#comets the kind of guy who wants affection but runs away when its offered

[faefrosting]

Woes is me, lover of fish

Suggestive warning :] oc x cannon

(Just after an interesting kiss)

It's just a wip and noncannon to the comic I'm working on (or is it?) (Yes it is, but maybe not?)

Nothing like making fun of the person you just kissed without warning, whose never had such close touch before

Comet's brain chemistry has been forever changed from this event

[ironmandeficiency]

dropped hints never picked up

pairing: wolffe / reader

word count: 2203

summary: wolffe’s been trying to catch your attention for a while now, but you’re more oblivious than he thought you’d be. this is the last time wolffe goes to boost for advice.

req: Wolffe x reader, #15 from the prompt list?

“Hi, I’ve been subtle at hinting that I want your attention all day and you haven’t noticed once and now I’m pissed.”

a/n: i had two ppl request this prompt for wolffe and it made it all the more important to perfect this piece. i changed a couple of words but the meaning is still the same so 🤷🏻‍♀️ no beta, just me on my bullshit

79’s was crowded as always, the music loud and the smell of booze permeating the air. it was comforting when paired with the company of the wolfpack, the battalion you worked under as a medic serving as both pleasant company and a deterrent for unwanted visitors. wolffe had a hand resting on your knee, the commander occasionally giving it a soft squeeze throughout the night.

three nights prior, wolffe found himself sitting on boost’s bunk, head in his hands. for weeks he’d been grappling with the emotions running rampant through his body like a raging blurrg. they were emotions he never wanted to feel, ones he’d been trying to repress to no avail.

boost, oddly enough, seemed to know exactly why wolffe was waiting on him before the commander had even opened his mouth. wolffe wanted to make a move and boost was going to be the one to help him. he advised wolffe on ways to be subtle but still show more affection than normal, things like extra physical contact and some offhand but sweet compliments to kinda nudge things along.

it made sense to him; you weren’t one for big showy signs of affection and he wasn’t a showy kind of guy. you had a way of knowing what he wanted to say when he wasn’t in the mood to speak, seeming to pick up on his moods with a familiarity he didn’t expect to share with someone outside of his brothers or even general buir. there were times where you both would complete each other’s sentences (it was disgustingly cute in the eyes of the rest of the ‘pack) and the blood would rush to your cheeks, wolffe immediately turning away to hide his own blush.

right now you were sandwiched between wolffe and boost, the former on the outside of the booth claimed upon arrival. drinks were passed around by comet who knew how you enjoyed your fruity cocktails with the twisty straws and umbrellas and did not fail in bringing one your way. you thanked him with a smile as you took a small sip, savoring the taste of your drink as well as wolffe’s hand on your knee.

he’d gotten quite a bit more affectionate lately and seemed to be touch starved, so you didn’t comment on the uptick in contact (you didn’t want him to think you weren’t okay with it because you were plenty okay with it) as you let yourself revel in his warmth.

“wolffe, do you wanna try?” you hold your drink towards him with a soft smile. he’d confided in you several days ago that he had a sweet tooth to rival a small child and comet did bring you one of the sweeter cocktails offered at the bar.

your hands brush lightly as he takes the drink from your outstretched hand. he briefly smells the concoction before taking a sip, and judging by the soft smile on his lips he liked the pineapple mango-rita. “not bad, cyare,” he gingerly hands you back your drink, hands once again making brief contact.

“if you like that one, i think you’d also like the nubian smile. it’s a favorite of mine.”

“i’ll have to try it some time.”

then warthog mentions wolffe’s name in whatever story he’s begun and the moment’s broken.

conversation flowed as freely as the bar’s beer tap. you sipped lightly at your single drink and listened more than you spoke. there were several stories shared that you hadn’t heard before, like how sinker got his name and the time boost tried to prank commander cody, that had you laughing uncontrollably and leaning closer to wolffe’s side. he responded in kind and soon moved his hand from your knee and wrapped it around your shoulder, subconsciously pulling you into him. it was more relaxing than you would like to admit.

wildfire had finished ratting out boost for sneaking bubble wrap into dozens of bedrolls when you went to sip your drink and got surprised when the pineapple wedge bonked you on the nose instead.

your face scrunched at the prickly skin of the fruit and wolffe thought it was the cutest face he’d ever seen. the offending fruit wedge was then plucked from the rim and glared at for a brief moment as if it could feel shame for its actions.

the plan was to eat it as punishment for its crimes but wolffe had other plans, playfully snatching it from you and taking a chunk out for himself. he was smug about it, eyes holding yours captive in a “what’re you gonna do about it?” look while his mouth twisted into a playful grin.

