. 

“Did, uh…” you heard the door close behind you as the king attempted a bit of small talk, “did you have a nice time tonight?” 

“I did, your majesty,” you kept your answer brief out of fear that he’d hear the tremble to your tone. 

Slowly turning his back to you, his gaze washed over the room, “are you pleased with your bed chambers?” he settled to face the balcony, the door slightly ajar to let the night breeze seep through and rustle the sheer curtains, “because if you don’t like it, if you’d rather have a view of the town then the sea, then that’s an easy problem to fix.” 

“I think the view is just fine from here, but thank you,” you answered politely as you gathered up the last bit of your courage and reached back to undo the long row of buttons that went down the spine of the light blue dress. 

When the silky garment dropped to the floor, the quiet rustle was enough to draw the king’s attention.

First offering you just a quick glance over his shoulder, he then swiftly whirled around completely, “what are you doing?”

Weaving your fingers in the thin material of your chemise, you blinked back at his stunned features, “I’m sorry, am I doing it wrong?” sure that he could already see everything through the sheer, white fabric. 

His feet didn’t move as he asked, “what are trying to do?” before he averted his gaze to the stone floor. 

“Well,” you uttered quietly, “it’s our wedding night.”

“Oh…” was all he breathed. 

“To be transparent, I’m actually not quite sure what’s to happen, but I do know it’s something,” reaching up, you took the gold and twisted circlet, that crowned your head, off and carefully sat it down on the side table to your left, “I don’t know the details, I just know that I should strip down. Do you know what we’re supposed to do?”

“Fuck,” he cursed, briefly squeezing his eyes shut, “yes I do, but, your majesty, please, keep your clothes on,” his gaze flickered back to you as you slowly began to hike up the last layer. 

“Why?” your fingers froze, “isn’t it a tradition here for us to–”

“Well, yes, but–…” he let out a strained sigh before slowly stating, “I’m gonna go.” 

A chill crawled up your skin, “…oh, I see…” you uttered quietly as he crossed the room, “did I do something wrong?”

Halting in the doorway as he ripped it open, “no, you–…” but the rest of his words crumbled as his gaze settled upon you one last time, instead letting a low sigh flow from his lungs, “sleep well,” and added nearly subconsciously just before the door slammed shut, “goodnight, dove.”

Even though a wave of relief washed over you, a sting of hurt also followed suit as the king left. 

Had you done something wrong, or did he just find you that repellent, that hideous, that he refused to perform his marital duties?

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[hier--soir]

heart to heart

john price x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: john takes you away for the weekend, and nestled in a cottage on the countryside, you show him just how much you've been missing him. warnings/tags: long term boyfriend!john, john price never finishes his cigars, explicit smut, a little body worship, oral [m receiving], fingering [f], unprotected piv sex, multiple orgasms [m], some overstim [m], come eating x2, brief cock warming, idiots in love, porn with minimal plot. word count: 4.4k masterlist a/n: this was born out of me being physically unable to stop thinking about that middle picture being john price, so here we go follow @hier--soirupdates if you’d like to be notified when i share my writing

It hasn’t rained in six days.

Late autumn spins the countryside in its grasp; a warm cloak that sends the leaves golden and the grass dewy. In a small, unfamiliar kitchen you drop teabags into mugs and gaze out the window. Admire the vast acreage that surrounds the cottage, and the marshland beyond that.

The early morning rays are bright and cool, turning the cabinets a washy yellow colour around you as you wait for the kettle to boil.

Everything is quiet, calm. If you listen closely, past the sound of birds chirping and water bubbling, you can hear John’s heavy snores down the hall; still catching up on sleep after a long few weeks away.

When he came through the front door two nights ago, you’d been quietly surprised to see him home so soon. After not hearing much for almost a month, you’d resigned yourself to getting on with things in his absence. A fairly covert operation, you knew, so you’d spent your days waking to an empty house. Working and eating and showering alone and never exceeding the appropriate number of messages you could send him in one day without stirring worry. Little Angus with his long orange tail and his soft whiskers your only company in John’s stead.

Home at last, he’d wrestled out of his heavy boots and draped himself over where you lay on the couch. Soap opera long forgotten on the tele, he’d slipped an arm around the back of your head, held you to his chest and said, Let me take you somewhere.

The kettle whistles and you pluck it from the stove, still smiling at the memory. Douse the teabags in boiled water and watch as the windows cloud with steam. You leave his black, just the way he likes it, but soften your own with sugar and milk. Your toes are numb against the cool tile, and you rub them against your calf in search of warmth. Inside, your body is at sleepy old war with itself. One half longing to be back in bed, or perhaps to have not gotten up at all yet; the other half taking great pleasure in the mundanity of doing things like this for him again, after so long of not. Tap tap tap of an impatient finger against the counter until his tea turns the perfect colour, and then you’re on your way back to the room.

Leant amongst paisley patterned pillows and white linens, John looks a little out of place knuckling sleep from the corner of his eyes. A little too rough around the edges, too big, too hardened for such soft surroundings. In your brief absence, he’s drawn the curtains and nudged the window beside the bed open a crack. A long arm stretches out toward the sill, ashing a cigar onto the small dish he’s balanced there.

Naked as the day he was born, he lifts the cigar to his lips and blinks drowsily at you. Stretches his legs out, the muscles in his thighs straining, curled toes skimming the end of the bed. Eyes wandering, you kick the door shut with your foot and slink to the end of the bed, holding out his mug.

“’Morning,” he murmurs, voice still thick with sleep. Accepts the tea with a soft smile, the skin beside his eyes crinkling as he watches you crawl in beside him. Hands full, he twists an ankle around yours, face pulling up at the feel of your cold skin against his. “Jesus, you’re like ice. I’ll shut the window.”

“Don’t move,” you hush, nestling your head against his shoulder. “You’re right where I want you.”

John laughs softly, warm body vibrating against yours. “Is that right, sweetheart?”

“Mhm.” You watch him tap his cigar against the dish, sipping your tea and trailing fingers through the dark hairs on his stomach. Enjoy the way his body draws tense beneath your cool touch, goose flesh sprouting across his skin. “Middle of nowhere… unfamiliar town… no one will ever find you. You’re all mine out here, Price.”  

“M’all yours everywhere,” he says, abandoning his cigar in the dish so he can tug on the neckline of your—his—t-shirt. “This proves it, yeah?”

“I suppose,” you smile, lifting your mug to hide behind a sip. He watches you move, calculating and quiet as he sips his own tea. You fidget beneath the intensity of his stare, painfully aware of how well he knows you. That your want, your need, must be painted across every inch of your face.

“Love you in my clothes, sweetheart, I do.” John’s fingers curl beneath the hem of the shirt then, rough callouses tickling over your collarbones. “But you’re makin’ me feel awful naked.”

Heat flares in the base of your stomach and you chuckle, matching smirks splashed across your faces as you sit up and drag the shirt over your head. He watches as you flick it to the floor, gaze darkening as he looks over your body, focusing on the thin grey panties that cover the skin between your thighs. A thick arm curls around your waist, tugging you back onto him, and as you settle there his fingers slip down to fiddle with the band of your underwear.

“Cute,” he comments airily, middle finger dropping under the band to caress the skin beneath it.

