Before His Last Mission.

Before his last mission.

–Kingsman & Instagram

(thank you very much to @leggsyunwin and @unwinthehart for your lovely help~~ :) )

trying to seductively get on my knees for you but my knees crack so loud it echoes and i’m stuck there for five minutes

Perci wants his money back

No bigger updates for now because I'm in the hospital 😶‍🌫️

Nothing big (I hope) but 2 days of hospital room boredom 😩

My asks are open for anything funny or for headcanon blurts. (Doesn't really matter which fandom or pairing)

Stay safe and healthy guys ✨️

Lil Pete to make your day a better one:

Though Lovers Be Lost - Part 4

Alistair looked around numbly, unsure what to do with himself now he was home. Usually he'd come through the front door, strip off his coat and jacket, then he'd text his partner to get a rough idea when he'd be home, before saddling into the kitchen to start dinner. He would usually be in the process of washing up when he'd hear the front door. Usually James would walk in, whistling some tune or other, dump his coat and jacket on the bannister, then come in and snake his arms around Alistair's waist and press a kiss to his neck. 

He wouldn't be doing that tonight. Or ever again. 

The front door fell closed behind him and Alistair just stood there, staring at the small dark hallway, tears burning his eyes. It was almost like walking through a dream, except it was actually a nightmare. 

Dropping his keys into the small dish James had picked up from a car boot sale ten years ago while visiting his brother in Yorkshire, Alistair let out a shaky breath and shuffled along in the direction of the living room. 

He'd have to tell James's family he realised as he dragged himself through the dark. He'd have to sit in their living room and feed them whatever bullshit cover story Merlin had come up with, and pretend everything was fine. That his world wasn't falling apart alongside theirs. 

He'd only met them a couple of times, and it was always in the guise of being James' friend. His brother knew the truth, Alistair thought, but James had always said his parents wouldn't understand. That they were old fashioned. Alistair hadn't really minded, because they had their life in London. 

He minded now through, as he conjured the future conversation in his mind. Part of him was tempted to send Merlin or someone else to deliver the news, but he knew deep down he'd never forgive himself if he did that. James had always said he wanted him to do it, when the day came. 

A lump formed in Alistair's throat and he crumpled onto the couch, proud that his legs held him up long enough to get there. Once seated, he dropped his head into his hands and let the pain rip through him. Tearing out of him in agonising sobs.

When he finally raised his head, it was to find a set of brown eyes looking up at him, and he swallowed frantically against the lump. The old German Shepherd took a step forward and set her head in his lap, obviously sensing something was wrong. 

Reaching out, Alistair combed his fingers through the dog's coarse fur, sighing. “He's gone, Cher.” He whispered, voice breaking. “It's just us now.” The tears started again, the 

dog whining out her own heartbreak.

They remained like that for a while, wallowing in their grief until the doorbell echoed loud and sharp through the flat. Cher leapt to her feet and hurried to the door, clearly hoping for a miracle, while Alistair remained where he was, intent on ignoring whoever it was. 

The bell rang again, and again. By the third time, Alistair knew whoever it was wasn't going to leave. So, with a weary sigh, he got to his feet and dragged himself out to the door. 

He didn't bother checking the security camera, or palming his weapon. If someone was there to murder him, they could fucking have at it. 

Yanking the door open, he groaned, a wave of frustrated anger rising up inside him. “Fuck off.” He spat and attempted to slam the door closed. Only Harry was having none of it, and pushed back against the door.

“I brought scotch, care of Merlin.”

Alistair reached for the bottle, snatching it from Harry's grip. “Tell him thank you.”

“Al, come on. You shouldn't be alone right now.”

Alistair sighed. He knew he was being unfair. It wasn't Harry's fault James had fucked off and gotten himself killed, but he couldn't douse the anger. “Please Harry, just…”

“No.” He said firmly, “You know the rule.”

Alistair stared at the other man, the anger slowly seeping away. That damn rule. The stupid agreement they’d made almost two decades ago. With a resigned sigh, Harry turned on his heels and headed back into the living room. Leaving Harry to close the door. 

He grabbed two glasses from the drinks cabinet and dropped back down on the sofa while Harry made himself comfortable on the armchair. He poured them both triples and shoved the glass at Harry. Lifting his own, he slumped back into the cushions and took a large gulp. 

They sat in silence for almost ten minutes before Alistair’s rough voice cut through. “It's all your fault, you know.” He said with a thick layer of anger. 

“Excuse me?”

“That he's dead. It's your fault.”

Harry frowned, “How do you figure that?”

“You know he's been trying to outdo you for years.”

Harry's sigh proved he was very aware of James's jealousy. “That's hardly my fault.” Harry muttered dismissively. 

Alistair huffed, “You could fuck up once in a while.”

Harry stared at him, brow arched. “Merlin would say I've fucked up plenty of times over the years.”

With another huff, Alistair dropped his gaze to Cher, who'd climbed up next to him on the sofa. Usually, he'd order her off, but he couldn't care less about the state of his furniture tonight. 

“Do you have an idea for his replacement?” Alistair asked, eyes fixed on the dog. 

“Not really.” Harry replied quietly, “Merlin gave me a pile of suitable candidates, but…”

“But none of them meet your high standards.” Alistair scoffed with a hint of irrational bitterness. 

Harry frowned at the tone, “Exactly.” he took a long sip of his drink, eyes never leaving Alistair. “What about you?”

Alistair let out a long slow sigh, “I promised to put Roxy forward if ever there was an opening, but…” He swallowed the lump building in his throat, “I'm not sure I can.”

“I understand.” Harry muttered, “But putting her forward doesn't mean she'll get through.”

Alistair raised a brow, “She'll make it.” He said with conviction. “She’s been training for this since she was a teenager.”

Harry raised a brow, “How much does she know, exactly?”

“Just that I work special operations. She thinks it's a branch of Military Intelligence.” 

“Does she know about James yet?” Harry asked gently.

Shaking his head, Alistair stared at his glass. “She's going to be heartbroken. I think she loved him more than I did.” His voice broke on the last few words. 

“So, there's a chance she won't want the job,”

Sighing, Alistair shook his head, “I wish that were true. - God sake, can we stop talking about work and just get drunk. Please.”

Harry smiled, leaning forward with his glass outstretched, “By all means.”

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