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writefightandflightclub · 2 months

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Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Four (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Genre: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. Please note this series is 18+. Minors or ageless blogs interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list).

Author’s note: Ooh I really hope you enjoy this one! As always, I would be super grateful for any comments / reblogs / asks you may wish to send my way. I so love to hear your feedback and chat more about this story! ILY :-*

Word count: 5.3k for this part.

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

The rest of the evening passes in much the same way as the rest. You rejoin the group out front, Benny injecting some much needed fresh energy into the pack. He regales you all with tales of his most recent fights, delivers excruciating detail about his latest training regimen, and proudly shows off pictures of his new puppy.

“Why am I looking at a picture of you, Miller,” Frankie jests as he holds up the screen to reveal an adorable golden retriever.

If anyone notices that Santiago seems quieter than he had earlier in the night, they don’t say it. If they realise that you are engaging in very purposeful, overblown interest in Benny’s chat, it doesn’t get called out. There are a few exchanges between the two of you and Santiago that simulate old patterns. Lend weight to the pretence that things could even return to normal between you and him, given a little more time.

Still, every time your eyes glance off of one another there is this intolerable heat, and you find you still can’t meet it head on. At times, your gaze is dropped hastily into the sand. At times, your eyes needle Frankie pointedly so that he might come to your aid, even if he does simply shrug and clasp the neck of his bottle a little more tightly.

You know Santiago. And in a sense, contradictory as it may be, the hardest thing is how easy it would be to fall into your old patterns. Eventually, you begin to wonder if this tension and this awkwardness -this disconnect – is simply manufactured, in a way. Your heart’s tactic to keep him at arm’s length. A defence mechanism, because you ran away from a whole continent and yet you still fear ending up right back where you started if you can’t extricate yourself from him.

At some stage, you tire of the beer-addled chat, and especially of Tom. Even more so of the effort of trying to make everything feel normal, whilst at the same time fearing what might happen if you could actually achieve that. What it would mean. You announce to the group that you’re going to take a long soak in the tub, and you head upstairs to the main bathroom, languishing in the sweet-scented bubbles, and attempting to wash the burdens of the day from your body, along with the gathered sweat and sand and smoke. Of course, you seem entirely unable to scrub this urge humming beneath your skin.

When you eventually emerge there is a hush over the house, a cocooning darkness in the hallways – and you realise that at least some of the group must have retired to bed already. You’re tired, sure; but you’re still a little buzzed and not sure that you could sleep yet. You certainly don’t like the thought of staring at the ceiling, thinking about who might be lying awake too on the other side of your wall.

“Hey. Cat. Everyone gone to bed?” you ask Frankie softly as you see him round the stairs to the landing in his socked feet, his footsteps purposefully softened.

“Yeah, chiquita.”

“Already? Such old men,” you snicker gently. “What the hell happened?”

Frankie’s subdued throaty chuckle cuts pleasantly through the dark. “It was a long drive,” he defends playfully; then, his tone shifts, an injection of caution evident. It puts you on edge. “Pope’s still out there though, if that helps.” Frankie must feel you bristle, as he raises his palms in the air in surrender. Or, more than likely, absolving himself of any responsibility. “Do with that what you want.”

“Mmm-kay,” you say as nonchalantly as possible, and, from the sidelong glance Frankie throws at you, you know he isn’t buying it for a second.

“You two okay? Something happen in the kitchen?”

A flare ignites under your skin. You remember a different kitchen entirely. Not the one downstairs. Instead, you recall the hot, close air of the Colombian night. The flash of cool metal against your flushed skin as Santiago pressed you back and-

“-It was fine,” you lie tersely, and before Frankie can wheedle anything further out of you, you quickly hook your arm around his neck for a distracting, albeit halfhearted, goodnight hug. “’Night, Cat. Sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite.” With a grunt, he offers a quick, friendly kiss to your cheek, his scruff tickling up against you.

“Yeah. G’night,” he returns, looking as tired as he probably feels. And, as you part ways in the hallway, Frankie watches with resigned interest at the fact you don’t similarly retreat to your room. That instead, you shuffle onward towards the mouth of the stairs. “Don’t let the Pope’s bite.”

And then, with Frankie’s nonsensical and yet somehow apt warning ringing in your ears you head downstairs, meandering through the quiet house until you reach the exterior.

You are arrested in the doorway at the thought of experiencing Santiago alone all over again, but at the same time, that is exactly the thought which propels your feet over the threshold and out into the balmy night air.

You find him there, stretched out on his back in front of the dying embers of the fire, knees folded and pointed up to the sky. An orange glow is cast over the contours of his chest where his button-down shirt now falls completely open, the wire of his headphones snaking down and around his torso. He looks peaceful like this at first. Relaxed and loose, his chest rising and falling soporifically with his breath. His eyes are closed and he has his headphones in his ears, his fingers gently drumming and tapping where they rest against the softness of his bare stomach. Your eyes follow his happy trail, until the thatch of hair disappears beneath his shorts, now tugged tight over his thick thighs.

You note the appealing cushioning around his middle forming rolls as he shifts marginally - to better prop his head up on a second cushion. He looks beautiful. Tranquil, at first glance.

That is, until you see him tug in a huge breath, his ribs flaring with it. Until you watch him pinch the bridge of his nose before letting out a slow, sad exhale.

You know in that moment that you should without a doubt turn around. That you should go right to bed, even if that does result in staring at the ceiling for hours with the image of his gorgeous body seared into your mind. But, you can’t do that.

Instead, you already know exactly what you’re going to do. You’ve known since before you came downstairs.

Truth be told, you’ve known since before you came to the beach house at all. You’ve known since your new fella asked you to be exclusive and you said “no”. You know, because you don’t know what’s good for you.

“Santiago,” you say to announce yourself. “Mind if I join you?”

He pops a bud from his ear and opens his eyes. Somehow, he doesn’t even look surprised to see you standing there.

He blinks at you wordlessly for a moment. He could say no, of course, but you know that he won’t.

Because he doesn’t know what’s good for him either.

He doesn’t respond to you at all in words. Instead, he rises, shifting to the corner of his tartan blanket, arranging himself cross-legged with a groan. He pats the opposite side invitingly, gesturing for you to join him.

You hesitate. The setting, down on the sand on that measly square of wool, seems already far more intimate than the looming camp chairs had.

“Warmer down here,” Santiago encourages, as though reading your mind through how well he can read your body, evident tension snaking through your limbs. “Come and get comfy.”

Okay.

You hunker down, both legs folded to one side and your weight propped on the opposite arm. You take in the setting for a moment. The beach, shrouded in a blanket of dark. The sound of the waves shushing, and the gentle crackle of the fire.

It would be calming, if the silence between the two of you wasn’t so taut. Still, you know Santiago will shortly reach to fill the silence. He always does. You don’t even have to wait all that long.

“Good to see that Benny’s still… as Benny as ever.”

“Yeah. Good to see some things never change.” You look at his lips.

“His latest training regimen sounds pretty brutal, huh?“

“Uh huh.” Your eyes trail wantonly down his torso, and it’s not lost on you that he sucks his stomach in a little when your gaze drops to the soft rolls of him there. You’ve never seen a whiff of insecurity on the man before now. He’s confident as a rule - or so you thought. It’s appealing though, the softness of him. Sexy. You want to tell him that, but you don’t. Instead, you simply allow the soft smile to radiate over your face unfettered, your eyes warm and fond.

“What are you listening to?” you nod down to his phone, headphones still strung from it and one bud remaining in his ear. Wordlessly, he passes you the spare bud and you slot it in, allowing the droning sounds to wash over you. Voices talking, and smatterings of financial and investment jargon. You quickly get the gist of it, and just as quickly relinquish the bud back to him.

Your nose wrinkles. It’s not what you were expecting, honestly. “Financial podcasts?”

He tilts his head to the side. Looks suddenly as old and mature and serious as you’ve ever seen him. “Gotta think about the future sometime, right?” He says it lightly, but even so, you are somewhat hurt by it. Hurt that he’s never managed to envisage any kind of future with you.

“Right.” You nod, as neutrally as possible.

He looks at your mouth.

You note the brief fleet of pink tongue along the swell of his pillowy lower lip.

You both let the silence hang there for a moment, full of possibility, and again, you know he will fill it. After all, you made it clear, right? You told him: don’t. Even if you want precisely what you asked him to deny you. “Did you see that documentary about the octopus on-”

“-I can’t get off anymore without thinking about you, Santi.”

You interrupt him, and his jaw hangs slack for a moment, his eyes bugging out of his head as he fully registers your statement. Apparently, you don’t want to talk about Benny. Or podcasts. Or fucking octopi. You don’t want to fill the silence with meaningless chat.

With Santiago, it had always meant something. You don’t want to stop that now.

You let the words fall into his lap, and you aren’t even sure what reaction you were expecting. Therefore, you don’t even feel any particular type of way as you watch the multitude of emotions and stunted responses play out one by one across Santiago’s features. “Jesus, honey,” he eventually croaks.

Then, his second-hand embarrassment finally jars you too. In a delayed flush of self-pity, you bury your face in your hands. “Fuck. How pathetic is that?”

Santiago’s agape mouth finally closes then, a hard swallow bobbing down his corded neck. Your own self-deprecating laugh finally causes his face to split into a bemused and tentative grin. It is short-lived, however, his thick brows quickly drawing down. “You know. You’re giving me fucking whiplash over here, cariño.”

“Shit. I know. I’m sorry. I just…” You tug your knees up to your chest for whatever comfort it can offer. “Honestly? I don’t want to talk about Benny, or whatever else. I love the guy but I… I missed you. I missed you and I just want us back. I want us to be okay, you know?” Santiago’s face twists in a mirror of your own, as if he doesn’t even know how possible that is anymore. “And, I don’t know how else to do that anymore – to make us okay - without… without that. I don’t know how to stop wanting you.” As you keep talking, your voice seems to break into a thousand pieces, as if sand in your throat is grinding it down, eroding the body and timbre of it away. “I try. I try, Santi, and it… I never…”

Your name rises from his throat, and the sound is tired in his mouth. He knows what you’re asking him; and he doesn’t even seem surprised. “It’s a bad fucking idea.”

“I know.” He’s not even wrong. “I know it is, but I… I don’t care anymore.” Emotion weighs down your tone. Makes it heavy. “It’s like a wound in me - the way we left it - and I just need…” Your eyes flicker and flit everywhere as you reach for the word, dancing around the scene, around his face, like the licking, greedy flames.

You can’t find the word, the concept, the sentiment, but, as you search, Santiago’s voice filters through to you, certain and resigned. As though he understands perfectly what you crave after the wound that he left that night. “You need healing.”

Your head whips towards him and you nod slowly, with conviction, searching his face for any sign that he might give it to you. For any sign that he might be able to repair you. He had hurt you, yes. But his fire was so hot that you think he is the only thing capable of cauterising the wound he left in his wake. The only one who can ignite you enough to heal you, as selfish and misguided as your desire may be.

However, Santiago’s demeanour remains calm and cool even in the face of your desperation. You see only a vestige of desire dancing in his eyes now, as though all you had might truly be in the past. “You wanted out, remember?” he says thinly. With regret. He smiles even thinner than that. “No need to repeat your old mistakes, huh?”

“I wanted out of that life, man. You were never a mistake.”

“Heh. Don’t be so sure. If you know what’s good for you-“

Unconsciously, and with ill-timing, you shift on the mat in discomfort, rolling your spine to try and release some of the niggling, tight muscles – another old injury which continues to plague you long after the fact.

“Still got that damn tweak?” Santiago asks, seemingly grateful for the diversion.

You nod. “Mmm.”

“Want my fingers?”

You look into his eyes, mellow in the dancing light. How could you say no to that? “Please.”

“Come here then,” he encourages, shifting position to the edge of the porch step, his thighs spread wide apart and leaving space for you to settle on the sand before him. “Let me help you,” he insists, tipping up his chin, and his eyes softer and brighter again.

You hesitate, but you can’t find it in you to decline the invitation. Can’t possibly find the strength to say no to his hands on you. To some relief, even in this form. “Turn around. Back to me, hermosa.” His voice is soft, so soft. Rough and undone around the edges like this frayed edge of land you perch on.

You settle before him, and, just as he had promised, his fingers and his hands begin to inch over your body, on top of your clothes, seeking to unravel the knots. To bring you some relief. He used to do this for you all the time – always took care of you like this, and it’s bittersweet to recall a different, more innocent way his hands used to touch you. He would do this for you after training. After a mission. In the field. At the mouth of your tent when camped out in some desert or field or jungle. In the back of a Humvee on the way to the F.O.B.. At Benny’s fight nights when you’d had to sit in those shitty plastic chairs for too long. Whenever and wherever you needed it.