Mug discarded off the side of the bed, you put both hands to his stomach now. Tickling his soft skin, playing with the hair there as you lean in and press a kiss to the centre of his chest. And then another, and another, with John simply humming, palm flattening against the small of your back to hold you against his side.

Your lips part, tongue dancing lazily against his nipple. Soft strokes until the flesh is stiffening and you’re practically purring against his skin, drifting across to the other one. You hear the soft clink of his mug hitting the side table, and then John’s hand falls against the back of your head. Thick fingers twist through your hair, playing as you kiss and lick over his collarbones, and the little tugs he gives have a low throb starting up between your legs.

“Feelin’ needy this mornin’, hey lovey?” John asks. His fingers come to the front of your face, cupping your jaw and forcing you to look up at him. Big blue eyes watch you pout, cheeks squished between his fingers as you nod.

“I missed you,” you say, turning to press your nose into his palm and inhale the smell of him.

His eyes soften, and all sense of teasing seems to slip out the window. “I know, sweetheart, m’sorry. Come here’n give us a kiss.”

His lips are soft against yours. Warm, and familiar, with a hint of Darjeeling. Pulling you up to straddle his waist, he coaxes your chest down against his and huffs into your mouth at the feel of your nipples against his skin, teeth sneaking out to smart at your bottom lip.

“Thought about you every day,” he mumbles against your lips. “Missed you every second, love, always do.”

You feel something hot and sharp spark behind your eyelids at those words, and flick your tongue against the seam of his lips, pushing it away, not now not now. You go soft and pliant against him; let him guide you through the kiss, coaxing your mouth open with his long tongue as his fingers dance down your spine. When his hand reaches the round of your ass he grips your flesh there, kneading it between his fingers and pushing down so your clothed cunt comes flush with his cock.

“Feel that?” John says, pulling away an inch to nose at your cheek. His cock is heavy between your legs, thick and stiff where it presses against the gusset of your panties. You gasp as he rocks his hips up, grinding against you until the damp fabric slips between your slick folds and rubs over your clit. “That’s how much I missed you, sweetheart.”

As he talks, the hairs on his moustache prickle against your lips, and you find yourself opening your mouth. Breathy moans spill as you roll your hips against his, lathing hot opened mouthed kisses over his jaw.

“Looked at your picture every night,” he continues raggedly, breath hitching as you suck at the hollow of his throat. His cock twitches against you, the slide only getting smoother as more slick spills into your panties. “Thought about comin’ home ‘n’ never leavin’ again, just so I could play with this pretty little cunt whenever I like.”

Your hips stutter into his and you whine, a tiny glimpse of an orgasm fluttering through you just from those words.

“S’yours,” you whisper against his skin, the words he spoke moments before dancing through your mind. “All yours everywhere.”

Faster than he can stop you, you’re slipping off his lap and settling beside him on the bed. Continuing the onslaught, you lick hot, messy kisses over the skin of his neck, across the broad span of his shoulders.

“My big man,” you say tenderly, fingers itching their way across his chest. You skirt your teeth down the middle of his sternum, squeaking a little when he murmurs in enjoyment and presses a hand to your ass again. “I missed your body so much.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Yeah.”

“Show me then,” he goads lightly, grunting around a smirk when you sink your teeth into the soft flesh over his ribs in response.

His fingers toy with the material of your panties as you drag your tongue over the dip of his belly button, and when you kiss the soft curve of his lower stomach, nose buried in the dark hairs above it, you feel him grip the fabric tight. You can see his cock in your peripheral vision. Swollen and heavy against his hip now. The tip has turned a pretty shade of dark pink, accented by little streaks of white where pre-come oozes from his slit and glides down his throbbing shaft. With your mouth on his belly, you reach out and wrap your fingers around him.

“Fuck,” John grunts, head lolling back against the pillows.

You smile, stroking him slowly as you drag your nose through his thick happy trail, all the way down to nuzzle against the dark thatch of curls above his base. Insistent now, his fingers push beneath the edge of your panties and drag through your slick seam.

You whimper, forehead resting heavily against his skin as he slides two fingers through the wet mess of you. Lewd sounds of your arousal fill the room as John traces featherlight circles around your clit, and your face heats against his stomach, fingers returning to their lazy pace around his length.

The throb between your legs has become a second heartbeat now, so strong that you’re sure he must feel it beneath his fingertips. If he does, he just sighs softly. Lets the thrumming of your cunt sync with the pulse in his fingertips, heart to heart, and murmurs low encouragements as you tilt your head to the side and begin mouthing at his cock.

“Missed my cock.” Your voice is low and unfamiliar in your ears, mouth overrun with desire and spilling your guts before you can stop it. “So pretty, John…”

Circling your entrance with a thick finger, he just says, “I know, love, s’yours. Go on.”

As slow as you can bring yourself to be, you lay gentle kisses down the entire length of him. Wetting your lips and gliding them over his warm, silken skin, before dipping lower and sucking his balls between your lips. A harsh grunt sounds behind you, and, as if in retaliation, he sinks two thick fingers inside you. You moan around his sensitive skin, holding his balls in your mouth and jerking him off until he’s trembling beneath you, broad thighs straining as he tries to hold himself together.

“That’s good, love,” he murmurs softly, almost speaking to himself as he curls his fingers inside you, humming when you grind into his hand. “Need ta get my fuckin’ mouth on you.”

But you just shake your head. Let his balls slip from your mouth with a soft pop before sticking out your tongue and guiding the weeping tip of his cock towards your mouth. Hasty, too needy for your own good, you slip your lips around him and try to take him deep on the first pass. Out of practice after weeks away, your throat constricts and you choke a little around him. So big, so overbearing, you’re too eager to be filled by him that you push and push until you’re gagging and sputtering. Cheeks hot and eyes downturned, you draw back, skin prickling as you hear him say something past the rushing in your ears. Take a moment to catch your breath and ground yourself, fingers tight on his thigh as your tongue swirls around his tip.

“This what you missed then?” he’s saying, collecting your hair in his fist to keep it off your face. “Hm, missed bein’ all full of me?”

“Mhm,” you hum around him, pulling back with a gasp only to press his head against your cheek. Eyes closed, you rub his ruddy tip against your chin, your lips, painting your skin with his precome. Feel the weight of him warm your skin and sigh in quiet delight. And when he groans, exhaling a heavy, ragged breath, you press your mouth around him again, desperate to hear him make that sound over and over again.

“Easy, darlin’, lemme see you,” John chokes out, thumbing sliding over the apple of your cheek. “So pretty with your lips around my cock.”

Heat floods your chest, and you drool around him. The words seem to trigger something in your mind, some insatiable desire to please, to make him feel good, because you’re relaxing, sinking your mouth down further on him. A low, drawn-out curse falls from his lips, fingers curling in the hair behind your ear.

Gaudy sounds of sucking and slurping fill your ears, and you would be self-conscious if it weren’t for the way John’s growls met them in the air. Wordlessly, he slips a third digit inside and the stretch brings a dull burn that has your mouth slowing against him.