“hey, that was mine!”

“gotta be quicker than that, dear,” he replied as he took another bite before sliding it back onto its previous perch.

everyone else at the booth was about to vomit but it wouldn’t be from the booze.

————

you were glued to wolffe’s side the rest of the night at the bar and on the way back to the barracks. neither of you had enough to drink to completely explain the constant small smiles and excessive contact, but you didn’t care. wolffe was here and might as well have been holding you and you were living for it.

he had asked to walk you to your quarters with a gentle hand in yours, thumb smoothing across your knuckles tenderly. you were so absorbed in the skin to skin contact that you could only nod in consent.

the walk there was filled with small talk and nervous touches, both of you leaning into each other without realizing that’s what you were doing. before you knew it, you were in front of your door. neither of you acknowledged the arrival until wolffe grabbed your hand in both of his, tightening his hold briefly.

“sleep well, cyare. i’ll see you tomorrow.” his voice was soft and rumbly, attesting to the late hour and the evening spent drinking.

“see you in the morning, wolffe, goodnight.”

he lifted your hand still grasped in his toward him, placing a feather-light kiss to your palm. it was the gentlest thing you’ve ever seen him do and the fact it was with you sent warmth through your veins. his eyes were locked onto yours as he placed the kiss, keeping you in place.

you were desperate to give something, to reciprocate the tender way he touched you, but he was already leaving you in front of your now-open door for the night. when did your door open? and since when was wolffe so soft towards you?

————

the goodnight kiss wasn’t acknowledged aloud after that but you both thought about it constantly. you had no idea where it came from yet your entire being seemed to yearn for him to do it again when in his presence.

since then he became more open with his affection, even holding your hand in front of his brothers (that would tease a tiny bit before being shut down with a glare that dared them to question his happiness). you responded in kind, holding his hand right back and always finding a way to him after long nights when you were all sent to one planet or another. it was pure bliss and you weren’t going to question it.

but then, while planetside somewhere in the mid-rim, he seemed to not have anything to do besides trail you in your work.

the morning (very early morning) began like many of them had started to since the night at 79’s, you cradled by wolffe’s arms where he clung to you in your sleep as if to keep you from flying away. a fellow medic seemed timid to wake you once they noticed whose arms were keeping you down, the newer woman repeating flustered apologies for the interruption as if it weren’t your job to be woken up like this.

from that moment on through the rest of day, you didn’t spend more than a minute with wolffe at a time. not for his lack of trying.

he would appear seemingly out of nowhere every couple hours or so while you were bandaging one wound or cleaning another, words precise but tone gentle.

“hey cyare, the locals invited several of us for lunch to celebrate our arrival. wondered if you wanted to come with me.”

“you’ve been on your feet for hours, come have a seat for a minute.”

“sinker was playing a game with some of the kids, you shoulda seen his face when they beat him.”

turning the invitation down hurt more than it should have, but you had too many wounded and too few hands to help you with the workload. there was nothing in you that could justify going to a dinner prepared by the people you were here to serve.

a few hours later, he brought a plate back for you so you didn’t completely miss out on eating something that wasn’t rations. it took some convincing but he was able to sit you down and get you to take a moment for yourself to eat. while you ate, he gravitated around the medtent and offered his services where he could to alleviate the guilt he knew you felt for sitting. it was touching to see him talk to the various patients so gently, the children having not an ounce of worry about the giant, strong soldier.

with more effort than you thought it would take on your end (because part of you simply didn’t want to), the commander was shooed out of the tent so you could continue to work.

a couple hours later wolffe showed up again, telling you about a beautiful view one of the scouts found while on patrol that he wanted to show you. the flowers he described were vibrant in color and scent, decorating the landscape with hues previously unknown to many of his men. he wanted to show it to you, help you relax because you had indeed been on your feet nearly the entire day.

when you turned him down yet again, his eyebrows furrowed together and he looked upset. it was a reaction you were not expecting by any means. the other times you didn’t accept his invitations he simply tucked you under his arm briefly and pressed a kiss to your temple. this change in mood was unsettling.

“wolffe, what’s wrong? talk to me.” it worried you to see him distraught, the reason unknown. approaching him slowly, you rested a hand on his shoulder that he quickly moved away, choosing instead to grip it in his a bit tighter than usual.

he took a deep breath to steady himself before answering you, trying to dispel the anger and hurt to avoid making you feel guilty. it didn’t work as well as he wanted it to because his voice was gruff when he answered. “i just-“ he took another breath to steady himself. “gods, y/n, i’ve been subtly hinting that i want your attention all day and you haven’t noticed once and i’m pissed.”

that’s what he’d been trying to do? it made so much sense now! how did you miss it?

your other hand met his that still held you, smoothing over the skin on the top of his hand in consolation. “wolffe, i’m sorry. i just got so wrapped up in work today that everything else just passed right over my head.” you felt guilty. he was only trying to help you and spend time with you and there you were just turning him down!