His hands always knew how to fix you, long before you learned all the ways they could take you apart like a weapon in his palm. “Santiago,” you keen, as the pad of his thumb works into all your sweet spots. You don’t know what his name is in your mouth. A plea; a promise; a prayer; a poem. Perhaps all of these at once.

“I know,” he soothes. “I know, cariño.”

You close your eyes against the sudden tears you find threatening at the corners of your eyes. Knowing his touch again is everything you wanted, and, despite yourself, you are eminently glad it is happening like this. That he is giving, instead of devouring you, for if he did the latter, you don’t know that there would be anything left for him to take.

His touch like this though, deft and tender, reveals that perhaps, there’s another way. That maybe, instead of burning you, Santiago could merely warm you. Maybe his flames only hurt because you had dared to get too close. Maybe you could simply learn to stay at arm’s length, where he had always attempted to keep you anyway.

Still, that’s all very well, but… his touch - as it skims down your body - is enough to subsume you. It is a tide swallowing hot shores. It is a relief. A balm. Healing.

“You’re so tight,” he complains gruffly, and you wonder if he is simply being careless, or whether his words were chosen ever so deliberately to remind you. To remind you of him praising you for that very same thing, under other circumstances.

Regardless, Santiago shifts then, shuffling his hips closer towards you. His thighs -either side of your torso - boxing you in a little more tightly. Then, he braces one hand carefully against your shoulder, the other digging and kneading into your knotted muscles at the spot he always knew how to help you with.

You moan for him, willingly, as he takes all your tension and melts it like butter.

“Santiago,” you keen, and there it is again. A promise; a prayer; a poem.

A plea.

You hear him swallow thickly. Hear him exhale a sound like sea trapped in a seashell, his face dipped closer towards the shell of your ear in this new position. His breath continues to quicken as he manipulates your body, pliable under his sure hands, his warmth practically coiled around you like the fire around its fuel.

“Do you want my fingers?” he repeats, voice now flecked with grit, even as he remains slow and languid, not whipped into any frenzy. “Tell me.”

A stone plummets through your belly, sinking heat through your core at the mere suggestion he might touch you there too.

“Mmmph,” you plead – a strangled affirmative wrung from your chest, and Santiago’s hand reaches around, calm and slow and tantalising. He winds his arms between your legs and his index finger trials along the seam of your shorts, up towards your clit like he’s following a carefully laid fuse line. Like he knows precisely how to detonate you, and all he needs is a spark. “You want my fingers here?” he purrs, and you moan his name, throwing your head back into the crook of his shoulder. “Want me to help you like this too?”

You submit an unintelligible string of sounds to the air, which you hope he recognises as an affirmative.

“Sssshhh,” he soothes, as his fingers deftly flick open the button of your shorts and you squirm in search of his friction. “It’s okay. I got you. I got you, cariño.”

You sigh out a broken, guttural noise now, rolling your mound against his palm as his girthy fingers travel eagerly below the waistband of your clothing. Barrelling towards your want without dwelling on the implications even for a moment. On what this might mean. On what this may fix or further fracture.

It is too much to think about that, and it is enough to know that you need some relief.

Specifically, the kind of relief you have not been able to give yourself. The kind of relief you have not been able to find from elsewhere. The kind only Santiago knows how to give you. The only kind Santiago knows how to give you.

“Fuck. You’re soaked,” he praises, all rusty-voice and practiced fingers, and with the ease that the thick pads of him glide through your folds you know it is true. “Holy shit, come here.”

You would oblige if you were not so loose-limbed already; and so, in the next moment, Santiago is dragging you up towards him, settling your ass in the space before him on the porch step, so you sit a little higher. He is shucking your shorts and panties down and hooking your thighs over his parted, sturdy legs to spread you wide open. To give him better access to you so he can give you what you need.

Your hands clamp down on his thighs like claws, your back flush against his chest and your head still languishing in the apex of his neck, feeling the steady rhythm in his shoulder as his arm reaches between your legs. With his other arm he simply gathers you up and holds you close to him, until the warmth of his skin seeps right through to yours.

“Fuck! Santi,” you keen, voice ragged with need already as his fingers tease and circle where you need him. “More. Please, I need more.”

He does not disappoint. He plunges a girthy finger into your heat, and the lack of resistance is telling, your cunt opened up and eager for him as the heel of his hand rocks a steady rhythm against your clit. He goes slower than you would like, but it turns out to be the exact pace you need -two fingers now- dragging molten heat through your core with each curl and pump and scissor he applies to your giving walls.

“Ohhhh. Fuck!”

“I know, baby. This is what you need, isn’t it? I know.”

He does. He does know. He knows every damn inch of you and how to make you sing.

“That’s it. I’ve got you. Don’t come, Princesa. Not yet.”

That’s easier said than done. Especially as his rough voice - all honey and grit - filters into the shell of your ear. As the fleck of his stubble rasps against your neck as he sucks an angry mark into your skin. Your core flutters in straight-out defiance of his orders then, and he feels you clamp down on him, tightening around his fingers. “Ah ah,” he scolds. “Hold on to it for me. Gonna get you there. Don’t worry. I got you.”

Christ, you slosh around him as he makes you molten, and you feel his thighs begin to shake beneath yours. You feel his insistent hardness pressing at your back. “Fuck, princesa. I missed this pussy. Holy shit.”

“Santi. I- I can’t hold on.”

His thumb massages circles into your swollen, needy clit.

“No, baby. Hold on for me. I know you can, huh? Don’t even think. Let me give you what you need.”

“Mmmphhh,” you moan out like a woman possessed as Santiago builds you up.

He chuckles darkly into your neck, and smothers his spare palm over your mouth. “Shhhh. Quiet, hermosa. No-one else can take care of you like this, huh? I got you now.”

The way he’s touching you, fingers speared inside your wet heat, is everything you’ve needed for so long. God, you’ve so needed him to help you like this. And now, he’s finally giving you relief. It’s welcome, and it’s good; but you still have enough about you, even in this state of becoming putty in his lap, to realise that he’s not giving you everything. You turn your head, tipping your lips wantonly up to him, but he won’t kiss you. His arousal presses insistently at your lower back but he isn’t making any move to get himself off. It seems obvious, even in this state of coming undone, that even as you lose yourself he won’t allow himself to get lost in you; not entirely.

He’s navigated some extreme terrain in his time, but perhaps his feelings for you really are a jungle far too dense for him to navigate.

Still, you certainly do not feel any lack, even if you get the sense he is holding back. It would be hard to feel any lack at all with his thick, warm fingers buried in you up to the knuckle, stroking and curling with precision against your swollen arousal, coaxing hoarse moans from your lips which he buries in the meat of his cupped palm. The pad of his thumb rubs haphazardly -almost roughly- in circles over your clit, puffy with need. Your thatch of hair is soaked, and your plumped folds are slick with your pearly, moonlit juices.

“Holy fuck,” you rasp as Santiago’s fingers draw a broad circle deep inside your walls, stretching you open and sending a delicious spiral of bliss through your core. He curls his fingers against your g spot, rocks his palm roughly against the mound of you, and God, it’s so good. You’re on the edge, but you still find you can’t quite let go.

You don’t need him to give you everything, but you do need him to give you just a little more of what you’ve been craving. Just a little more healing.

“Santiago,” you plead, tears of emotion and bliss and disbelief and sadness balling in your eyes. Relief at the fact you get to feel his touch again, and despair at how long you may next endure the lack of it.

However, as though he senses what your body is telling him, that you are getting far too in your head by now to let go, you realise Santiago knows exactly what you need to get out of it. He always does. Always knows how to help you. “Mmpph,” you moan as he wraps his hand more tightly around your mouth and nose, playing with your air supply - just enough to provide a gentle thrill. To offer this simulation of a loss of control just long enough that you feel a secondary surge of adrenalin and arousal building within you. You gasp as he releases his palm and you suck his fingers easily into your mouth, wanting to feel full of him wherever you can. He obliges by shoving them deeper, over your tongue.

“That’s it,” he praises, soothes, encourages, feeling it coming before you do, reading the signs in your body. Almost immediately, pleasure blooms out from your middle, completely engulfing you.

You screw your eyes shut tight and you can barely even focus on his fingers pulsing in and out of your wet, suckering heat, or on this string in the middle of you being drawn so tight it’s about to snap. Instead you focus on him. On the warmth and sturdy form of him at your back. On the way he knows just how to touch you – where, and when, and how. The way he soothes you and relieves you. The familiar scratch of his stubble against your cheek. The soft, sweat-tacky rolls of his bare stomach cushioning your back, skin-on-skin where your t-shirt has ridden up your back. His meaty thighs. The familiar press of that hard promise up against you. But most of all his warm, sandy voice, slipping into the shell of your ear like the sounds and shushing of the sea.

Hermosa. Cariño. Princesa.

His words melting out of you like liquid pearls and making you shine.

He praises you, and the sounds of him slip inside you just like his fingers, a smooth glide like the surge of the tide devouring an aching shore. His touch relieves the ache, the burn, the fire, the hurt, as you find your release. You gush over his hand, your mouth open with a hoarse, hollow moan, silently echoing the roar of the sea as your whole body becomes liquid on top of his.

He holds you, and he works you through it, tears squeezed from your eyes with each wave of bursting, engulfing pleasure which radiates through your core – not blistering like the heat of your fire, but gentle and soothing.

Your breath is ragged now. You have the feel of a tide between your legs.

You are sated, and yet you want more of him. You may feel healed in some ways, but your whole body still sings for him like a wound.

He stays inside of you. Feels you for a moment, with a shuddered, satisfied moan you feel vibrate against your back before he draws his fingers out, painfully slow. You shudder too, your core still fluttering for him, and you would reach for him if you weren’t still boneless. Would seek to satisfy him too.

“Fuck. I missed your fingers,” you purr.

“Uh huh,” Santiago says, a little too morosely for your liking, and he unslots himself far too quickly from around your form. Far too quickly he comes to standing, leaving you feeling cold and alone on the porch stairs, shorts shunted down past your knees, exposing you to the night air.

“Don’t you want… something for you?” you ask in confusion, in hope, eyeing the bulge tenting at his crotch and the way his hand is hung curled at his side, his fingers still shined from you. You enjoy all of that, but you certainly don’t enjoy the heaviness bedding down on his brow, and you reach to pull up your shorts as quickly as you can, the moment of relief fast-retreating, like the deceptive tide.

“No,” he says firmly. “That was just for you.”

You bristle at the implication in his words, your momentary bliss falling quickly away.

He did you a favour.

You were the one undone by your desire – your want. Not him. You were the needy one who couldn’t be without him. Couldn’t even get off without him. And damn. Here he is, slow and controlled and, for the better part, seemingly unaffected.

You know that’s not wholly true – that he does still want you, but your eyes still swim when you wonder if his desire is subdued compared to what it used to be. If it has lessened.

Don’t you cause this frenzy in him anymore? This quickening, like he does with you? Is the flame burning in your chest -or your loins- not catching, any longer? Like the dying embers of this fire, is it almost out?

Could there truly be an end to this?

Soldiers. Friends. Lovers.

What next?

You had, at least, assumed something would be next.

And so, as you regard him, stoic and impassive, you can barely even look at him. “You’re right, Pope. This was probably a bad fucking idea.”

Of course it was.

You should know better than to think you can take a piece of him without wanting to devour the whole. After all, you could never see him in fragments – only all at once.

Had that always been your mistake, thinking that he could ever give himself over to you completely? He’s far too afraid of getting lost, even if he does hold the map to your heart in the palm of his hand. Strange then, because the palm of his hand is also where he has become so accustomed to yielding a weapon. Maybe for him, love and pain were always destined to feel the same.

You push past him, and you feel a pit open up in your middle.

“Goodnight, buddy,” you say, your tone surprisingly sour so soon after that. “Thanks a bunch for the fingerfuck.”

You guess the mindfuck came along for free.

You don’t want to hurt him. Don’t want to be bitter and to deepen this gulf between you all over again. But, apparently, you just can’t help yourself.