Your eyelids flutter as his thick fingers stroke at your walls, searching for the spot that makes you spill every time, but your wanton cries of desperation are muffled by the heavy weight of him on your tongue. In slow, measured movements, he begins to shift his hips in time with your head. Feeding his cock to you and grunting when he feels your throat go soft and easy around him, letting him slip further in until your nose buries in the hair at his base.

John watches you, the blue in his eyes almost entirely swallowed by desire fattened pupils. Rakes his gaze over the way your lips stretch around his thick cock, tears dancing on your lashes as you take him in your throat. The heady taste of him is intoxicating, and you can only hold his gaze for so long before your eyes are rolling back, stomach pulling tight as you swallow around him.

Stuffed to the brim with John, John, John. He’s everywhere, filling your mouth, your aching cunt; it sends your heart racing, thighs trembling as your orgasm begins to crest.

Molten heats swims in the base of your stomach, curling and bubbling there as he you ride his long fingers, moaning his name around his cock. But just as you feel everything begin to go tight and tingly, John’s pulling on your hair and dragging you off him.

A thin strand of spit dangles between his tip and your mouth and he snarls at the sight, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip.

“Fuck, c’mere,” he huffs, squeezing insistently at your shoulders. “Wanna feel you on my cock when you come for me, yeah?”

Mind a hazy blur, you let the weight of him fall from your mouth, the hinge of your jaw still burning as you peel your underwear down your legs and spread yourself over his lap. John doesn’t pull his hand away though. No, he keeps his fingers between your legs, pumping them in and out, slowly, as you hover over his cock.

“My girl,” he says, eyes focusing on where the puffy lips of your cunt almost touch his cock. “My filthy, sweet girl.”

“John,” you puff his name, abdomen tensing when he rubs his thumb against your clit. Balanced on your knees and the tips of your toes, your legs shake a bit. Fingers dance forward to touch his shoulder, desperate for an anchor.

You frown a little, swollen lips parted in a torturous mix of desire and confusion, but he just offers a filthy grin and says, “Tell me you missed me again.”   

“Oh, fuck off,” you smart instinctually, lips twitching when he barks a laugh and slips his fingers from your wet clutch, grasp drifting to your waist. “Please.”  

“There she is,” he rumbles, jaw tensing as you glide his tip through your folds, coating him in your slick. A heavy rush of air spills from his nose. “My impatient girl.”

Once he’s got you on his cock, it doesn’t take long for you to fall apart.  

He lets you keep having it your way for a bit. Watches, gaze heavy, as you bounce on his cock, hands gripping his shoulders for leverage. You squirm on him, face twisted up as you adjust to the thick stretch of him after so long. It burns and aches between your thighs, but you can’t help but keep coming back for more, sinking down on his length faster each time. He tilts his head forward to suck one of your nipples into his mouth, moaning against the plush of your breast when you arch your back, crying out at the feeling of his teeth on the sensitive bud.

After a while he slots his greedy lips against yours. Presses hot, sucking kisses to your mouth, swallowing down every gasp and moan that crawls its way up your chest. The bristles of his facial hair scratch at your cheeks, your nose, and you love it. Have desperately missed the way it warms your skin as he presses his tongue inside your mouth and tastes behind your teeth.

Using his hold on your hips, he rolls you against his lap. Meets you thrust for thrust until you start to soak his length, jaw going slack as he growls into your open mouth.

“Fuckin’ hell, love, that’s it,” John groans, fingers tightening on your waist as your cunt pulls tight and hot around him. Thighs shaking, you let your forehead fall against his chest and ride out the flood of your orgasm. “I know, darlin’, I know, I’ve got you.”

Fingers fly up to grip the back of your neck, his other arm snaking around your waist as he continues fucking up into you. His cock presses hot and heavy into that soft, gushy spot deep inside you and you shudder against him, helpless little moans slipping from your parted lips. Face smushed against his hairy chest, you drool a little. Feel it pool between his pecs and smear across your cheek as your eyes roll back, dopamine pounding in your veins as he pushes you relentlessly through the high.

“Gonna let me fill you up?” he’s panting, feet planted on the bed now as he bucks into you, hips stuttering as he sinks closer and closer to his end. “Fuck, I’m gonna make a right mess of you, darlin’. That’s it, lovey, show me that pretty face.”

“John,” you mewl, toes curling against the sheets. “Shit, oh shit.”   

“Christ,” he grunts when you meet his eyes, jaw pulled tight. “So tight, m’ gonna come—”

“Wait,” you mumble suddenly, senses sharpening despite the way your thighs still shake against his hips. John stills immediately, grip tightening on your waist. “In my mouth, I want you in my mouth.”

His face crumples at that, a guttural noise sputtering from his lips as you lift off him and slip down to rest between his legs. He nods, brushing hair back off your face as you sink your mouth down on him, slick tongue hungry on the underside of his pulsing cock. He mutters your name, tells you how perfect you feel as he rocks his hips forward, tip nudging the back of your throat with every careful thrust.

“My sweet girl, doing so good for me,” he breathes, a coy grin on his face and a firm hand at the base of your skull. He holds your head in place as he fucks your mouth with slow, steady strokes. Groans every time you swallow, warm wet throat drawing tight around his swollen head.

“Look at me, let me see those eyes,” he mutters urgently, tugging on your hair until you’re blinking, focusing blurry eyes on his face. He thumbs at the teary streaks on your cheeks and gives a rough, prolonged groan as he begins to spill down your throat. “Fuck, fuck.”

You bob your head as his cock twitches and jerks against your tongue, sucking until he’s filled your mouth with warm come and it starts seeping from the corner of your mouth, dribbling down his shaft. You catch the spill with your fingers, swallowing his thick spend down and then licking what’s left from your trembling hands.

John watches on, chest heaving, and tuts fondly when you whimper, head spinning with the salty taste of him on your tongue.

“Bloody hell,” he exhales after a moment, dragging his knuckles over his face. “We’re never goin’ home.”  

You laugh, drowsily nuzzling your cheek against the inside of his thigh as his cock softens against his stomach. John cards his fingers through your hair absentmindedly, legs still twitching and eyes drifting closed as he tries to catch his breath. Lips slick with spit and come, you lay soft pecks along his sweaty skin. Smile when he shudders, fingers tightening against your scalp, but doesn’t pull you off.

There’s a hot flush of red splashed across the skin of his neck, his cheekbones, and his stomach is still warm to the touch when you reach out to graze his soft flesh. Sated and sleepy, he wets his lips and continues to play with your hair. Lovingly curls strands of it around his fingers and tugs gently before letting go, only to pick a new strand and do it again.

Overcome with emotion, and unable to stop yourself, you lean forward and take his soft cock back into your mouth.

John hisses through his teeth in surprise, eyes flashing open.

You don’t do anything crazy yet. Just let him feel the warmth of your mouth around him, the soft glide of your tongue against the ridge around his head. When he doesn’t pull you off after a second, you give him a little suck. Not hard—just enough to make his hips flinch down into the mattress and his legs pull tight at your sides.  

“Fuck,” he exhales, face pinched. His hand trembles against your head. “Fu—hang on, fuckin’ hell, love.”

You peer up past his stomach to where his mouth hangs open and his eyes are shiny and wide. His nails scratch against your scalp. Needy little nudges that blur the line between too much and not enough. You hum in pleasure around him when a choked sound falls from his mouth. Feeling a little mean, though, you pull back, licking your lips and smiling apologetically.