“and that’s why i kept trying, cyare. you work so hard and while i admire it, i would much rather you spend time with me than the bacta patches.” the smile returned to his face at your ministrations but his eyebrows didn’t soften.

something was clearly confusing him but questioning him before he had his thoughts in order would do nothing to help. so you stood with him and continued to hold his hands as he thought, hoping that whatever he was thinking about wouldn’t hurt him when fully realized.

“do you… want to spend time with me?”

you were shocked. how did he not realize that every time you didn’t go with him today you lost a little pep in your step? each time he came in, your resolve weakened and if he had pushed just a tiny bit more to get you to come with him, you would have given in. you explain this to him with a soft smile.

“i’m sorry for pushing you away today, wolffe. i’d love to go with you.”

the smile that lit up wolffe’s face could have powered the entire planet of coruscant with its radiance. “i’d love to take you, cyare.” you let the commander guide you out of the medtent and towards the promised landscape, too wrapped up in each other to notice the sergeant and lieutenant watching them.

“about damn time! shit, why did it take so long?!”

“shut up, sinker! they were trying to take it slow, be subtle about it!”

“whose dumbass idea was that?”

a pause. “mine.”

“okay, it wasn’t that dumb.”

“thank you.”

“i’m kidding, it was extremely dumb.”

[beholdme]

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 16

Chapters: 16/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15]

Right in the middle of mild renovations, and Martin moving into the loft, Gerry has a showcase sneak up on him.

They're in the very chaotic process of turning three lives into one and it's unfortunate timing, but he's willing to cope to have his partners close at hand.

Jon is also in the process of moving in, but more slowly, having kept his flat for an extra month, hoping to ease the chaos. Two cats and several duplicate pieces of furniture clutter the space, and everything is just a bit out of sorts.

Gerry's showcases are an odd thing. As an anonymous artist, working under a pseudonym, he doesn't technically have to go to his shows, but Gertrude likes for him to be around, and she tells everyone he's one of her assistants so he can attend without a fuss. No one ever takes any notice and he gets to watch people react to his paintings with absolutely no idea that he's present. It's an odd feeling that often leaves him disquiet, but he never regrets going. As an artist, there's nothing better than seeing your art on display, with just the right environment and just the right lighting.

This time, he also has a bit of a plan brewing.

Feeling truly rooted in the foundations of their relationship after more than a year, Gerry presents Jon and Martin with very fancy, formal invitations, complete with a bow and a suggestive wink.

“Will you be my companions for the evening, gentlemen?” Gerry seems to be doing a very pompous impression of Elias, which sends Jon into instant hysterics.

While he’s distracted, Martin pulls Gerry close and they swing around the room, mimicking some kind of waltz, before bashing into a table and then a couch. They cut their losses and simply kiss breathlessly in the middle of the laughter.

"So," Gerry asks them when they've all settled down and gone back to trying to install the new storage cabinets. "What do you think? Want to be my plus two?"

Jon laughs sweetly from nearby, a screwdriver in hand. "I think I can speak for both of us when I say that we wouldn't miss it for anything."

***

There's a fair amount of chaos as the day approaches, Gerry trying to complete and send off several final pieces while Martin and Jon frantically search for their formal wear in the boxes that currently pass for their wardrobes.

Eventually giving up on trying to organize the walk-in closet to accommodate all three of them, Gerry and Tim drag both Jon and Martin's armoires up the stairs and they all unpack their clothes in their own wardrobes.

This is a rather tumultuous activity, which somehow ends with Tim shirtless and Gerry wearing a bright teal and pink Hawaiian shirt, open over a black lace bralette. No one even tries to guess where the bralette comes from, but Gerry decides he likes it, and Jon eyes him approvingly.

"You should wear that to the opening, Gerry," Martin suggests provocatively from nearby. "Give your own art some competition."

Gerry smirks at him. "I think you should come over here and say that to my face."

"Oh God, can I watch?" Tim asks a hopeful excitement not quite masked by the humour.

Jon manages to sneak a sweet candid of Gerry and Martin laughing with Tim, all looking like they showed up to different parties. Overcome to see his two partners and his best friend all so happy together, Jon decides it might be his favourite thing ever.

***

In the end, their suits are unearthed, wrinkled but intact. They send them off to be dry cleaned right in the nick of time.