You don’t know what’s good for you.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #santiago pope garcia #oscar isaac #ride or die series

106 notes · View notes

devildomwriter · 4 months

Note

🪷:

I haven't TOUCHED nb! in a while (left after playing through lesson 13 I think) the last scene i remember playing were mc was in coma while brothers confessed and yea I left after that

Recently I see some uproar about lesson 37 💀 I am so curious but sooo lazy to play through it myself. Will you be so kind to spoil the entire nb! lore for me? Lmaoo

Seriously though I see spoilers of Lucifer RAGING and I have no idea 🤌

Wow that’s a lot to go through haha I’ll try and give a brief summary

Michael saves MC from their comma and the boys and MC are reunited and they are accepting of MC being a human

Diavolo decides he must send Mc back to the human world but before he can he is forced to undergo trials to prove his right as the king because the House of Lords is angry with him

Afterwards Henry goes missing and the brothers search for him. Shortly after it’s announced Raphael will be coming and they are all on edge.

When Raphael arrives he tells everyone they will be allowed back to the Celestial Realm and their father has pardoned their crimes and warns if they don’t accept they will “intervene”

The brothers individually decide they cannot leave Satan behind because he is their brother but Lucifer wants them to go back and he alone with stay with Satan because his actions are what caused his brothers to fall. In the end they all reject their pardon and stay with Satan where a ball is thrown by Diavolo to officially announce them as the seven rulers of hell.

The end credits scene reveals that Raphael was actually Michael in disguise coming to check on his brothers

Season Two

At the beginning of the season the brothers are working with Diavolo, Barbatos, and Mephistopheles for a more solid set of rules and classes at RAD and participate in mock classes

As that happens the brothers begin succumbing to their sins one by one

First Mammon succumbs to greed and his Little D. (which are revealed to be a reflection of themselves) is the key to saving him by delving into Mammon’s psyche. They then form a pact.

Next this happens to Asmo who becomes strong enough to enslave all his brothers until Solomon and MC use his Little D. to stop him. They then form a pact.

Next Satan meets Little D. no 4 and is embarrassed by his behavior and sinks into a coma but since he was born with his sin he doesn’t succumb to it but Little D. is needed to save him from within his mind where it’s revealed the first things his brothers ever gave him are his greatest treasures. They then form a pact.

Next Beelzebub grows much hungrier but doesn’t succumb and instead grows weaker. It’s thought that Beelzebub is becoming weak because he is the least demon-like of his brothers. Little D faces against Beelzebub in an eating competition and Beelzebub proves himself the avatar of gluttony.

Belphegor won’t let MC form a pact with Beel as he isn’t sure they can be trusted so MC undergoes the angel’s trial where they cannot tell a lie or the bracelet will break and they will not forge a pact with Beel. MC ends up telling Solomon his cooking is bad which devastates him but tells a lie to cover for Luke and it’s revealed the trial isn’t not to lie but to know the weight of a lie.

Leviathan overhears MC talking with Solomon about how they need pacts to get back to their world. Leviathan becomes upset and hides away in his room. He succumbs to envy and his powers rage out of control and flood the Devildom. Eventually MC is able to get through to him and Leviathan saves them.

Belphegor doesn’t want MC to leave and won’t accept the news so he uses his powers to keep his brothers too slothful to do anything and traps MC in the attic so they can’t leave but MC uses his Little D and breaks him out of his own psyche.

In the attic everyone reunites and agree to help MC return home so Belphegor, Beelzebub, and Leviathan makes pacts with MC. Everyone believes Lucifer will hop of board but he states he doesn’t want to, a sentence that makes Diavolo laugh.

Lucifer begins suggesting MC get used to life in the Devildom as they won’t be able to return home.

The brothers discuss how odd this is when MC wins a trip for two on a Devildom train owned by a noble. Lucifer invites himself as the second guest and during the trip is hinted his pride is at play and they may need his Little D. Before this can happen, Diavolo sends Mephistopheles after Lucifer and MC to make sure they are safe since a noble who hates Lucifer and his brothers owns the train.

Mephistopheles intrudes on their vacation and he and Lucifer butt heads often. The train is then hijacked and it’s pinned on MC, Mephistopheles, and Lucifer. Mephistopheles and MC are freed but Lucifer is sent to the lowest layer of the underworld, Cocytus, for punishment.

The brothers reveal the underworld is technically Celestial Realm territory so it’s weird that Lucifer is being punished for a crime committed in the Devildom in Celestial Realm territory. The brothers and Luke and Simeon venture to Cocytus to save Lucifer but the brothers are each restrained on different levels of cocytus for their crimes.

They reach Lucifer who is surprised to see MC and horrified to learn his brothers came along since the final layer of Cocytus is where you are punished for crimes against their father. As he’s yelling demanding to know where his brothers are is when Raphael is forced to read Lucifer his crimes and that he and his brothers are trapped in Cocytus and will be punished forevermore for their crimes in the Celestial War.

Lucifer is saddened for Raphael and enraged his brothers are suffering and in his rage he breaks free of his chains.

Meanwhile Diavolo is more furious than Barbatos has ever seen and is meeting with the House of the Lords to uncover what they plotted to get Lucifer arrested by the Celestial Realm.

That’s where we currently are in the game.

#obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me lucifer

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strawberrycrushes · 4 months

Text

To my dearest friend,

From the moment I saw you, I knew love would be inevitable. Sappy, I know, but I have nothing against the romantics, when we parted that first night, I gained a subtle appreciation for the more romantic parts of life anyhow. And every day since then I spent pining after you. Growing to care for you more and more each day. This is the first time this has ever happened to me, you know that? I've barely ever cared about myself let alone anyone else. But I cared about you, and that was exciting.

I don't like dragging things on so I'll cut to chase. I'm leaving tomorrow. It's abrupt I know, but an opportunity came knocking on my door that I just couldn't deny. I'm going to touch the stars darling, and finally have the luxury to become human like you. Or at least that's what he promised.

This letter must seem confusing to you, one moment I announce my love then the next, my departure. The truth is, I know I don't deserve you. You once told me that love and fear goes hand in hand, but I've never felt fear before. Where I come from no one has. I could never love you in a way that makes sense to you, nor in the way I know you deserve.

So, I'm leaving. I'll return one day, of course. You can yell at me then and call me an idiot for leaving (or slap me and never talk to me again, you decide). When I do come back, though, I promise I'll be the kind of person that deserves someone as wonderful as you. When I come back, I promise I'll love you. Well and proper.

Yours wholly,

Kafka.

#hsr kafka #honkai star rail x reader #kafka x reader

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blissfulip · 5 months

Text

Dopamine

On AO3:

Viktor x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, dubious science, mostly canon compliant, no use of y/n, chemist!reader, eventual smut.

Cw: explosions (no casualties), rude language.

Words: 1.6k

[A/N: tags and content warnings to be updated in each chapter, updates weekly.]

Part 2 Part 3

Chapter 1: A Forced Vacation

The sound of the blast was loud and echoing, which made Viktor believe the explosion must have happened nearby. Jayce's immediate reaction after uncovering his ears was to go out the door to try to find the source, but Viktor stopped him, reminding him that they didn't know if there was fire or anything dangerous outside. The announcement came shortly after when a muffled voice urged them to evacuate the academy building through the speakers on the ceiling.

"Please remain calm; a small-sized explosion has taken place at the manufacturing facilities; there is a chance there might be potentially harmful compounds in the air, so please make sure to correctly place the gas masks provided at the beginning of the academic term, you may situate them under the emergency equipment cupboard near the main entrance of each laboratory room, we reiterate: please remain calm as you evacuate the premises."

"Small explosion?" Jayce huffed as he retrieved the masks from the cupboard. Both of them did as they were told and calmly but energetically walked down the hallway to get to the main entrance of the building, where dozens had already congregated.

No one seemed to be affected by the recent developments except for Viktor; he even overheard a group of people excitedly chattering about possible places to have fun during their sudden evening off. Interruptions already annoyed him profoundly, but the importance of the breakthrough he recently had made this untimely interference ever more infuriating. He was leaning on a wall, impatiently tapping his cane against the concrete floor, when Jayce decided to investigate the matter, and the expression on his face when he came back was less than encouraging.

"So?"

"I don't think we'll be able to return to work, at least not today."

"What happened, though? What was the explosion about?"

"Uh…one of the quenching systems blew up; not sure I understood the reason why." Jayce hoped Viktor didn't catch on to the reason for his hesitation, but he did; it was a lost cause.

"Ha! I should've known it had to do with the chemistry department; it's almost like she is scheduled to create chaos at least once a month." Viktor started to raise his voice and gesture excessively.

"Come on, Vik, cut her some slack; they didn't expressly say she was directly responsible for any of this."

"When is it not her fault, though? It's almost like she lives to hinder my work!"

"Why are you so angry? Did you misplace your caliper again?" You said, appearing from behind Jayce with a playful pout only to annoy him more intentionally.

"If it isn't the source of all my problems," Viktor said, rolling his eyes.

"What did I do now?" You said, laughing ironically.

"I had an inkling that such a monumental mishandling could only be your fault." he hissed.

"you're wrong as usual, Sparkle."

"You designed those vents!" This accusation struck a nerve in you. And any mood for playful banter had been substituted by indignation.

"First of all, I'm a chemist, not an engineer, so if anything, it's a testament to my brilliance that those scrubbers have been working at all, and as a matter of fact, they would have continued working perfectly if it weren't for you."

"What do we have to do with any of this?"

"The sizing of the quenching system I put in place was appropriate until the hextech team came to be, and you two decided to start pumping out microelectronics all the time, the amount of suppressing agent that has to be pumped through the system to accommodate for the things you have been manufacturing exacerbated the machine, of course it was gonna explode eventually!"

"Why didn't you adjust the sizing then?"

"Because it's not my job! I'm here to research organic materials, not design your machinery. I warned the council, and they didn't seem to care, so if you have a problem, take it up with them for not hiring the appropriate people for the job."

"How can you be so offhand about what happened? This could've been fatal had there been people in the facility."

"Oh, get off your high horse, Viktor, you're only mad because I'm involved, and you're being forced to interrupt your work. Don't pretend like you care."

"Of course I care. Do you think I'm a monster?"

"Of course not. You're definitely well known for being big on safety protocols." You said with a clear tone of sarcasm.

Viktor knew you were right and could not argue against that, but he wanted to retort. He wanted very badly to say anything at all. Unfortunately, you had already turned on your heels to walk away from them, leaving him with narrowed eyes and a deep frown.

"You kind of set yourself up for that one," Jayce said casually. He had been quietly witnessing you two fight as he usually did. Viktor gave him a furious glare as a response and walked back to his dormitories resentfully quiet.

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

Murmurs could be heard coming from the entrance of the laboratory wing. There was a strong feeling of emptiness in your stomach as you approached, that you usually would have attributed to not having eaten anything that morning; however, this time, it was a clear fear of facing the consequences of the previous afternoon’s incident. It hadn’t been your fault; you were as angry as the next person, and for an institution with that many wealthy investors, the Academy had a silent policy of spending as little as possible on as few departments as they could. Everyone knew that with the unlooked-for creation of the Hextech team, the investments in all the other research departments had been drained to be allotted to the council’s golden duo; there had been multiple coffee machine conversations about it. Yet, you were anxious.

They wouldn’t blame you, would they? Viktor did, and if there’s something that son of a bitch was good at beyond tightening nuts and bolts was persuading a crowd. What prevented him from convincing all your colleagues that this whole debacle was your burden? All that muttering was probably him rallying up a crowd to lynch you.

You breathed in. When have you been afraid to face him before? This was unlike you.

I don’t owe anything to anyone. That idiot can badmouth my character as much as he likes, but he can’t argue with the facts.

You relaxed your shoulders and unclenched your jaw.

“Get a grip, damn it!” You said to yourself quietly as you put on a laid-back cast and opened the door to the main hall.

No heads were left unturned when you walked in. Some faces were neutral, some carried the type of warm smile of someone who would be happy to see you, there was that one guy from the poli-sci department who was a tad too smug about your entrance, some seemed worried, and one of them—the bane of your existence—looked at you with a pronounced frown, eyes narrowed, and mouth turned upside-down.

"What's everyone doing here? I thought I was late already. Did I miss a memo?" You said with a casual tone, a painfully obvious attempt at masking the existential crisis you were having just moments earlier.

"Labs are gonna be closed for a month; something about them needing to disinfect and ventilate potential harmful agents from the facilities."

Part of you was glad it had been your friend Moira who spoke up first, but on the other hand, you feared the silence before the storm, and you were soon proved to be justified in doing so.

"I hope you are happy."

"Why would I be?

"You just cost us a month’s worth of work." Viktor sneered through his teeth.

"I'm sure you can afford that. Differently from the rest of the research departments, you don't have the risk of losing your funding if you don't churn out constant developments, so I don't see why you are so upset."

"This isn't the first time you have gotten in the way of my work. You could say I've boiled over."