“Sorry,” you murmur, face hot as you squeeze his thigh. “Just want to love on you a little longer, that’s all.”

He hums deep in his chest, brow creasing a little as he brings his big hands to cup your face. His thumb swipes at your chin, smearing the saliva there, and you part your lips for him. He makes a sort of pained sound as he slots the digit into your mouth and watches you hollow out your cheeks out around it, swirling your tongue and sucking like you’d done to his cock just moments ago.

“Christ,” John breathes. Something needy and desperate glints in his eye, and he slips his finger from your mouth. Grips the back of your neck and gives a short nod. “Gonna be the death of me, ain’tcha?”

Guided by his hand, you take him back in your mouth and sigh in relief. Your eyelids flutter closed, and you rest your face against his hip, taking deep breaths through your nose and just holding him like that for a while. You can hear the way his breathing goes haggard above your head; short sharp bursts of air huffing from his nostrils. Sensitive as he must be, John lets you have your fun, shivering and spiting low curses as your touches get increasingly needier. And when you begin to suck softly at his length again, he seems unable to help the way his strong legs writhe against the mattress.

He says your name, rough and urgent, when you pull back only to snake your tongue out against his slit. Eyes fluttering open, you look up at him as you lathe your tongue down his length, smiling at how red his face has gotten, at how he seems to be holding his breath. John’s cock starts to swell and stiffen beneath your touch.  

“D’you want me to stop?” you whisper, tracing the blue vein that pulses down the side of his length with your tongue.

“No,” he pants, head lolling from side to side. “Fuck no, gorgeous. Just go easy on me, yeah? It’s ohh—” he winces “—s’a lot.”

You nod understandingly and press a kiss to his tip, smearing the fresh pearl of precome there against your lips. He’s fully hard now, throbbing when you wrap your fingers around his thick base and wrap your lips around his head. A guttural sound rips from his chest and he’s tugging at your hair. For a moment you pause, unsure, but then he’s pushing a little on you. Nudging you closer, further, so you take him deeper and deeper until his tip is nudging against your throat.

“Fuck,” John gasps, hips stuttering against your palms, sensitive cock twitching against your tongue. “S’too much, love, it’s—oh fuck.”

With a ragged grunt his cock pulses in your mouth, and a little spurt of come dribbles from his head. You moan, eyes closed, and swallow tight around him, milking every last drop of spend from his cock until he’s winded and clumsily pushing you off of him.

Breathless, you fall flat on the mattress beside him, feet dangling off the end of the bed. John’s broad palm cradles the back of your head still, a comforting weight as you wipe your face against the sheets.

Ears pricking, you realise it’s begun to rain outside. Soft patters of liquid that knock against the window, thin rivulets that drip down to splash and splutter against the sill. Long forgotten, his cigar sizzles and dies beneath the spray.

“Another tea?” you murmur finally, pushing up onto your elbows.

But with a soft, startled laugh, you find that John’s eyes are closed, chest rising with steady breaths; already back to sleep. Shaking your head a little, you smile fondly at his lax form, and consider closing the window. You settle instead for pulling the duvet from the corner of the bed. Curled against his thick side, you settle the blanket over the two of you and lay an arm over his stomach, content to have a proper lie in after such a busy morning.

thanks for reading, i'd love to hear what you thought x

[anyarose011]

Christmas Time is Here {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: Christmas (FINALLY) has arrived! What better way to spend the day full of cheer than with your family (and the boy you previously didn't really care for until just a few days prior). It'd be better if you could spend it in Boston as well...

Part 7 of ?? (Masterlist)

Warnings: Making out, swearing, talk of sex, and jokes about pimping out one's father.

Heyyyyyyy, what's uppppp, it's meeeeee. So...okay, long story short, I got back from strudying abroad and have been using this summer to just readjust to America (it's been rough, low key). So I just want to apologize for the long wait, and I hope this chapter is worth it. Also, because the main characters in this story (reader and Angus) are minors, I WILL NOT be adding smut. Still, thank you guys so much for your patience!

Word Count: 6.4k

You thought you slept in at first, until you glanced at the clock on the nightstand and read ‘7:30am’. Groaning, you sat up, rubbing your face when the realization hit you: It was Christmas!

That’s what caused you to leap out of your bed and immediately look under it, pulling out the three horribly wrapped gifts in newspapers tied with a twine ribbon. Before you could do anything else, a light knock on the doorway made you flinch.

“Yeah?” You whispered.

“Are you decent?”

Giggling at Angus’ use of your words from last night, you said. “Not really, I’m still in my pajamas.”

“Get dressed, I wanna show you something.”

You snorted. “You’re not gonna kill me or something, are you?”

“No, but on an unrelated note, we’re going off campus.”

“Wait,” your face dropped. “seriously?”

He snickered. “No. It’s just in the theater.”

You shook your head. “Okay, I’ll meet you in the hall.”

His footsteps echoed outside, and you decided to give him his gift early. After changing into a long-sleeved shirt and pants, then your socks and boots, you slipped out of the door whilst hiding the present behind your back.

“What’s behind your back?” Angus immediately asked once he saw you.

“Merry Christmas to you too.” You teased. “It’s nothing.”

“Amy…”

Sighing overdramatically, you held out the gift. His eyes grew to the size of the moon (both things that you still think are beautiful) as he took it from you. “I…what is this?”

“Well,” you shrugged. “it’s a present, but you kind of have to open it to-.”

“-No, I mean…I didn’t get you anything.”

“That’s okay, I don’t want anything.”

“Hey-.”

“-Ordinary people say ‘thank you’ and open the damn thing.” You smirked.

He mirrored your expression before tearing the newspapers. It was almost funny to you how Angus Tully looked as if his breath was stolen from his lungs just at the sight of Little Women in his hands.

“This is yours.”

“Well, it’s yours now. That’s kind of how gifts work.”

“It’s your favorite though.”

“Who told you it’s my favorite?” You tilted your head, as if challenging him.

You’d never seen a face whiter than the snow outside. “I-I, um, shit.”

“No,” you shook your head. “you’re telling me you kiss me so hard my lips turned blue in the kitchen-!”

“-Hey, hey! Shut up!” He tried to be serious but only ended up laughing.

“But you can’t remember what my favorite book is?!”

Taking a deep breath, Angus then said. “I’m sorry, okay?”

A smile pulled onto your lips. “Yeah, I’m just messing with you.”

“You’re horrible.”

“Thank you.” A giggle fell from you. “Oh god, I hope my dad didn’t hear that.”

“I checked his bed, he’s out somewhere.”

“Alright,” you shrugged. “escort me to the theater then.”

He grinned from ear to ear as he led you through the halls. Unashamedly, you were a bit disappointed; you wished he’d taken your hand. Still, despite the sun being out, to your knowledge, you were the only two people awake. You wouldn’t blame Mary for sleeping in, and it was Christmas, no way Danny would waste his time with you three; that man had family in Worcester.

When you and Angus made it to the theater, you both walked up the steps to the stage and after he set the book down on the floor, he leaned against the piano.

You crossed your arms, smirking. “Mr. Tully, you better not serenade me.”