The night before his event, in a pique of creative mania, Gerry dyes his hair alone at 3 A.M. Martin and Jon wake up to find his hair a slightly blotchy silver-grey, which they both coo over lustily.

Jon gently helps him even it out, and by the time his hair is clean and dry again, he looks striking and angular. In his dark blue trousers and well-fitted waistcoat, eyeliner and piercings in place, he looks downright picturesque himself- a work of art who also happens to create works of art.

Jon has a favourite black suit with a very faint pinstripe pattern, which he wears with a green waistcoat and matching green tie, to compliment his mossy eyes. His white shirt contrasts pleasantly against his tawny skin and even he agrees that he looks rather handsome.

Martin owns exactly one suit- it's a light grey colour just a little too cool to flatter his summery skin tone, and it doesn't fit quite right through the shoulders, if he's being honest. Gerry gently encourages him to wear his trousers and crisp white shirt with a warm maroon sweater. It's soft cashmere, made even softer (according to Martin's poetic side) by the fact that his lover's gave it to him for Christmas. Gerry's artist eye managed to pick out precisely the right shade to compliment his warm brown eyes and pink hair, and the ensemble leaves him looking quite lovely.

He eyes his bow ties indecisively, and Jon wanders over and hands him a dark blue-grey one with tiny white dots. He even ties it for Martin, and he offers a sweet kiss in exchange.

“You look splendid,” Jon remarks, pulling Martin carefully towards him by the elbows before pressing their lips together chastely. They kiss for several moments, lips dragging together pleasantly. Jon runs his hands down Martin’s forearms to tangle their fingers together, where they fit together snuggly.

Martin sighs as they part, all outfit uncertainty having fled. “What was that for?”

“I just couldn’t help myself.” Jon chuckles, grinning. “I see a stunning man, I have to kiss him.”

“So it’s not because my dotty bow tie fills you with incandescent joy?” Martin presses their foreheads together, simply basking in Jon’s presence.

“Everything about you fills us with incandescent joy,” Jon whispers to him. “Especially the way you can make the perfect cup of tea."

“And,” Gerry adds, coming up to place a hand at the small of Martin’s back. “The way that you can remember the love story from every book you’ve ever read.”

“I-” Martin laughs sweetly at them, blushing fiercely. “You guys.’’

They all stand together for a moment, each looking spectacular in their own ways, soft looks on their faces. Gerry vaguely wishes this was the whole day, that he could just stand here with his lovers and convince Martin that he is the most perfect man on earth. He wishes he could just tease Jon until he snaps and tries to tickle Gerry to death, and they would end up all rolling around the floor, ignoring the many extra pieces of furniture currently occupying the flat.

Gerry wishes for these soft and special moments and knows that there will be a million more of them as time goes on and that the moment coming will (hopefully) be perfect in its own way.

They each share a kiss with the others, then they grab their things and make their way downstairs, excited and jubilant, all laughter and easy affection. They pile into a cab together and Gerry tells them stories of past showcases, full of ridiculous moments and strange pride at his impossible artistic success.

The second they arrive, Gerry is summoned away and with a wink and a grin, he’s gone. Martin and Jon exchange a smile, joining hands and moving through the gentle crowd. There are plenty of people in attendance already, but the sorts of people who go to galleries are the quiet sort, and there isn’t a lot of boisterous energy flying about.

They wander around, finding many paintings which they have seen Gerry working on over the last year, and unsurprisingly, several they’ve never caught a glimpse of.

Sometimes Gerry will work on a painting for weeks and then keep it around for months, looking at it every day, and then other times he'll paint an entire piece in 18 hours, decide he never wants to see it again and send it straight to Gertrude for safekeeping.

It’s all a part of his creative rhythms, and they’ve long since grown accustomed to it.

The gallery itself is a series of thin rooms, with a bench down the middle for extended viewings. Each is filled with four paintings, even if they are wildly different sizes. They seem to be arranged by vague categories, but Jon and Martin are amused to see that a 3D piece made mostly out of torn book pages and painted to appear aflame is hung across from an oil painting of a colony of seals swimming across a galaxy in the night sky.

Gerry reappears at intervals, whispering secrets to them as they consider one piece or another. At the painting of a siren singing longingly to a falling comet, Gerry whispers something into Martin's ear which makes him smirk in a way that fills Jon with burning curiosity. Instead of sharing with him as well, Gerry pecks him on the cheek and then dashes off at the behest of a harassed looking assistant of Gertrude’s.

“What did he say?” Jon implores Martin softly after he’s gone again.