This is when people started to walk away. Your 'explosive' relationship with Viktor wasn't a novelty to anyone, and they knew better than to try to intervene. It had been more than a year at this point; you resented him for not admitting the preferential treatment they were given by the Academy, and he resented you for some…unfortunate accidents that had delayed his work before. You both knew you had some fault in each of those things, but stubbornness and pride had prevented you from admitting this to one another. To his dismay, Jayce had had to play mediator, the child of a divorce that never happened.

"Except this time, it wasn't my fault, but of course, you'd jump at any opportunity to blame me for something."

"Maybe if you were competent enough to complete the task you were given, it wouldn't have happened."

You were livid.

"I played engineer for a couple of weeks and designed a machine that worked without a hitch for 3 years. You are an engineer and can't get any of those little prototypes of yours to work. Remind me who's incompetent again?"

"Woah, okay, that's enough. Let's all go home and relax, okay?" Jayce said, already dragging Viktor from his cane arm and not allowing him to proffer any of the offenses he intended to.

How dare he say you were incompetent? You were head and shoulders above him in every possible category. Fine, perhaps he had an edge when it came to discipline. And organization. Maybe charisma, somehow everyone liked him. You understood why. He was handsome too, charming even…

Maybe if he— No. don’t even start.

#viktor #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x reader

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hippolotamus · 4 months

Text

Hello friends, work has been kicking my ass and I am soooooo behind on tags. I am slowly but surely catching up and looking forward to reading all the things! So, small confession... I've been reworking pieces of come close (let me be home) so some of the snippets might look familiar from before. Hoping the writing beans will soon allow me to make new words. Until then, have this Eddie and Christopher moment before the first ball (all prev snippets here) 😘

“This awful, cursed thing— Argh!” Eddie drops the ends of his bowtie in frustration. It’s not like he even wants to attend this wretched ball tonight. Least of all to placate his mother.

It would be different if he were going as someone who could casually stand in the background, sipping lemonade and observing his surroundings. If only it were that simple. Instead he’s expected to not only be there, but socialize, dance, and interact with potential partners. How is he meant to choose who he’ll spend the rest of his life with – someone to care for his son – based on how well they can perform the quadrille or regurgitate meaningless facts? It’s utter insanity.

“Daddy?” The timid voice reaches out from behind him.

Eddie turns to see Christopher hovering in the doorway, watching intently. The welcome sight is enough for the weight of tonight’s expectations to fall away, finally allowing him to breathe. He goes to his son, picking him up and drinking in the surprised sound.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

Christopher’s nose scrunches in amusement at the endearment before he gets a very serious look on his face. “Can I come with you?”

��I wish,” Eddie huffs out a humorless laugh. “It would make things way more interesting. Although, honestly, I’d much rather stay here with you.”

“Why don’t you then?” Christopher blinks owlishly behind his glasses.

Eddie envies his youthful ignorance for not yet understanding the pressures and politics of adulthood. He sighs and rubs his temple with his free hand, trying to think of an explanation that isn’t an outright lie. With everything that’s happened in Christopher’s short life, Eddie always strives to be honest with him.

“Well, because,” he stretches the words out as his brain continues to configure them into an acceptable arrangement. “I– promised your abuela I would go.”

Chris nods thoughtfully, seeming to accept the answer he’s been given. But, of course, he’s always been more perceptive than Eddie gives him credit for.

“Is this because Abuela wants me to have a new mom?” His voice is quieter, the tone colored with hesitation. Eddie wants to somehow pull him closer, to carve a space beneath his ribs to keep him safe.

“Not a new one, exactly. You know that no one could ever replace your mother. This would be someone else to love and take care of you.”

“But I thought that’s why we have Carla,” Chris protests.

Eddie chuckles at his son’s logic and thinks he might be the one person who could match wits with Helena Diaz. “You’re right. She does both of those things. Carla loves and cares about you very much. It’s just… your abuela has some different ideas. She’s a little stuck in the past sometimes.”

“Okay.” Christopher grins brightly, removing any traces of his serious persona. “Then I hope you have fun and find someone nice for us.”

“Me, too, bud. Me, too.”

Eddie’s brought back to reality when his valet announces the carriage is ready. He presses a kiss to Christopher’s temple and gently sets him on the floor. “Be good for Carla?”

“I’m always good for Carla.” Christopher proudly puffs out his chest.

“Of course. How could I forget?” Eddie teases. “I must be remembering a different little boy that got covered in mud while playing and had to be scrubbed clean.”

Chris rolls his eyes. “One time,” he mumbles.

Eddie snorts as he jogs down the staircase, hoping in vain to burn off some of his nervous energy that’s returned. His cloak is nearly arranged when Christopher calls from the upper floor.

“Daddy! Your tie!”

Right. Eddie sighs and makes a final attempt to knot the material together in front of the hall mirror. Miraculously he makes it in one pass this time and turns with a flourish so Christopher can make his assessment.

His son beams down at him with a toothy grin. “Be good for Abuela!”

Eddie responds with an exaggerated bow, drinking in the giggle that floats down. He snaps it up, like something he could keep in his pocket. A protective barrier from whatever he might have to face tonight. With a heavy sense of dread sitting like a stone in his stomach, Eddie waves goodbye and walks outside to the carriage. As he steps up to the plush, velvet, forest green bench, he wishes it felt less like marching to the Tower of London.

“Ready, sir?” His driver asks from the front.

No. “Ready.”

tagged by @malewifediaz @hoodie-buck @daffi-990 @your-catfish-friend thank you loves!

no pressure tagging @disasterbuckdiaz @stereopticons @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz LOML @lizzie-bennetdarcy @vanillahigh00 @rmd-writes @welcometololaland @apothecarose @jesuisici33 @callmenewbie @giddyupbuck @wikiangela @jamespearce9-1-1 @spotsandsocks (she posted a new chapter of shifter fic so go check that out!) @exhuastedpigeon @lemonzestywrites @thewolvesof1998 @steadfastsaturnsrings @weewootruck @loserdiaz @heartshapedvows @underwater-ninja-13 @fortheloveofbuddie @eowon @watchyourbuck @monsterrae1 @elvensorceress @spagheddiediaz @chaosandwolves @wildlife4life @buddierights @911onabc @the-likesofus @spaceprincessem @fionaswhvre @barbiediaz @honestlydarkprincess @pirrusstuff @messyhairdiaz @gayedmundodiaz @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @maygrantgf @statueinthestone @indestructibleheart and anyone else who wants to share 💖

#long snip today #because i crave validation #plus eddie and chris are just the best #buddie wip #fic: come close (let me be home) bridgerton #hippo writes

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fe-fictions · 5 months

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Dimitri with a pregnant Byleth who's feeling super clingy 🥺 like, notices as soon as he gets up from bed, wants to cuddle with him even when they're seated for dinner, always clinging onto his arm when they walk 🥰 she just love husband...

(This was such a cute one!! I had to write it as quick as possible ;;;)

He was starting to notice a strange pattern in the days since you announced your pregnancy. You were still as quiet, calm and reserved as ever, but something notable had changed.

You did not seem capable of leaving his side.

Dimtri would wake up before dawn, always careful not to rouse you since your day would always start a little later than his. But even in his stealthy attempts to ease from the bed, your arms would wrap around his waist and prevent him from moving any further.

“Must you go so early…?” You mumbled into his nightshirt, nuzzling into his back. Dimitri blushed, startled by the sudden onslaught of affection so early in the morning. But he nodded and smiled softly, covering your hands with his.

“I wish I could stay with you, Beloved. But I cannot; I must maintain my strict schedule, at least for today.”

“Can you alter it later so that you can spend a little more time with me?”

“Do you feel I spend an inadequate amount of time with you?” He paused, turning to look back at you when you slowly slipped away.

Your expression was unreadable, but if he didn’t know any better…there was a pout on you rlips.

“I…just want to spend more time with you.” You managed to mumble,. It took all of Dimitri’s will not to give in and stay right then and there.

“I shall make the neessary arrangements so that we can have more time togehter, than apart. I know we both have unforgiving schedules, but given the current circumstance, I’m sure we can convince our handlers to be a little generous.”

“I would like that,” You smiled up at him, taking Dimitri’s hands into yours. “Will you come back once you finish training?”

“I shall return just as you awaken, again.” He promised, “So please, rest easy. Your body needs it.” He kissed you then, soft and swe. He couldn’t help it; you were positively adorablke!

But sure enough, the cuteness wouldn’t end there.

No, ever since the pregnancy rstarted to become more and more visible, you were spending more and more time with him.

If Dimitri had a meeting, you were present. If he needed to be somewhere for some inane thing in the village, you would acaccompany despite Seteth’s many protests.

In the mess hall, your hand was squeezing his tightly below the table; and on your walks in the gardens and hte courtyard o the monastery, you were resting your head on his arm, your own wrapped tight around his bicep.

It seemed impossible for you to detach from your husband.

Dimitri wasn’t the only one who noticed, of course; the other Lions had started to see it, too. Sylvain was the first one brave enough to mention it, once the king escorted the Bishop-Queen from their counsel meeting for some much-needed bed rest.

“Soo…the Professor seems to be in a strange mood, lately.”

“Well, she’s starting to really show now, isn’t she? It must be the pregnancy that’s affecting her behavior.” Annette figured, watching as the happy couple continued on their diwb tge cirridor. ‘I know tha tpregnancy hormones can have a big impact on having a child. Maybe Byleth becoming more adorable is part of that!”

“Don’t you think it’s a little weird? I don’t think I’ve seen them so much as hold hands in the last two years.” Sylvain insisted. Mercedes simply shrugged, a warm smile on her lips.

“It might be any number of things. Pregnancy hormones have a notable impact on the body and mind; not to mention that she may feel insecure undergoing susch a serious life change. Can you imagine what it must feel like, to go from being an independent mercenary to the queen of a country, and archbishop of a continent. An dnow, she’s an expecting mother, too?”

“Well, when you put it like that…” Sylvain sighed, “No wonder she’s feeling a little clingy.”

“You’re just jealous she’s not snuggling with you.” Ingrid rolled her eyes, “Now enough chittering about the Professor. The least we can do is afford them some grace and respect while they navigate this….new dynamic.”

“So considerate of you, Ingrid,” Annette giggled, garnering a soft blush from the knight.

I the maentime, Dimitri was practically floating in the air, his arm was linked with yours, your head rested on his shoulder, and you were enjoying the sights and sounds of the monastery courtyard in the blissful glow of sunset.

It was like a dream.

“How are you feeling, BeloveD?” He asked in that gentle, warm voice that made you feel soft and safe.

You nodded, resting a hand on your baby bump.

“I feel a little bit hungry, but…I don’t want to move from this spot for a while. It’s beautiful.”

“Shall I go and fetch you something from the mess hall? You needn’t lt yourself be hungry just to satisfy stay in my company. I’d rather you feel full than otherwise while you’re still going through changes.”

“I’m only a little hungry.” You insisted, “Nothing to worry over. I just want to stay with you a while…then we can go eat.”

“Very well. If that is what you wish.” He kissed the top of your head, prompting you to snuggle closer to him. The slight chill in the air nipped at your noses. He draped his cape over your shoulders, drawing you into him as much as possible.

“Please tell me if it’s too cold. We will go inside right away.”

“And risk losing thi stime together? Not a chance.” You shoook your head, “If we go back inside, someone will snatch hyou away for some important thing. I want to stay here as long as possible.”

“You know…I can order them away if they’re truly too demanding of my time, dearest.” Dimitri offered, but you shook your head.

“No…because then it’d seem like you’re shirking your duties. Social convention is so exhausting.” You huffed, making him chuckle.

“Is that why you’ve been staying so close? To try and balance the expectation of being a prominent figure with wanting to be with me?”

“Perhaps. I just…miss you. I wish we could spend time like this together, always. Especially with the baby on the way.” you added, looking down at your belly.

Dimitri looked at you fully, finding the slightest pout on your lips.

“My love?”

“I just…I just want to be a husband and wife for a moment. A little family; no titles or expectations or…anybody else. Just us. Is that selfish?”

“I suppose when you consider our positions, it’s difficult to be selfish. I do not fault you for wishing to be a little indulgent right now.”

You sighed heavily, “It’s going to get worse once the baby is here. We’ll have to divide our time even further, betwen our duties, each other, and the child.”

“We will make time.” He assured you, tightening the cape around you when another chill blew through the garden.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to raise the baby without being present. My father was always there…I feel it would be wrong not to do the same for my child.”

“It will be a challenge.” He murmured, “And I worry I may not be as capable a parent as your father was. But it is a challenge we will face together…which I believe we will be able to overcome.”