“I’m not singing.” He tried not to smile.

“So, there is a God.”

“Quit it.” He snickered. “Sit down, I’m gonna teach you how to play the piano.”

Raising your brow, you said. “You told me you hadn’t played since you were ten.”

“I hadn’t taken lessons since I was ten. We have a piano back at home, so I still play sometimes.”

“Never here?”

“Never here. Come on.” he tilted his head to the bench.

Rolling your eyes, you sat down, placing your hands on the keys. Angus came to stand beside you. “Okay, you know the alphabet?”

“What the hell is that?”

“Perfect.” He scoffed, then pointed to the white keys. “So, you only have to know ‘A’ to ‘G’. If this,” he pressed the white key in the middle of the piano between two black keys. “is ‘D’, then what is this?” He hovered his finger above the white key to the right of it.

“E.” You said simply. “I do know that this ‘B’ key is out of tuned though.”

You reached over his arm and played the ‘C’ an octave above, bringing your face just a little closer to his. He smiled. “Okay smartass, you do know what the alphabet it.”

“Yeah, I just don’t know how to play anything, that’s all.”

Angus took your right hand in his hand (fucking finally), and brought your fingers to play the ‘E’ and ‘D#’ a few times before then ‘B’, ‘D’, ‘C’, and ‘A’.

“Know that one?” He asked.

“‘Fur Elise’.” You grinned at the name. “And you’re sure you wish I was your first kiss?”

He answered plain and simple. “I’m sure.”

“Okay,” you decided to keep toying with him. “what comes next? And I’m pretty sure I have to use my other hand at some point.”

You expected a retort from him, but he only went behind you and grabbed your left hand. Gently, he pressed his fingers over yours, and guided you to slowly play the piece by Beethoven. It was peaceful to say the least; well, as peaceful as it could be while your heart was trying to beat itself out of your chest.

As his chest hovered against your back, you decided to soothe your own worries.

“Son of a bitch, you just wanted to hold my hand!” You teased.

The music stopped as he pressed his face against your shoulder while laughing. It should’ve made you uneasy how just at ease he was around you; but perhaps you both had already acted like this before you kissed. Perhaps, with only being around him for a week, you had come to know him as a close friend (even with how much you loathed him at first).

He took his head off your shoulder and looked at you, his nose practically against yours. “And what if I did?”

This was the part where you were supposed to say something smart in return and make him feel just a bit stupid. But…were his eyes always that brown and beautiful?

You were just a girl; no one should blame you for immediately throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him.

Luckily, unlike the night before, he was less surprised this time. His arms were around your waist, and whether he meant to or not, he pulled you down to the floor with him when his own legs gave out.

Still, even though the sudden shift of your body caused you to squeak out in surprise, your lips didn’t leave his as your hands soon carded through his hair, and his moved further down your hips.

“I don’t want to do anything more,” you said quickly between kisses. “I don’t want to do anything more!”

His lips moved down to your neck, one of his hands came back up to cradle your jaw tenderly. “Me neither.”

“Okay.” You answered, your voice slightly pitched as he kissed your neck. Angus laid you down as softly as he could on the stage and hovered above you; his kisses never leaving your skin. His hand found yours and held it above your head as he brought his lips back up to yours. Even with it being clumsy, nothing in your whole life had felt so…good.

You wondered just how anyone on earth could get anything done after being kissed like this for the first time.

Perhaps it is because they hear their father calling their name.

At the sound of your father’s voice echoing through the halls, you and Angus froze. With one look, you both immediately pulled away, and he got off you, sitting on the piano bench and putting his hands on the keys.

It was quite comedic how that was the first time you heard him play; and he was quite good at it.

Luckily, you managed to get up and lean against the piano the moment the door to the auditorium opened and soon slammed shut. Angus stopped playing, and you both looked up and saw your father, huffing as if to catch his breath from running around everywhere.

“Merry Christmas.” Were his first words, and after both you and Angus repeated his sentiment, he then asked. “Where the hell have you been?”

You shrugged. “Just here.”

His eyes traveled to you and then to Angus, who, like any nervous teen boy who’d nearly been caught after making out with the teacher’s daughter, waved. Your father simply nodded. “Well, come on. I have something to show you two.”

He left through the doors he came in, and after you and Angus glanced at each other, you both followed; Angus picking up the book of course. Your father took you both to the dining hall where Mary had been waiting, and proudly presented a frankly shabby Christmas tree with some wrapped gifts to you.

“No ornaments?” Angus asked.

“Oh,” your father sighed. “I’m sure we can round up some ornaments somewhere. Uh, now.” He picked up one of the gifts, handing it to Angus. “This is for you.”

The boy glanced up at him as if he handed him the best thing he could receive that day (next to your copy of Little Women of course). He tore it open, and it was revealed to be another book.

“‘Meditations.’” Your father read the title. “by Marcus Aurelius. For my money, it’s like the Bible, the Koran and the Bhagavad Gita all rolled up into one. And the best part is not one mention of God.”

Mary huffed, obviously not a fan.

“And this,” he handed her the other package under the tree. “is for you.”

She opened it, revealing another book of ‘Meditations’. “So, you just give this to everyone?”

“And.” He gave her the other gift under the tree; that being a horribly wrapped bottle of whiskey.

That got her to smile wide as she took it. Your father, grabbing the final package under the tree, then handed it to you. “Yes, it’s a book, no, it’s not ‘Meditations’.”

Smiling, you unwrapped it and stood absolutely still in shock before exploding into a cheer. “Where did you get this?! I couldn’t find even in Boston!”

“The day trip we took to New York for Thanksgiving? Found it while you wandered off in the bookstore.” He joked.

Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face if you tried.

“What is it?” Angus asked, looking over your shoulder.

“Maria,” you answered. “by Mary Wollstonecraft. She’s Mary Shelley’s mom.”

“Like, Frankenstein Mary Shelley?”

Oh, how much you wanted to kiss him just because he knew the author of a popular book. Still, you didn’t know how many men even knew a woman wrote one of the most iconic stories of all time. Still, your father and closest woman you had to a mother in years were watching you, so you settled on shoving him.

“That’s right; maybe you’re not that stupid.” Before he could verbally respond, you were almost out the door. “I got something for you guys, be right back!”

You felt like a little girl again as you ran through the halls and up the stairs into the infirmary room before taking the shittly wrapped presents off your bed. You slid down the main staircase railing before barging back into the dining hall where it looked like barely anything had changed.

“What was my time?” You asked your father, a huge smile on your face.

He gave a look. “You didn’t ask us to time you.”

“Happy Christmas.” You handed him his gift, then repeated the same action and sentiment to Mary.

Your father was the first one to open his, and a pleasant smile spread upon his face while holding it up to you; a coloring book of ancient Rome.

“How’d you know I wanted this?” He joked. He had perhaps almost every single book on Roman history, so you had to get creative.

You shrugged. “Oh, you wouldn’t stop talking about it, remember?”

Mary opened hers next, grinning from ear to ear once it was unwrapped. A pink pocket-sized prayer book. “How’d you know I lost mine?”

“Because you told me.”

She hugged you, pinching your cheek when she pulled away. “You’re an angel.”