“Apparently he was thinking of us in a very specific way while he painted that one.” Martin is still grinning smugly.

“Ah,” Jon says, nodding. “Naked?”

“Very naked.”

“You know, I rather imagined that was what he was always thinking of while he painted.” Jon confesses.

“Really? That’s a lot of imagined nudity.” Martin whispers, threatening to spill over with laughter.

“Well-” Jon bristles slightly. “We’re very nice to look at naked, like- like muses!” He finishes triumphantly.

“A point well made, love.” Martin concedes.

He drags Martin to the next room after that, and they find it to be the final part of the exhibit.

There are only two paintings here, a matched pair of the same size, sitting on the end wall side by side. They’re another two neither of them has ever seen before, and Jon draws Martin to sit on the bench and simply absorb the art together. Their hands are twined, and they feel rather overwhelmed with unspeakable emotion.

There are a pair of matching sold signs beneath them, bold and unmissable.

Gerry finds them sitting there, and he sits himself on the other side of Martin, gently taking his other hand.

“Oh, Gerry.” Martin eventually whispers, awe-struck.

“Do you like them?” Gerry squeezes his hand, and Jon reaches over Martin to tangle his fingers in the pile. It’s messy, just the way they all like it.

“Very, very much,” Martin affirms.

“Gerry, they’re spectacular.” Jon offers his appreciation. “How did you get them done without us ever seeing them? They’re huge.”

“I finished them months ago, before we spent so many nights all together, then I kept them in the storerooms before I shipped them off to Gertrude,” Gerry explains. “I wanted you to see them here, like this, for the first time.”

“Why?” Martin asks, voice full of warm curiosity.

“It's the way you each make me feel, and I wanted you both to have this moment, to see them displayed to their best potential,” Gerry whispers to them, the space feeling sacred and private, despite the people wandering the gallery around them. "It seemed more poignant than simply saying 'I love you,' back in the days before we said those words so easily."

"I can't imagine being filled with so much talent that I could just…" Jon begins, voice laden with unexpected emotional fragility.

Martin continues for him, "Paint the way you love someone?"

They don't notice, but Gerry actually blushes, hot embarrassment and pleasure filling him in equal parts. His voice is smooth and clear, mercifully, as he starts his explanation.

“Martin, yours is that moment of dawn breaking, out somewhere that there are no other people. Maybe you feel alone, but you never feel lonely, because the sun is rising and it reminds you that the world always moves at its own rhythm. Like sometimes I haven't seen you in a while but I walk into the bookstore or you come through the door, and your smile fills my heart, as steady and unchanging as the rise and fall of the sun in the sky.”

The painting in question rather does convey that feeling, a foggy moor stretching towards a tree-lined horizon, dawn breaking and bringing light and warmth to the cool edges of the space. Darkness sits in the corners, but it only serves to enhance the light, drawing the eye towards the sweet sunrise.

Gerry continues, this time focusing on the darker painting, an intricate stained glass window refracting down, colourful light filling a room with books stacked haphazardly everywhere. “Jon, yours represents what it’s like to try navigating our relationship together. The books are not sorted or organized and they can be tricky to understand, but the comfort and ease of that familiarity can still fill me with peace in the most unexpected moments. The light is colourful and ever-changing, both a familiarity and yet always shifting to suit our moods and seasons together.”

"Constant, but never the same," Jon whispers in return, and Gerry is pleased to hear he knows the feeling.

They simply sit with each other a moment, the sheer scope of their emotions filling them up with warmth and a sort of profound understanding that just doesn’t come from simple words. It’s a gesture as wild and unexpected as Gerry himself, and Jon and Martin bask in it.

“They're breathtaking, love.” Martin declares, turning to him. “It's a pity they're sold. I suppose we couldn't afford them anyway, but I wish I could buy them.”

Gerry grins, pleased. “They were never for sale. They're only here to be displayed. They're gifts. I was hoping- that is, I hope you and Jon will accept them. I painted them to go in your studies in the loft.”

“They're for us?” Jon murmurs incredulously.

“Yes, as a way for me to express just how much I adore you both,” Gerry confirms, giggling a bit at his own words. “How could I pour so much love into paintings, and let them live with anyone else?”

“I’m glad you couldn’t because I love them so much,” Martin tells him earnestly.

“I feel the same,” Jon adds, voice gentle.

“They’re- They’re the best things I've ever made. I’m so glad you like them.” Gerry whispers, surprised to find himself overcome with a hot swell of emotion.

They continue to sit together, hands tangled, lives knit together. Hope and certainty, two emotions none of them have ever been allowed to indulge in, blanket around them, cementing this moment forever.