“Really?” You looked up at him so hopefully, it made his heart skip a beat. He beamed at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Of course. I will have to convince some royal council members, and I’m sure the Prime Minister will have some thoughts on the matter.” Dimitri thought aloud, already anticipating Seteth’s displeasure at the thought of the Archbishop spending less time doing her duties.

“So long as we can spend as much time as possible with them…that’s what I want. I want to be with you.”

His gaze softened at your quiet confession. You were so terribly lovely. How he was able to find his way into your heart would forever elude him.

He cupped your face tenderly, unabel to resist kissing you fully and sweetly.

“I wish to spend every second with you as well, Beloved. And once our child is born, I will feel the very same about them.”

“I’m glad.” You smiled, squeezing his hands when they fell from your cheeks. “Until then, will you…keep indulging me?”

He laughed, drawing you back into his warm embrace.

“I shall not leave your side until you cannot stand me any longer! I promise.”

The two of you remained in the courtyard a while longer, wrapped in each other’s arms and relishing the soft moment as a precious memory.

At least until your stomach growled…then Dimitri gladly escorted you to the mess hall (where you held hands the entire time, much to the chagrin of Felix, who had to sit next to you).

#byleth #dimitri #fe3h #fe three houses #fe 16 #fire emblem three houses #dimileth #dimitri x byleth #fe fictions #fe-fictions #f!byleth #fem!byleth #f!mu #fluff #pregnancy fluff #needy byleth is just so adorable ok #she just needs to be protected at all times #which dima will do without hesitation

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sugarbarbie-ocs · 11 days

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Dearest Gentle Reader, The fallout of Edmund Bridgerton and Thomas Lovelace, occurred years before their respective marriages, before the birth of their children, and long before the first of this author’s society papers was published. Many have, of course, suggested theories as to why the 8th Viscount Bridgerton, and the 13th Duke of Manchester never saw eye to eye, but as neither ever made public comments regarding the issue, we still remain in doubt. The sins of the father will be visited upon the son, and such is the case for Hector Lovelace and Anthony Bridgerton. From Eton to Oxford, both carried on the grudges of their fathers, and thus became known as deathly rivals. It causes one to wonder why? And over what? Sadly, dear reader, much like yourself, this author remains in the dark. It was only after the tragic death of Edmund Bridgerton, that tensions tremendously subsided. Occasionally, during gatherings, one might even notice the exchange of a polite nod between the new Viscount and the Heir of the Manchester Dukedom. It is a common jape amongst chattering mamas that a Lovelace-Bridgerton marriage would finally put the two families senseless feud to bed. While there had been hope for a match between Daphne Bridgerton and the third Lovelace son, Mister Lewis Lovelace, it was soon eliminated after the announcement of Mister Lovelace’s betrothal to Lady Cassandra Gray. There remains Francesca and Hyacinth Bridgerton, who should by all accounts be considered rather odd matches for either remaining unmarried Lovelace Brother, given their vast age differences, and with Eloise Bridgerton's disinterest in matters of love and marriage, there is little possibility for a union between a Bridgerton Sister and a Lovelace Brother.

This author proposes an alternative; perhaps instead of a Lovelace Brother, we must turn our eyes to the sole Lovelace sister, the newly debuted, Lady Juliette Lovelace, and the second Bridgerton Brother, Mister Benedict Bridgerton, who seemed to by all accounts have become rather smitten with Miss Lovelace, much to the displeasure of his brother, the Viscount. I am certain those of you who have not had the pleasure of making Miss Lovelace’s acquaintance before, during, or after her debut must have at the very least heard from a matchmaking mama, of her genteel mannerism, and very, very large dowry. Thus far, the only thing standing in the way of gentlemen vying for her hand in marriage has been her rakish twin brother, Mister John Lovelace, and his rather foul habit of publicly mocking her suitors. Perhaps it must also be mentioned that this season the Duke and Duchess of Manchester have sent their youngest son away on a diplomatic trip, so as to not hinder their dear daughter’s pursuits of finding a husband. Time is of the essence, bachelor's of Mayfair. I urge you all to try and succeed in winning the heart of Miss Juliette Lovelace before her meddlesome brother’s return from France. In the meantime, this author continues to ponder if Miss Juliette Lovelace will find her Romeo in Mister Benedict Bridgerton or not. The answer will be one I shall certainly enjoy uncovering ...

LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 10 JANUARY, 1814

#oc : juliette lovelace #fc: jenna coleman #ocappreciation #fyeahbridgertonocs #allaboutocs #littleocnation #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #Benedict Bridgerton x oc #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton oc #oc community #oc appreciation #ochub #toalltheocsivelovedbefore

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dayurno · 4 months

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recently reread ur de-aged kevin fic and in the end notes you said you were thinking of doing a sequel w neilandrew being de-aged and just wanted to throw my hat in the ring to say yes pls! you genuinely have such incredible writing and characterization and would LOVE to see your take on it!

wawawa i plan to write it!!!!! i did start a little bit after finishing de-aged kevin and had to scrap it off because i didn't like it, so it might take a little longer. nonetheless i feel like i have no reason not to share it so i'll attach under the cut the scrapped version of kevin with de-aged andreil for your enjoyment :=) if its a little wonky i ask that you bear with me theres a reason why i didnt keep this version

There is a little garden behind Fox Tower where you could fit a dead body without any real effort.

Not that Kevin would know, of course. But he is sure that he has never seen anyone besides himself tend to the ground there — perhaps once in the past there was another athlete who enjoyed gardening, but such a character has not been around for at least a few years. It took Kevin almost an entire week to entirely weed out the square of dirt between Fox Tower’s backdoors and the fence where Palmetto State University property ends and Fox Perimeter starts.

Despite the loneliness of it, the ground is quite fertile; as patches of earth left alone by humankind often are. No one ever comes with Kevin when he gardens — Andrew finding it too soft a hobby and Neil, too pointless —, so there is no worry about someone else intervening with his flowers. Worlds apart from Evermore, Kevin quite enjoys the alone time tending to this garden provides, so he makes a habit out of it.

He’s not sure how well he is doing. His first attempt had been to plant daylilies, because the name had amused him and they were considered beginner plants, offending as the thought is. Daylilies, Kevin’s come to find, are low-maintenance, highly resistant and pest-free — three things Kevin cannot relate to, despite them sharing a surname. Those turned out fine, but one cannot go wrong with daylilies; they’re too easy. The only way Kevin could’ve killed them is if he was an absolute moron.

His second attempt — and the one he is currently keeping a close watch on — were tulips. They’re harder to care for than their predecessors, and take up more of Kevin’s time than he had previously imagined, though he doesn’t fault them for it. He’d gotten seeds from a shop a few blocks down to where Andrew usually buys his cigarettes in Columbia, and hadn’t bothered to ask for more information; Kevin’s first mistake, he realizes.

His tulips have… multiplied. Perhaps too much — hopeless, Kevin sits amidst the rows and rows of golden ladies, dainty-looking but quite surely outnumbering him, and wonders how many more of them could cause a natural imbalance in the area. For how they spread over the garden, Kevin is not sure he wants the answer. Their yellow bulbs seem to mock him.

Deciding this is now above him, Kevin wipes the dirt from his knees and springs up. He breaks the stem of a few tulips that have already bloomed, mindful that they must reserve their energy for a future reblooming, and checks for rotten bulbs before leaving. Surely, with time, his little garden will recover well enough so that it is not fully covered in tulips. Surely he’ll be able to plant something else, then.

If anything, Kevin is at least happy they don’t have thorns. Gathering the handful of flowers he’d cut off, he returns to his dorm, mindlessly wondering to himself if they have a vase wide enough to fit all of these tulips. When their whiny door pushes open under his weight, Kevin announces his arrival by calling out, “Do we still have that big vase from last year?”

No reply. Frowning, Kevin settles his flowers on the kitchen counter and glances over to where Andrew’s wallet and keys sit at their coffee table, even his half-finished pack of cigarettes left untouched. It is highly unlikely for Andrew to leave without at least one of those three items, creature of habit he is. How weird.

Grabbing for his phone, Kevin sees a flash of motion from the corner of his eye, and is just quick enough to sidestep a little body hiding behind the back of their sofa. The idea of something as small as this just hanging around their dorm is so baffling Kevin can hardly compute it, communication between his eyes and his brain coming to a screeching stop as he takes in the sight in front of him.

There’s a child. There’s a — there’s a child.

He is quite small. His hair, a gentle wheat-like thing, curls softly over his forehead, leading down to big, round brown eyes and a thin mouth. The child’s face is very tender, his cheeks flushed from exertion, but he does not meet Kevin’s stare with any such feeling — instead, his eyes widen slightly, and he stumbles back like he’s been hit.

For a moment, Kevin even worries he hasn’t sidestepped as well as he thought and indeed had hit this child on accident. Taking a few steps back himself, Kevin asks, “Who are you?”

It seems like the kind of question the child should ask him, instead of the opposite. The little boy tilts his head back to look at Kevin — and he does have to tilt it very far —, before steeling himself to answer, “I’m—I think I live here now?”

“That…” Kevin hesitates, “can’t be right.” The child’s eyes water slightly. Growing more and more panicked by the minute, Kevin immediately retracts it. “But I’m sure it is, if you’re saying it.”

The tears don’t fall, but they don’t quite recede either; the little boy's face is so fair it starts to look splotchy soon enough, red dusting his nose and cheeks. “Are you my new brother?” He asks, with all the certainty of someone who’s had many new brothers before. A nagging chill runs up Kevin’s spine.

“I don’t believe I am, since I don’t have any siblings,” Kevin limits himself to replying. He crouches down to meet the child’s stare, eyeing his tulips from above his head. Kevin really needs to get that vase soon; it’s not good for them to be out in the open like this. “Can you tell me your name? Why are you here? Where are your parents?”

The little boy eyes him suspiciously. He answers none of Kevin’s questions, but he informs, “There was another little boy too.”

“Right. Well,” Kevin stumbles a bit, unsure of what to say — and what to believe in, even. Children often see things that aren’t there for adults; he does not want to see any manner of spirit today. Or any other day. “Can you go get him for me? Then I can help you figure out what you’re doing here.”

“What else… can I be doing here?” The child asks, frowning lightly. “This is a new home. They—at the last one, they didn’t want me. And I have to be somewhere.”

Recognition shivers through Kevin. “I see,” he replies past the lump in his throat. “I think I might understand. The—the little boy that you mentioned, did he have blue eyes? And, and red hair?”

Andrew crinkles his little nose. “Was orange, not red.”

Oh. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. “I understand it now.” Kevin’s thighs tremble too much for him to hold his crouch, so he sits back on his heels, kneeling at Andrew’s height. “How old are you? If you don’t mind.”

Andrew blinks at him for a moment too long before showing Kevin his spread palm — it is unbearably small, chubby, and quite pale, too. “I’m five,” he says.

And he is. He is five years old. He is very five years old by the looks of it, which is not the age Andrew Minyard should be, because before Kevin left for his garden, he was pretty sure the Andrew he left behind was twenty-one.

“You’re five. Okay. That makes sense. Of course,” Kevin babbles, having gone half-stupid from shock. That this could be happening to him — that it could be happening to them again, after Kevin had spent a week of last month being six years old and with no recollection of it. What kind of rotten cosmic joke is this? “I see. Okay, well, let me just—” He rubs a hand across his face. “Hello, I’m Kevin. I am a collegiate athlete. That means I play Exy for a university. Have you heard of it?”

“Exy is on the TV all the time,” Andrew counters, but it seems to be all that he knows. He looks a little hesitant before he nods; tight and anxious. “Hi. I’m Andrew Doe.”

Without a surname makes one a John Doe. Kevin’s heart squeezes. “Hello, Andrew,” he greets, trying to work his face into something gentler. “I understand what you mean now. You called it a new home, correct? It’s not like that. I think what happened here is…”

“Do you work for my father?” A small voice cuts Kevin’s sentence short. He whips his head around to meet a boy a good few inches taller than Andrew leaning against the doorway of their bedroom, his hair a light ginger. When Kevin’s eyes meet his, Neil — Nathaniel? — hunches in on himself in self-reproach, placing little hands in front of his head. “Sorry. I spoke out of turn.”

Kevin blinks. “No,” he answers, softening his voice. This is—this is not the time to doubt whether gentleness is achievable or not; this is the time to force it until it breaks, or until it gives. “I don’t work for your father. I’ve never even met him before.”