“Oh, Angus,” Your father took the forgotten envelope out from under the tree, handing it to the boy beside you. “this came in the mail for you.”

He opened it, and glancing over his arm, you saw cash stuffed inside of the card with “Greetings of the Season and Best Wishes for a Happy New Year” printed inside, with the only written words being: “Love, Mom and Stanley.” Not any personalized notes or words of adoration anywhere to be found.

You wanted to squeeze his hand, give him any traditional sense of comfort; yet you weren’t ready to explain to your father and mother figure about the both of you…you weren’t dating, but you were something. So, instead, you merely pushed yourself against his side and acted annoying.

“Fuck, you’re loaded.” Mary scoldingly said your name, but you continued. “Well, he is! Yeesh, you should be paying off my father’s retirement if you hate him that much.”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Emma Woodhouse.” You father rolled his eyes.

Angus, fortunately, snorted. “I’ll think about it.”

“Alright,” Mary placed her hands on her hips. “now who’s hungry?”

As usual, the four of you had a lovely breakfast; although, this time, per Christmas tradition, you each had a little piece of chocolate with your pancakes she made. When helping her with the dishes, you saw that only one Christmas cookie you left out the night prior had remained.

When the dishes were done, you and Mary pulled the men into the teacher’s lounge.

“So why are we being held against out will?” Angus joked.

Your father sighed. “It’s almost ten-thirty.”

“And?”

“Charlie Brown!” You cheered, plopping yourself down on the carpet in front of the TV to turn it on.

“It’s the one tradition we have each Christmas,” your father explained and lowered his voice to Angus and Mary. “and one I wouldn’t mind getting rid of.”

“If you want to go drink alone while reading Agatha Christie, go ahead.” You announced, not turning to look at him as you flipped through the channels.

Mary and Angus merely laughed, and you proudly sat down on the couch. Your father mumbled incoherently, but before he could take a seat beside you, Mary grabbed his arm.

“Now, now, come help me make popcorn for the movie.”

Sighing, he let her lead him out of the teacher’s lounge and into the kitchen. Angus soon sat where your father would’ve if not for Mary. You smiled.

“Hi.”

“Hey.” He grinned, and there was silence (as always) between the two of you. One that was broken with. “Thank you.”

You tilted your head. “What for?”

“Just…” He laughed. “for liking me I guess. Also, for what you said about the stupid card and everything.”

Smiling, you glanced up to see if your father and Mary were close by. When you determined they weren’t, you took his face into your hands and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

“You don’t have to thank me for that, dumbass.” You pulled away, looking back at the movie as little children start to sing Christmas Time is Here. “Just don’t bitch for the rest of the day.”

He snorted. “I’ll try my best.”

And he did. The four of you watched the movie, and after that, you and Angus went back up to the infirmary and spent the rest of the afternoon reading. Definitely not kissing at all; for sure not.

When you weren’t reading, you were either talking about stupid shit-.

“I thought I heard somewhere that plants can feel pain, do you think that’s true?” You asked, looking up at him while you laid at the end of his bed, your feet by his head.

“…I just want to thank you for letting me peek inside your mind and to see how weird it is.”

Or, surprisingly emotional conversations.

Angus nodded as he laid on the bed, you at his side. “Yeah, I mean…I had a good childhood, it just felt…weird sometimes.”

“I get it.” You rested your head on his shoulder as you both stared at the ceiling.

Still, it was perhaps the longest and most intimate interaction you ever had with a person up until then. How strange it was with a boy you hated only days ago.

Hours later, Mary called you both down for supper (luckily what was reheated from the previous night), and despite there only being four of you, you felt less lonely than when you had at the party. You sat beside Mary, not minding when the smoke of her cigarette tickled your nose.

“Thank you Mary,” your father smiled at her once he was finished. “that was just lovely.”

“Oh, is that an actual compliment?” You never heard Mary sound so surprised. He sighed heavily, and you didn’t bother holding back your laughter.

Angus set down his silverware. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a real family Christmas like this. Christmas dinner, I mean, family style, out of the oven, all the trimmings. My mom always just orders in from Delmonico’s.”

Mary nodded. “She’s got the right idea. Next year, I’m ordering from Delmonico’s.”

“Anyway, thank you, Mary.”

She winked at him, then turned to you. “Well? You got something to say?”

You squinted your eyes mid-chew. After swallowing, you replied with. “The meat’s a bit raw, don’t you think?”

“Oh, none of that today!” She scolded you as everyone else giggled. “Ungrateful child on Christmas.”

“It’s great, Mary.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Your father rose a glass. “I’d like to propose a toast. To my two unlikely companions on this snowy island, to my lovely daughter, and to our absent friends and family.” There was a pause much obviously for your mother and Curtis as if they were at the table with you. “I realize that none of us is here because he or she wants to be, so if there’s anything I can do to make the holidays a little cheerier for any of you, just say the word.”

“Copenhagen.” You didn’t miss a beat.

“Try again next year, Josephine.”

Angus shrugged. “Boston.”

“Boston?” Your father wrinkled his nose. “Why?”

“Why not? I want a real Christmas. I want to go ice skating. I want to see a real Christmas tree with ornaments, not that stupid thing.”

That was what you couldn’t take (as a joke, obviously). “How dare you. You put some respect on that tree my father grew with his blood, sweat, tears, and other fluids.”

Whilst the adults groaned your name in disgust, Angus stared down at his plate, his body trembling with repressed laughter.

“You both said it was nice.” Your father reencountered.

“It is nice.” Mary defended.

Angus, after recovering from his amusement, continued. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Let’s have a real holiday.”

 Your father huffed. “We’re not going to Boston. It’s out of the question.”

“You just told the kids ‘anything’. So, if Copenhagen doesn’t work, then why not Boston?” Mary argued.

“Mary, we’re not allowed to leave campus or the immediate environs.”

Well, it was your moment to shine. Now, here’s the trick: Usually, the ‘puppy dog eyes’ only work on parents from the ages of birth to nine. Sometimes, but not in your case, it can go on longer into the early 30s (that is, if your parents are total pushovers, or you’re a master manipulator). So, what do you do instead? Well, if it’s with your father, you do this:

Glance at him one last time as if to make a final plea, but then act as if you already know the answer and look down as if you’re trying not to show your sadness. You cannot be angry at all, just sad and disappointed so that he can assume you’re judging all of his life choices that he had made previously to lead him to this.

…It’s not easy, but it certainly gets you what you want (…there was like a 76% success rate last time you calculated it).

“But,” your father sighed upon looking at you and Angus. “I suppose we could call it a field trip. A field trip would fall under the ambit of additional academic pursuits. There’s even a fund set aside for additional academic pursuits.”

Despite him looking annoyed, you had a feeling deep down, he wouldn’t mind getting out of Barton. Angus gleefully rose out of his chair.

“I’ll go pack!”

You knew you couldn’t chase after him excitedly, so instead, you focused on your father.

“Now wait a minute,” you scowled. “so you not only listened but also let him persuade you into having us go to Boston, but you didn’t even bother with Copenhagen? That’s really sexist of you.”

He sighed, exhaustedly saying your name. “You’re a smart girl, so you should know that there’s a difference between a ten-hour flight across the world, and a-!” Of course he stopped when he saw your shit eating grin. “…and you’re a smart girl because you played me like a fiddle.”

Grinning from ear to ear, you got up from your seat and wrapped your arms around him, kissing his cheek. “Thank you, papa!”

He waved you off with a smile as you gathered up your dishes and glass, then went into the kitchen and placing them in the sink. You dashed up the stairs to the infirmary, to which you were greeted by Angus’ arms entrapping you.

Laughing, you reciprocated. “Why’re you like this?”

“I’m just happy, is that so shocking?”

“Yes.”

He pulled away only to then cup your cheeks in his hands and bring your lips to his. You sigh into his mouth, kissing him back.

“Does it ever stop?” You asked between kisses.

“What?” He led you to lie on the bed.

“You kissing me all the time."

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Don’t you dare.” You meekly threatened, pulling him back down.

Neither of you started packing for another fifteen minutes; not until you heard your father’s footsteps in the hallway.

You surprised yourself by how well you slept that night. Usually, before an exciting day, you are restless. Yet, you actually jumped out of bed to get ready once your father came in to wake you up.

After a quick breakfast and an hour of waiting, the four of you were in the car on the way to Boston. A curse that you never thought possible is that you could not read in the car without throwing up; so, that forced Angus to read aloud (something that wasn’t a curse).

“‘That boy is a perfect Cyclops, isn’t he?’ said Amy.”

“That’s not what Amy sounds like.” You said matter of factly, laying almost flat in the backseat.

Angus sighed. “Well, she does today.”

“Mr. Tully,” your father looked in the rearview mirror. “is she implying that Amy usually sounds different?”

You grinned. “Yes I am.”

“Oh?” Mary arched her brow in interest.

“I’m not doing a voice.” Angus immediately retaliated.

Sighing dramatically, you stuck your bottom lip out. “Just this one line? Please?”

He stared at you as if you had him under a spell; either that, or your face was a monstrosity so terrible he couldn’t look away. It’s nice to think the first one. So, breathing heavily through his nose, he pitched his voice up.

“‘That boy ith a perfect thyclops, ithn’t he?’ said Amy.”

Needless to say, the car erupted into laughter.

You can’t quite remember what else was discussed between the four of you on that long drive. All you can recall is that you never once felt sorrow or pain from your mother’s absence. It was…lovely actually.

Soon, the car stopped outside Peggy Lamb’s triple decker apartment in Roxbury neighborhood. You hadn’t been there since you were thirteen for Thanksgiving. When, after your mother passed, Mary and Curtis invited both you and your father to dinner for the holiday. Then, just all of a sudden (much like Miss Crane’s Christmas parties), you stopped going.

“Here we are.” Mary announced.

“That’s an awful lot of stairs…” Your father trailed off.

“Probably icy too…”

Nope, not going to give your kissing buddy (what was Angus Tully to you? What were you to him?) a clue.

“Mr. Tully.”

“Right.” He nodded once he finally took the hint from your dad. He smiled. “Mary, can I help you with your bags?”

“Yes, please.” She smiled, and Angus got out of the car.

You leaned against Mary’s seat. “Mary, may I help you with your bags.”

“You may.”

You heard your father prod at just why you would want to go into the cold air and help Angus carry the bags but paid him no mind. You did though when it was Angus who asked.

“What’re you doing out here?” He popped the trunk.

“Mary asked me to help too.” You pulled out the large suitcase with all your strength. “She knew your noodle arms couldn’t handle it all.”

Scoffing, he took the hatbox and closed the trunk. “Seems like you’re handling it perfectly.”

“Of course, I am.” You did your best to hide the ache in your arms already forming as you led the way.

Mary, with her window rolled down, stopped you at the foot of the stairs. “Hey, why’s she carrying the suitcase?”

“She said she could handle it.” Angus replied.

“That’s not very gentlemanly of you.”

“Yeah, Angus.” You taunted as if him only carrying the box was his idea.

This was certainly not the first nor the last time you’d make his jaw drop from your wittiness. Sighing, he held out his hand for the suitcase, and you traded it for the hatbox.

“And be careful with the box,” Mary called your name. “Knowing you, you’ll drop it.”

You just stuck your tongue out playfully and continued up the stairs, Angus lugging the suitcase. “What do you think she packed in here, rocks?”

“I’d tell you, but you’d make a joke about how much women need to pack even though ‘We’re only here for a few days’.” You said in an accent that any man with low self-esteem would deem offensive.

He scoffed, stopping on the first floor. “Yeah, maybe.”

You tutted. “Ah, ah, ah, one more floor up.”

“What?”

“Peggy lives on the top floor.”

Angus sighed all the air that was left in his body before taking a deep breath. “I should’ve let you carry the damn bag.”

“But ya didn’t.” You smirked, leading him, once again, up the stairs.

When you both finally got to the top, you didn’t even need to knock on the door before Peggy and her husband came out to greet you.

“Oh, my goodness!” Peggy wrapped her arms around you once you set the box down. “It’s been too long.”

You laughed, hugging her back. “I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

She pulled away, but still holding your arms. “Never apologize, honey. And who’s this with you?”

Obviously, she was looking at the scraggly, 6’1 white boy behind you. Still, smiling, you introduced him.

“Angus; he goes to school at Barton and has been spending the holidays with us.”

“Aw,” Peggy shook his hand. “it’s nice to meet you.”

He nodded, grinning. “Nice to meet you too.”

“So,” she looked at you. “where’s that sister of mine?”

You tilted your head over ledge, and she and her husband walked over, waving and calling Mary’s name. Peggy turned back to you.

“Well, it’s been great seeing you again. If you ever need anything, you’re always welcome here.”

You nodded, smiling unwavering. “I’ll keep that in mind. Have a Happy New Year.”

She repeated the pleasantries and hugged you one final time before you and Angus started descending the stairs. When you passed by Mary, wishing her goodbye, she stopped you.

“Not yet, now you’ve gotta help me up there.”

“Oh yeah,” Angus offered her his arm. “sure thing.”

You resisted. “I already said hi to Peggy, am I excused?”

“I guess so.” She sighed as if you annoyed her.

Happy with her answer, you hugged her tightly and rushed into the front seat of the car, enjoying the warmth. In the corner of your eye, you saw your father arch his.

“You and Mr. Tully seem to be getting along finally.”

Glancing over, you nodded. “Yeah. He’s still a bit of an ass, but he’s not so bad.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“Time.” You shrugged, hoping your years of (somewhat) lying paid off. “I guess forcing us together for a week in the cold really helps.”

He hummed, turning back to look at the front as if there was anything eye-catching about the road. Thankfully, it didn’t take Angus that long to walk Mary up the stairs, and he was soon in the back of the car.

Your father drove into the city centre of Boston, and parked outside of the hotel you three would be staying at. Of course, you had a room all to yourself (although, you only had a single bed and not a twin, but you were happy nonetheless).

After twenty minutes of getting situated, the three of you went out to explore the city (a city the three of you had been to multiple times but was still just as beautiful as the first day you saw it). You went through more parks you could count, streets that almost all looked the same but still something unique about each of them; it was just nice enough to walk and talk with your companions.