Neil pales. Perhaps the idea that someone does not know his father seems outlandish when Neil has been raised under his dominion — Kevin is sure it feels that way, for Neil to look so stricken. Often when you are this small and your parents are the overlords of your world, it feels strange to learn that they are not the end-all-be-all of everyone else’s.

Like a little tour guide, Andrew steps forward to explain, “I think you might be here because your mom and dad went away and children have to live somewhere.”

…Of course, being five years old, his understanding of the situation is about as good as Kevin had expected. Andrew’s explanation of the foster system is fairly good, all things considered, but too realistic for a child his age. He should, at least, still believe that they mean to find him a family instead of sending him from home to home because there is nowhere else for him to be.

Neil pales even further. “Is that true?”

“Is true. Is what happened to me.”

“Alright, alright,” Kevin intervenes at last, and two pairs of eyes turn to him; both hesitant in their own way. He coughs into his fist, deciding that honesty is the easiest route. “To be frank with both of you, I’m not sure why you’re here, either. But… thank you, Andrew, for trying to explain it.”

The little Andrew’s face does something unguarded and surprised before he looks away, blushing lightly.

Kevin keeps his eyes trained to his tulips. “I don’t know what happened for you to get here, but you’re welcome to stay until we can figure this out.”

He is eyed with suspicion from both sides. “I,” Neil shakily starts, the beginning of a meltdown creeping into his voice, “I want my mama. Where is she?”

“I’m sorry,” Kevin replies, and finds that he means it, “I don’t know. If I knew, I’d take you to her.”

He would do no such thing, but it is important to say it, anyway.

Springing upwards before Neil can bring out the waterworks, Kevin takes a few steps next to where he’d put aside his tulips and returns with one in each hand. “Here,” he says, kneeling to their height again. “Want a flower? I just got them from the garden.”

Andrew’s hand reaches for it, but does not bridge the distance, hesitant. Neil doesn’t even try to get it. “Flowers are for girls,” he tells Kevin.

“Hm. Do I look like a girl to you?”

“Yes.”

Kevin supposes that was a mistake on his part. It’s always the hair with children. “Well, I’m not,” he argues — argues! — with five-year-old Neil. “It’s very rude to not accept a gift.”

Neil eyes him, squinting quietly. He takes a few steps closer, looking more relaxed now that he’s figured Kevin is not working for his father. Coaxingly, Kevin offers one of the tulips in his direction — the bigger one, standing proud and yellow and delicate. It took a great effort for them to look this healthy. “These are called golden ladies. They’re perennials — that means they grow no matter the season. I plant them myself.”

A little hand curls around the stem of the smallest of Kevin’s tulips, catching it with all the clumsy delicacy of children who have yet to learn a finer touch. Letting Andrew take it, Kevin's mouth twitches. “Don’t worry about thorns, there’s none.”

He doesn’t mention the eco-system smasher Kevin had accidentally become in the process. Hopefully, no one notices the terrifying increase of tulips in Palmetto for the upcoming springs.

Andrew doesn’t answer him, eyes trained to the tulip. The yellow of the inner petals matches the pale of his hair; makes him look more flower than child. Sweet, sweet boy.

Kevin turns back to Neil. “Won’t you take it even if you don’t like them? I don’t have a vase yet. I’m afraid they’ll just rot if you don’t take them.” This is a lie — but it’s a fair one. Children shouldn’t be so restrained.

The idea of imminent destruction seems to convince Neil to walk the distance between himself and Kevin to take the flower in his little hand. He says nothing. Kevin can’t tell if he likes it at all — he’s so put-upon.

A little hand flutters in the general direction of Kevin’s head. “Why is your hair…” Andrew asks.

“What? Long?” The child nods. “What’s wrong about it?”

“It shouldn’t be like this.”

Well, that’s rude. Kevin huffs softly under his breath, absent-mindedly combing his fingers through his hair. “When I was a little over your age, I had a friend — a brother — who liked my hair like this. I think I just grew used to it.”

It’s not the full story, of course. He can’t tell them about Riko, and how much of his preferences Kevin had taken as law out of admiration, at first, then fear, later on. He can’t explain, either, that his hair staying this way is his own way of mourning — a childhood left unfinished, a little boy abused into the insanity of Riko’s final years, brotherhood yet to be tainted by blood and jealousy. Children this young can’t tell Kevin carries all the marks of the grieving.

“Oh,” Andrew replies. He looks like he wants to ask some more, but he doesn’t.

“I can teach you how to braid it later, if you want,” Kevin offers. He has not even a sliver of a clue about what children should do in their free time. In his time, his mother took him all around the world during her trips, which didn’t usually leave Kevin much time for playing; then, after she died, Exy consumed most of his time between little league and Tetsuji’s endurance bootcamp. “It’s a useful skill. You can impress your future wife with it.”

He knows well enough that Andrew is never, ever going to get a wife; still, Kevin knows no other way to frame the importance — or, rather, mask the lack thereof — of this to him.

Andrew nods politely. He, for one, is taking this much better than Neil seems to be — for good reason, Kevin imagines. Already registered in the foster system, Andrew must be used to adapting to new homes, new siblings, new adults with an eccentric knack for gardening and haircare. He’s indulging Kevin. A five-year-old!

“Well,” Kevin clears his throat, suddenly a little embarrassed. “Are you hungry? It should be almost lunchtime.”

No answer. It’s almost like dealing with the adults Andrew and Neil again.

Lunch is bland and unimaginative; Kevin follows the recipe obsessively, unwilling to make children choke down trash. It’s one thing for their adult selves to indulge Kevin in his lack of culinary talent, but children don’t yet have the taste buds for experimental food, nor the desire to put up with their caretakers’ inability to cook. More than once he resists the urge to add more spice — or even more salt.

While he cooks, Kevin allows Andrew and Neil to get acquainted with each other. They talk quietly, eyeing the other with no less suspicion they eyed Kevin with, and seem happy to do their own thing. Skittish, for sure: but can they be blamed for it? Kevin doesn’t expect them to hit it off immediately, especially with Neil’s under-socialization. In the week or so Kevin should have them, it is likely they’ll progress on that front.

Polite like a trained dog, Andrew waits by the kitchen doorway to help Kevin with setting the table. He’s far too small for such a task — he’ll drop any glassware Kevin gives him. Still, unwilling to let the child feel useless, Kevin asks him to set some napkins and cutlery out. Yes, that should be enough.

“Thank you, Andrew,” he says when he is done finishing up on their plates. Looking at the portions, Kevin is inclined to think they are far too much for someone of their size, but he doubts either have had access to an unrestricted meal in quite a while. At their age, Kevin knows he hadn’t. “It is very kind of you to help with the table.”

Andrew tilts his head towards his food without comment. He is almost unnervingly polite. It’s not the Andrew Kevin knows, and the contrast feels scathing.

Despite the children’s best efforts, their meal is not quiet. Kevin is not good with children, but he likes to think he is good with Andrew and Neil — as good as one can be, anyway. He prompts them into conversation by asking questions about their interests, their lives, their routines; half of it is trying to figure out how to care for these two, and the other half is emulating a chewed-out memory of how Kayleigh used to talk to him.

She was never the kind of parent who baby-talked to Kevin. As soon as he was able to, she tried to engage him in conversation — however loose that concept can be for a five-year-old. Kayleigh, from what he remembers of her, had the ability to make anyone feel listened to; Kevin doesn’t remember ever doubting she cared for his childish babbling about toys and daycare, even if nostalgia had colored the memory a soft mouth-pink. He only wishes he would’ve gotten at least half of her social adeptness. From Kayleigh, all Kevin got was green eyes, a gaping hunger for success and an inescapable attraction to troubled men.

“I play Exy and I like books,” Kevin offers in trade for information. It’s — well, he doesn’t have many hobbies. The gardening and the cooking are a late product of much of Dr. Betsy Dobson’s insistence that Kevin must make something out of himself that isn’t Exy-related. “I like cooking but I’m not good at it. And I like gardening but it takes a lot of work so I don’t do it all the time.”

“It’s not that bad,” Andrew tells him, motioning to his food with small movements. He finished his plate in record time, inhaling Kevin’s poor attempt at a caesar salad like it’s a five stars meal. On the other hand, Neil is halfway through with his and looks done already. “Your food.”

“Not that bad?” Kevin tilts his head slightly, amused. He’ll take it, he supposes. “Thank you, Andrew.”

Hesitant, like perhaps he fears Kevin will be angry at him for it, Neil picks up the conversation where he left off to say, “I like… horses. But, um, like toys.”

“Horses, I see,” Kevin repeats, a bit hopeless. Children’s interests are so loose. “And what else?”

Neil flicks him a suspicious glare. “What else?”

“I gave you four of my interests. A conversation has to be equal.”

Looking as if Kevin had sprouted a second head right in front of him, Neil does not do as he is asked so much as he stares at Kevin, mouth open in a little o. Has no one asked this child what he likes before? It feels out of character for the Butcher of Baltimore, sure, but Neil’s mother had seemed to care for him, at least from what little Kevin had heard about her.

“No?” Kevin tries after a few moments of silence. “I’m just trying to be friends.”

“Why would you be my friend?” Neil asks, putting down his fork with surprising care; as if to ensure it makes no noise. Even his voice is small and unobtrusive, despite the words. “Adults and children aren’t friends. Adults want children to be quiet.”

Kevin hides a wince. He hadn’t imagined the Butcher of Baltimore, in all his serial killer glory, would have indulged his child in conversation — and by the way Neil acts, he could’ve guessed for himself that most of Neil’s childhood had been trying to stay out of his father’s way. But no one ever wants to assume the worst out of a loved one’s suffering; Kevin had held out hope there’d be at least a silver lining in Neil’s horror stories.

It is not unlike how Kevin and Riko were raised in the Nest, anyway. Their private tutors were stern, and despite much of their trying, there was no place for childhood in Evermore: they were told to keep quiet or else. The Master would often say that they were not to act like children — it hadn’t occurred to him up until now how cruel it is to forbid a child from being childish.

“Well, if I’m asking you, don’t you think I want to know?” Kevin argues. “Not all adults think the same thing. Do you think the same thing as every other child?”

A pause. Neil shakes his head, looking somewhat green, as if he had just realized what he said. From Kevin’s other side, Andrew stares anxiously.

Rubbing a hand through his face, Kevin slowly puts out, trying to enunciate his words as gentle as he can make them, “I am not angry that you spoke your mind. It makes sense, what you said.” He shakes his head a little. Only a few minutes in, and he’s already ruining it — Kevin’s no good for anything that doesn’t involve a racquet. “But I would not have asked if I didn’t want to know. Do you understand?”

A small, careful nod. Kevin will take whatever he can get.

“Good.” Kevin starts to gather the empty plates — his and Andrew’s —, and motions towards Neil’s half-finished one. “Do you not like it? I can make you something else, if you want.”

The sudden shift in conversation visibly vexes Neil, but, politely, he replies, “...Not hungry.”

From beside Kevin, Andrew flinches. Hurrying to dispel it, Kevin says, “It’ll be in the fridge in case you want it later.” Piling the plates into one of his hands, Kevin offers the other one to Andrew. “Come on, you didn’t get to tell me what you like during lunch.”

The child watches Kevin’s hand — the right one, smooth and unscarred if a little crooked from the years of gripping racquets — warily before accepting it, threading his little fingers through Kevin’s. His hand feels unimaginably small; so fragile it is a wonder it even exists. Kevin is reminded of the first time he saw a baby bird, back in Dublin: he’d told his mom he couldn’t tell if it was super ugly or super cute. She’d laughed for what felt like an eternity after.

Still sitting politely at the table, Neil watches their joined hands, frowning. Kevin can’t tell what he’s thinking — wouldn’t be able to even with an adult Neil —, but the face he makes claws at his heart. “N—” not his name, “ah, do you want to come with?”

Thus invited, Neil follows them into the kitchen. Kevin washes the dishes and listens as Andrew tells him, a little shyly, that he likes Sesame Street, street cats (“Really?” Kevin asks. “Aren’t their claws a little scary?” to which Andrew seems to lose some respect for him on the spot), chocolate and amusement parks, when he is allowed to go. It's a fairly common list — Kevin didn’t know what he expected a five-year-old version of Andrew to like. Something a little more unorthodox, perhaps.

But children are the same everywhere, at any point. Andrew soaks up the attention Kevin gives him, happy to answer all questions, if a little insecure on why Kevin would be asking them. Knowing where Andrew was at this age, he doesn’t doubt it’s been a while an adult has actually spoken to him with some level of care for what he has to say: when was the last time Andrew has actually felt companionship? Someone who hears what he says and asks questions about it?