“Alright,” your father lit his pipe after the three of you had lunch. “it’s about one-thirty right now, what’s one thing everyone want to do today?”

“I have two things.” You said.

“One for now, Josephine.”

“Brattle’s Books.”

“Very good, even though you already have too many. Mr. Tully, what about you?”

He shrugged. “Just ice skating, honestly.”

“Wow.” your father released his breath. “I must say, I am impressed with how simple both your suggestions are.”

“What do you wanna do?” You asked.

“The Museum of Fine Arts, of course.” He began walking. You and Angus sighed as if it was the worst convenience in the world. Your father defended. “Oh, quit your bellyaching, both of you! This is still technically a field trip. Okay, what’s the second thing you want to do?” He asked you.

“A milkshake and fries.”

“That’s it?” He wrinkled his nose. “That disgusting concoction, is it?”

“Yes, and it’s not disgusting, you’re just a picky eater.”

Angus chimed in. “It doesn’t sound that appealing.”

“Who asked you?” You questioned.

Your argument ended there as the three of you made the journey to Brattle’s Book Store. Just as you did in the car, you talked about nothing and everything at the same time; perhaps that’s why those little moments of transitioning matter the most to you.

When you made it to Brattle’s, you spent a little time inside the actual store, but more of it outside in the large empty space between the two buildings. It was like it was another floor on the old bookstore, several upon several shelves hugging the walls, and smaller ones creating aisles on the floor.

You primarily were by yourself, keeping a mental list of more books to buy for later, and lose yourself quickly in between the pages and old smell of them. You hadn’t even noticed it’d begun to snow until Angus was beside you.

“So, you’re telling me it couldn’t have snowed all the times we were indoors?” He joked.

You looked up. “Of course not, God’s angry at us.”

“Why?”

Smirking, you nudged him. “Kissing outside of wedlock.”

“The worst of all sins.” He played along.

“Above heresy, even.”

“Hi there handsome,” a woman’s voice penetrated the air. “got a cigarette?”

Neither of you wanted to turn around to see who she was talking to (or acknowledge her if she was talking to Angus). So, communicating with just one look, you stayed put.

“No, sorry. I smoke a pipe.”

Well, so much for staying still. At the sound of your father’s answer, both you and Angus turned slowly. A woman with red hair tied up in a messy bun wearing the ugliest shade of yellow and a raggedy fur coat graced your presence.

“How about a date, then?” She tried again. “You want a date?”

“No thank you.” He took the pipe out, smiling nervously.

“Oh, come on, let’s go somewhere warm!”

“Go ahead.” Angus teased. “We can wait here.”

Jaw on the floor, you couldn’t even say anything at first.

“See?” The woman stuck her hands in her pockets. “They can wait here, read some books. They don’t mind if daddy gets a little candy cane.”

“Thank you, but I never really liked candy canes.” Your father picked up a book. “Plus, I’m prediabetic.”

She scowled, and turned over her shoulder, leaving. Angus leaned over the bookshelf in between the two of you and your father.

“You know, if you do want a little candy cane, I won’t tell anyone.”

You swatted him, finally. “Stop trying to pimp out my father, you…you…”

“What?” He grinned from ear to ear. “What am I?”

“Papa, cover your ears.” You looked at him.

“Mister Tully,” he said instead. “for most people, sex is ninety-nine percent friction and one percent good-will. Call me old fashioned, but I place value on physical intimacy, and so should you two.”

“I never-!”

“-You know,” Angus interrupted. “if it wasn’t for your kid in front of me right now, I would’ve thought you never had sex.”

Again, you struck him; this time, enough to leave a bruise.

“Ow!” He cradled his arm.

“You know,” you used his words. “if it wasn’t for your mom sending you to private school, I would’ve thought you were a cheap, common whore.”

Instead of scolding you, your father laughed. It’s not as if he never did, it was always just...a rarity and almost a blessing to hear him be so carefree.

“Mr. Tully, cover my daughter’s ears, would you?”

Angus followed through and you let him.

“Believe it or not,” your father continued. “there was a time when the fire in my loins burned white hot.”

“You’re full of shit.” Angus snickered.

“No, the details would curl your toes.”

“Okay, then let’s hear.”

He shook his head. “Whatever happened between my wife and I is none of your business; especially our daughter’s.”

“She can’t hear anything.”

“Yes, I can.”

His hands left your ears, leading both men to laugh. Nothing more was (thankfully) said about your father and mother’s sex life. It was after another ten minutes outside when your father announced it was time to go; not before having to use the bookstore’s bathroom. So, that left you and Agnus by yourselves for the first time since arriving.

“You’re horrible.” You playfully kicked his feet.

“You hit me!”

“You deserved it. God, you’re such a man.”

He didn’t respond verbally. Instead, with a smile, he reached into his coat pocket and brought something out. In his hands, he held a somewhat worn copy of The Little Prince, and two different colored ribbons.

Freezing where you stood, you could only stare at them. “What’s this?”

“Merry Christmas.”

Looking up at him, your parted lips couldn’t form words to express just the…surprise of it all. So, Angus continued.

“I bought it; the book at least. I found it inside, asked your dad for the money so I could get it for you, and that was it. The-the ribbons, I got one that was your favorite color, but then I remembered my mom would talk about how there’s some colors that look better in a girl’s hair, so I got one I thought-.”

You threw your arms around Angus and held him so close to you people would think you were using him for warmth. He froze at first before immediately melting into your embrace. You brought his face down to yours, kissing the tip of his nose before pulling away and taking the gifts into your hands.

“Holy shit…you’re too sweet.” You giggled, flipping through the book.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “So, you like it?”

“I love it, you idiot.”

“And if you find the book at your house when you go back-.”

“-I’ll keep this one too.” you cut him off. “You’re thoughtful, you know that?”

Angus stuck his hands in his pockets, kicking the snow at his feet. “It’s nothing.”

“Fuck you, it’s everything.”

“Well,” he shrugged, smiling. “since you said it so eloquently.”

You rolled your eyes with a playful grin, then held up the colored ribbon he deemed (and was correct about) would look good in your hair. “Can you put this one on, please?”

“Uh, yeah,” he cleared his throat. “sure.”

You handed it to him, turning around. It wasn’t the first time he put his hands in your hair, but this time, with your back to him, it felt strange. Strange in a good way, but perhaps there wasn’t anything sensual about it, it felt that way.

And it was nice.

The feeling of it anyway; other than that, he had no idea what he was doing.

“What do you want it as?” He asked.

“Half-up, half-down.” You took a hair tie off your wrist, holding it our for him.

“What?”

“Like, instead of an actual ponytail, just make the top of my hair one, and leave the rest down.”

You didn’t even have to look at this man to know there was nothing going on inside his head trying to figure out what the hell you just said.

Thankfully, your father came out of the store.

“And what’s going on here?”

Angus looked over his shoulder. “I uh…”

“Step aside please, Mr. Tully.”

He did, and your father snatched the hair tie you were holding. “Half-up, half-down?”

“Yes, please.” You nodded.

“Do you know how to braid hair, Angus?” He asked, tying the hair tie around the ponytail he made.

“No.”

He hummed disapprovingly, sliding the ribbon into the hair tie and beginning to make a bow. “You should; it’s quite an important skill for a man.”