It feels sacrilegious to stop now. Already out of dishes to clean, Kevin scrubs and re-scrubs their plates until his hands ache as he asks Andrew questions, not unaware of Neil’s watching eyes.

“And how is it? California?” Kevin asks. The next thing he says is a bold-faced lie, because he’s visited Jean before, but he still says it. “I’ve never been. I heard it’s beautiful.”

He’s heard no such thing. Jean seems to think California is where meaningful art goes to die, but he can’t tell Andrew that.

“Is okay,” Andrew tells him, propped up on a stool next to Kevin. His little legs swing mindlessly. “The traffic — there’s traffic. And Disneyland.”

“You’ve been?” He asks again.

“Oh, um, no.”

It’s expected. “I have not either,” Kevin relates, making it sound like a bigger woe than it really is. His hands are rubbed raw at this point, and the soap pricks at the skin of his palms — soon, he’ll have to stop. Just a little more. “I don’t think I’d like it, either way.”

Andrew watches him curiously. “Why?”

“I don’t like crowds.” It’s not as easy as that, but Kevin leaves it as it is. The prickling sensation of the soap starts to crawl up his wrist, and he decides it is time to stop. Drying his hands off on a nearby cloth, Kevin prompts, “How about some dessert?”

It is the first time he’s ever said those words, and they horrify him, but the quickly-hidden flash of interest in Andrew’s face is worth breaking his streak for. From the stool beside Andrew, Neil frowns lightly. This child is too serious — Kevin tries to remember if he was like this back in little league, but his memory is not the best after so many hits to the head.

He rummages through their freezer. Andrew’s adult self is fond of indulging — there are a few half-eaten ice cream cartons tucked beneath frozen peas and other such vegetables, though most of them are flavored a cherry liqueur Kevin will most certainly not feed to children. Scavenging further he is able to retain a sealed chocolate carton, the frost covering it making his fingertips tingle.

This has to be too frozen to eat. Helpless, Kevin turns to look at the two five-year-olds as if they have a better idea. It’s weird, now, to be the person Andrew and Neil look to for answers — Kevin is used to it being the other way around. He is caught thinking that he’ll probably struggle in the coming days, without his two little shadows making life easier for him.

“I think if I microwave it a little bit, nothing’s going to happen,” Kevin mumbles to himself, aware that he is not inspiring much respect as an authority figure. He’s no Andrew, after all: Kevin’s still himself, despite all his best efforts to be someone else.

The ice cream loses some of its original texture in the microwave, but, if anything, Andrew seems to enjoy it as Kevin passes him a bowl. Neil does not accept one himself, politely saying he doesn't like sweets, and the lack of attitude from him is disturbing. Kevin is used to Neil being a force of nature — seeing him this quiet, this contained, is not easy. It makes him think of the iron-shaped scar on his adult self’s chest. All that dead skin.

Unwilling to let him be left out, Kevin cuts some slices of apple for him, which Neil takes with some degree of gratefulness. The little boys settle in front of the TV while Kevin manages to find a children’s channel, looking small on their ratty dorm carpet. Kevin isn’t sure children should be this small in the first place — he’s not sure if they are little because of genetics, or neglect. How much can you hurt a child until they disappear?

Kevin sits himself with them, cross-legged. He is too old to see the appeal of children’s television, so most of it is watching them from the corner of his eye and finding out what to say to Aaron to get him to come and help.

You 14:36

Hello. I think whatever happened to me last month just happened to Andrew and Neil.

As in, they have turned into five-year-olds. If you’ve forgotten.

When there is no immediate response, Kevin huffs to himself and snatches a picture of their two little heads pending towards each other, deep in conversation about the show they are watching. Kevin is, at least, relieved to see them interacting at all: Andrew might have been to kindergarten already, but Neil has always been undersocialized, all tutors and nannies. If Kevin can’t be his friend, then at least Andrew can.

The picture gets him a quicker answer.

Aaron 14:45

what the fuck what the fuck what the ufck

why doe sthis keep fucking happening to you

Like it’s his fault!

You 14:45

This is not the kind of thing I can control.

They are good children. Polite. Easier to deal with than I was, I wager. But I need you to come and help.

Aaron 14:47

why should i

what makes you think i could help you

You 14:49

Because he is your brother.

Before Kevin can read Aaron’s answer, something hooks on his hair. Looking down, he finds Andrew’s hand hanging a few inches away from it, alarmed and wide-eyed at being caught. Behind him, Neil looks just as queasy, as if this had been their joint effort.

“Can I help you?” Kevin asks, raising his eyebrow a little. When he gets no response, he concedes, "You can touch. Don’t tug or pull. And keep it away from your mouth.”

No response. Kevin doubles down, “It’s really fine. Here.” He pulls his hair out of its low ponytail, letting it curtain down his shoulders and back. It’s not often he lets his hair down like this — it can be too much of a hassle. Kevin ought to cut it one day, but the thought still makes him a little sick to think of. “As long as you’re careful.”

An hesitant little hand inches closer and closer, still warily watching out for Kevin’s reaction. When Andrew finds no resistance, he combs little fingers down the length of Kevin’s hair, faint and amazed. He’s not very gentle — children are too clumsy for it, still, and there is some tugging. It doesn’t hurt, though. Kevin allows it.

Resigning himself to being played with, Kevin gives them his back, leaning his elbow against the couch. Another pair of little hands clutches at a chunk of hair, and he knows Andrew has convinced Neil to get in on their impromptu hairdresser salon. At least they’re playing, Kevin consoles himself as he feels a pull on his scalp. At least they’re getting along.

“I have hair ribbons on my desk,” he offers, knowing what he is setting himself up to and still going through with it. “Colorful ones. Satin. Would you like to see them?”

A pause on the tugging. “Really?” That was Neil.

“Yes. But I’ll have to get up to get them.”

“I can do it,” Andrew tells him, the ever-helpful little waiter. He’s so polite — Kevin wonders if they taught him there is a higher chance of getting adopted if you treat the foster parents with subservience. Probably. “Where is it?”

“Andrew, it’s fine—”

“I’ll do it. He’s still playing, so I’ll do it.”

So kind, giving Neil time to play by himself. Kevin, helplessly charmed, would allow him anything. “Okay. Thank you.” Motioning vaguely in the direction of their desks, he says, “It’s the one with the shelves on top of it. Yes, that one, with the books. Be careful not to hit your head!” Watching Andrew narrowly duck under a shelf gives Kevin half an aneurysm, but the child seems no less interested in his quest. “First drawer. There. Did you find it?”

“Yes,” Andrew replies, shoving a chubby fist into the drawer and pulling out a handful of hair ribbons, all different colors and sizes. There was an organization system to it, and his careless pulling has clearly ruined it. A little disheartened, Kevin doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “This?”

“Yes. Please keep the drawer closed.”

The drawer snaps shut, and Andrew makes his way back to them, freshly acquired ribbons falling over his fingers and wrist in colorful flops. Kevin doesn’t see him sit back down, but he feels Andrew’s hand on his hair again. “Why do you have shelves?” Neil asks after a few moments of silence, their hands working ribbons in his hair via extremely clumsy braiding. “Um, just you, I mean. The others are empty.”

That he’s asking anything seems like a blessing, when the child is so quiet. “My—” Kevin hesitates. How to even describe it? “My… friend built them for me. The shelves. He got annoyed at me for leaving my books everywhere.”

It’s true. Just as Kevin loathes Andrew’s habit of leaving his cigarettes anywhere, so does Andrew loathe Kevin’s astray book piles across the living room, left half-read or unfinished in his haste to get to class or practice. The shelves had been less of a compromise and more of a surprise: one day, they were simply sitting above his desk like they’ve always been there. Kevin never asked Andrew if he built them, but he figured the wood splinters on his fingers were reason enough. It took a lot of arguing for Andrew to take them out the right way, instead of just letting the splinters break on their own.

“Oh,” Andrew says, entirely unaware of the story being about his older self and focused on tying a bow on Kevin’s hair. “Where is he?”

“There’s two of them, actually. They’re away for work.” Kevin leans his head closer when the tugging starts to get a little painful. “What are you doing back there, anyway?”

“It’s pretty,” Neil murmurs, defending his work. Kevin doubts it is, but he’s happy to even have the little Neil’s attention at all.

“You know how to braid?” He asks, trying to steal a look and getting his head gently moved back by Andrew. “By the way, what’s your name? You haven’t said.”

Neil hesitates, hands freezing. Kevin keeps talking, “Whatever you want to be called.”

“Um,” Neil thinks on it for a moment. He seems to be rolling Kevin’s hair nervously around his fingers now; a nervous fidget. “My—my dad calls me Junior, but my mom calls me Nat—Nathaniel.”

He doesn’t say it like he enjoys being called either.

“Hello, Nathaniel,” Kevin tilts his head in acknowledgement, because he wasn’t raised in a barn. “I’m Kevin. It’s nice to meet you.”

Shy little thing he is, Nathaniel doesn’t answer.

The children play with Kevin’s hair for a few more minutes before losing interest, leaving him a mess of ribbons and tangles he decides not to deal with for now. He imagines they should be put to sleep soon — children this small sleep in the afternoon, do they not? At their age, Kevin is sure he had to be made to nap one way or another, what with his mother’s hectic schedule. It’s a bit of a parenting cop-out, he is aware, but… Kevin could use a nap himself. Sure the children do, too.

He makes a show out of yawning behind his palm. Two pairs of eyes turn to him, neither particularly moved by his display. Tough crowd.

“Maybe we can all take a nap,” Kevin suggests. Nothing.

#asks #kandreil #my writing #thisis very scuffed i did some minor editing but its seriously not good. dont perceive me

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biillyhargroves · 2 years

Note

I see your "Steve needs the planets aligned to sleep" and raise you "Steve is so used to hearing his boyfriends' heartbeats from sleeping beside/between them that one night they have to change routine and Steve is Big Mad about it"

you can't just say this to me, you know I have to write it.

no sleep (fic requests open)

The bed is still warm when Steve wakes. He curls against it, breathes in the lingering scent of Aquanet and cigarette smoke, traces of Billy left in his wake.

There's a note on the refrigerator door, tacked down by an AC/DC magnet, a reminder that Billy has left to help Max and El move into their new off-campus apartment. The trip has been on the calendar for weeks, ever since Max called to ask for Billy's help. He'd offered for Steve to come along, but work demanded that he stay put. The little red light on the answering machine beckons Steve, Eddie's voice crackling through the speaker when he hits play.

"Hey, baby. Sorry I didn't get to call last night. We ran pretty late. I didn't want to wake you guys. I was hoping to catch you. I know Billy's probably gone by now." There's a pause. Eddie sounds tired. He's across the country, eight hours a day hunkered in a recording studio with the band. It sounds like he yawns before he says, "I'll talk to you later, okay?" Another pause, another yawn, and Eddie says, "I love you." before the line clicks off. The robotic voice of the machine announces that there are no new messages.

Steve pictures Eddie hanging up the phone, stumbling off to bed. He must be sound asleep already. He pictures Billy, too, on the road with the windows down and the radio cranked as high as it'll go, dashboard drumming his way to West Lafayette.

It is rare that the three of them spend time apart. In fact, Steve cannot remember the last time all three of them were pulled in separate directions. Even when Corroded Coffin tours, Steve and Billy do their best to travel with Eddie. If they can't, the two of them are home together, Eddie on speaker phone for late night check-ins. Steve is not used to being alone. Even brewing his morning coffee feels strange without another person to pour a cup for. There's a washed mug on the drying rack by the sink — Billy's from earlier in the morning. Steve takes it, uses it for his own coffee, tries to quell his nerves. Why does he feel so strange? He's a grown man, and so are they. They will both be home soon enough; he will not be alone for long.

Still, that strange anxiety follows Steve throughout the day. He stuffs it down, tries to keep himself busy, until he's home in the evening the phone rings.

"Hey, hon," Billy says when Steve picks up. "Just checking in."

There's music on in the background, the kind of soft pop that the girls have gotten into lately. He can hear voices, Max and El debating which cabinet should house the plates and which is best for cups. They dim and Steve pictures Billy shifting away, perhaps slipping around some corner.

Steve pins the phone between his shoulder and ear and says, "Hey. Everything good over there?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it's all good. The place isn't a shithole, at least." From another room, Steve can hear Max chide Billy. He must pull the phone away because he sounds distant when he laughs and tells her to mind her own business. They joke for a moment, that back-and-forth sibling banter that Steve knows Billy has been missing, and then Billy returns to the phone.

"High praise," Steve whistles. "What time are you heading out?"

"That's the thing," Billy says, and Steve can't help it — he feels worried. He sucks in his breath, hopes Billy can't hear his nerves through the line. "I think I'm crashing here tonight. I just want to make sure they're settled, you know? There's still some shit to unpack. I don't want leave them with a mess."

Steve is quiet for a beat and then catches himself, overcorrects, "Sure. Yeah, of course. Duh. Of course you're staying."

It's Billy's turn to sound worried when he says, "You okay?"

"Of course," Steve says too quickly. He takes a breath, squeezes his eyes shut, pinches the bridge of his nose. Why is this bothering him so much? He should be glad that Billy is getting time with sister, glad that he cares enough to make sure she's safe and settled at her new place. These are good things. But selfishly, Steve had been looking forward to curling up beside Billy that night. It's been hard enough with just the two of them, the bed feeling too big without Eddie. Steve hasn't slept without at least one of them at his side, doesn't know if he can handle being without them both. Selfishly, Steve wants Billy to hear his anxiety, to hop in the car and come home to him. He swallows these feelings, says, "I'm fine."

"You sure?" Billy presses, and Steve thinks about telling the truth, thinks about telling Billy that he needs him here, that he wants Billy beside him when he goes to sleep tonight.

Instead, Steve says, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."

Billy doesn't sound convinced. Still, he says, "Okay." He pauses. Steve can hear a TV flick on in the background, can hear El ask Billy if he has any preference. He asks her to give him a minute and then says, "You tell me if that changes, alright?"

"I will," Steve promises, taking down the phone number that Billy reads out to him, adding it to the list they've got pinned to the cork board by the sink. "I love you," Steve tells Billy when he can sense the call ending, can hear the girls vying for his attention in the background.

He can hear Billy's smile when he says, "I love you, too."

Eddie calls much later. Steve is on the couch, flipping through channels, bored of absolutely everything on television, when the phone rings. Steve mutes the TV and answers with a sleepy, "Hey."

"Hi," Eddie says, sounding surprised. "I didn't expect you to still be awake. It's crazy late, baby. You okay?"

"I'm fine," Steve lies. The truth, of course, is that he'd tried to go to bed at his usual time and had spent a good hour tossing and turning before giving in and retreating the couch, desperate for a distraction. The truth is that the bedroom felt too big and too cold and that every little sound grated on Steve's nerves. He'd start to drift off only to hear the air conditioner stutter or the pipes gurgle or the upstairs neighbor stomp across the floor. The pillows didn't smell as strongly of hairspray as they should, and there wasn't enough warm beneath the covers. Steve wanted Billy, or Eddie, or both of them. Steve swallows down these feelings and simply tells Eddie, "I miss you."

"I miss you, too, baby," Eddie says. "Sorry I've been M.I.A. I meant to call earlier. How's Billy? Is he home yet? I bet he passed out already, huh?"

"He's still at Max's," Steve explains, absently toying with the frayed threads of the couch cushion beside him, the spot where Billy would be if he were home. "Decided to stay over, make sure the girls are all settled in. He's coming home tomorrow."

"Oh," Eddie says. "Yeah. That makes sense." He's quiet for a moment before he asks, "You sure you're okay?"

Just like with Billy, Steve thinks about telling Eddie the truth. He doesn't feel okay, and he thinks about saying so. On the other hand, he doesn't want to come across as needy. He doesn't want to be the reason that Eddie or Billy drop important things. He doesn't need them here, not really. He wants them, wants their arms around him, wants the security of their heartbeats on either side of him, the warmth of their skin against his. Steve sighs and says, "I'm good. Just tired."

"Yeah," Eddie agrees. "Yeah, I feel that. You get some sleep, okay?"

"You, too," Steve says, because of course Eddie is tired, is probably more tired than he is. Steve rubs his eyes, and he hears Eddie yawn. "Go sleep," Steve tells him.

"I'm going," Eddie says sleepily. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

Steve feels lonelier when Eddie hangs up the phone. He keeps the receiver to his ear for a few moments after, thinking about calling back, telling Eddie that he didn't mean it, that he's not okay. He thinks about calling Billy, too. But he doesn't want to wake up Max or El just to talk to Billy, to whine to his boyfriend about being alone.

Are they missing him the way Steve's missing them? Eddie's so exhausted, Steve imagines the loneliness must not phase him. He must tumble into bed and fall right out. And Billy, he can sleep anywhere, circumstances be damned. Steve has watched him fall asleep during concerts, curled up in the breaks between bands, tucked away backstage while waiting for Corroded Coffin to go on.

Steve sighs. He shuts off the TV on his way into the bedroom, crawls into bed and tries, again, to sleep. He doesn't know how long he lays there, in the dark, annoyed at every little sound keeping him awake.

The sky is a hazy almost-blue when he hears the front door open. Steve is twilighting, but still far from asleep. He groggily raises his head as hushed voices drift from the hall. The bedroom door opens, bags are dropped on the floor.

"What's going on?" Steve asks. The mattress beside him dips down. Eddie smells like cool air and cigarette smoke; he smooths back Steve's hair, kisses his temple, doesn't even bother changing out of his clothes before slipping into bed beside him.

"We were worried about you," Eddie says softly, arms around Steve's waist. He nuzzles his face against Steve's neck, his warm breath tickling Steve's skin.

"We?" Steve asks.

"You're a bad liar," Billy tells him. He tucks himself beside Steve, too, his arms secure around Steve's middle. He kisses Steve's forehead before tucking Steve's head beneath his chin.

"What are you guys doing?" Steve asks. He's still tense between them, confused and wondering if perhaps this is a dream. Billy holds him a little tighter, and Eddie snuggles a little closer, and they feel too real for his brain to have conjured up.

"If you want us home," Billy says sleepily, his eyes already closing, his fingers trailing lazily up and down Steve's spine, "you just have to say so."

"Yeah," Eddie agrees, so close to Steve that his lips graze Steve's skin, his thumb rubbing small, soothing circles over Steve's hip. "Next time just tell us the truth, okay?"

"I didn't want to bother you guys," Steve admits sheepishly. He can't help it, though. He melts against him, can already feel his exhaustion tugging at his bones. He yawns, settles between Billy and Eddie, lets them hold him.

"You're not a bother," Eddie tells him.

"Besides," says Billy, "don't you think we'd rather sleep home, too?"

Steve wants to cry. He nuzzles against Billy's chest, relishes the feel of Eddie curled up behind him; happily sandwiched between them, the only thing he think to say is a tiny, sleepy, "Thank you."

#harringroveson #harringroveson fics #stedilly #stilldie #metalsandwich #how many tags are there for these three omg #anyway have some cuties

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avacoleman · 3 months

Text

when the lights go out || a firstprince fic

summary: Henry Fox’s career is in crisis and his dating life isn’t faring much better either. After a chance encounter with a charming man becomes memorable for all the wrong reasons, Henry throws himself into his next assignment: writing the memoir of a beloved C-list actor. Henry, however, knows Alex best for the role he played as his random, awkward one-night stand. Henry enters their professional partnership keen on keeping their relationship just that. But after Henry confesses that their hookup was less than spectacular, Alex concots an arrangement that Henry is unable to resist. In addition to ghostwriting Alex’s life story, Henry will teach him a thing or two about satisfying a man. As they spend months out on the road together, they must decide if the connection between them is yet another story worth telling.

chapter 3/8 || rated e || read on ao3 *updates every tues. and fri. *

Minneapolis, MN Twin Cities Con Day 1 Henry sits front row at the Crescent Valley panel. Today, the announcement will go live and Alex and his castmates will reunite on this very stage to deliver the news fans have been waiting for. Henry has seen all the hashtags and petitions that have been created online since the show went off the air five years ago. Viewers made passionate pleas, conducted letter writing campaigns, and made countless videos demanding, at the very least, one special to give them a glimpse into the lives of their beloved characters and to see the cast together again. It’s interesting sitting among them now knowing full-well what’s in store. The energy in the room is off the charts as the Crescent Valley theme song starts to play and the cast files onto stage. Seeing them all in the flesh is a bit disorienting. Henry’s gotten so used to seeing them on his laptop screen, yet here they are all now right before his eyes. Henry’s gaze slides to Alex and at once he feels centered, but he’s quickly thrown off again seeing Alex and Nora putting their heads together, laughing about something as the moderator reads out everyone’s names. Henry figures it shouldn’t be surprising given their history. All the same, it makes an unnameable emotion swell in Henry’s chest.

He quickly pushes the feeling aside and allows the sheer pandemonium around him to consume him. He finds himself joining the masses and cheering on the cast as they smile and wave at the audience before taking their seats.

The panel goes along much like any other until the end during the Q&A portion. A man steps up to the mic for the final question and though Henry personally has no clue who he is, the audience collectively gasps. From overheard whispers, he learns the man is none other than the creator of Crescent Valley.

Henry looks up at the stage, his eyes landing immediately on Alex. He sees the excitement in his eyes like a kid on Christmas morning.

The show’s creator waits for silence to fall before he speaks.

“Now, I have just one question for you guys,” he says looking at the actors on stage. “Are you ready to step into the world of Crescent Valley one last time?”

“Yes!” the cast says together into their mics as the monitors on the sides of the stage flash with the news.

Crescent Valley returns for a two-hour special this winter!

The eruption from the audience is unlike anything Henry has ever seen or heard before. People are jumping out of their seats, crying, screaming, hugging each other. Through it all, Henry can’t take his eyes off Alex and the cast as they drink it all in, the Crescent Valley theme song playing once more as the perfect soundtrack for the reverent fans losing their ever-loving minds in the room.

There are so many questions Henry wants to ask Alex about this moment, but he knows any hopes for talking about the book or literally anything else today are completely dashed now that the news is out in the world.

~*~*~

Henry’s suspicions were right. Alex's phone had gone off all afternoon with calls and texts from Zahra with interview requests that have been streaming in. On every platform imaginable, #CrescentValleySpecial is trending and Alex’s mentions are in complete disarray. Henry had expected things to get crazy, but this was outright insanity.

He was able to get introduced to the cast after the panel when he went backstage. All his inexplicable nervousness in meeting Nora turned out to be for nothing.

The way she and Alex interacted with one another was more like brother and sister. Whatever romantic feelings they held over five years ago was clearly ancient history.

He left Alex to spend the evening with his castmates though he had been welcomed to join them. It was a sweet offer, but Henry figured blocking out a few hours to work on his notes and configuring the preliminary skeleton of the book would be a wiser use of his time. He checked in with Pez, making sure their apartment was still in one piece and gave his friend an update from the road.

Pez was freaking out about the special just like everyone else online. He wouldn’t let Henry go without him promising to fill Pez in if he caught wind of any spoilers over the next few weeks.

Looking at his document, Henry feels satisfied with the work he’s done this evening.

It’s eleven o'clock now and according to the tour itinerary, Alex has a signing in the morning followed by a cast reunion photoshoot. He mentally prepares for another day where they won’t get to see much of each other or truly be alone together.

Henry brushes his teeth, studying his reflection in the mirror when he hears his phone vibrate on the counter. He looks down, turning his head to read the text message that appears on his lock screen.

Alex cant sleep. up for another lesson?

Henry spits out his toothpaste and rinses out his mouth before picking up his phone and answering.

Henry Ready when you are.

Five minutes later, there’s a knock at Henry’s door.

“Hey,” Alex says.

He stands before Henry in his glasses, wearing checkered navy blue pajama pants and a gray t-shirt. It’s a bit ridiculous how good he looks even when severely underdressed like this.

“Sorry for the late night message. My head’s been buzzing all day and I still feel completely wired. Also, I missed you today. And now I’m realizing I’ve literally sent a godforsaken ‘u up’ text. You would’ve been well within your rights to tell me to fuck all the way off.”

Henry laughs at how quickly Alex gets all these words out.

“I’m a bit of an insomniac anyway so you’re hardly disturbing me. And besides, I sorta missed you too.”

Alex smiles a little and sways in place.

“Oh, do come in,” Henry says belatedly, stepping aside. He closes the door and locks it behind him.

“What’s next on your syllabus? We’re still on touch, right?” Henry asks.

“Yes, getting to know thy cock.”

A laugh rips out of Henry. “You’re the worst.”

Alex winks and takes a seat on Henry’s bed.

“Okay, so touch and getting more acquainted with what your partner likes,” Henry says.

He thinks on it for a moment.

“As I’ve mentioned before, this really will be trial and error each time you’re intimate with someone. It’s not unlike when you’ve been with past partners. I’m sure you’ve found that what one person may love, another isn’t too fond of.”

Henry pauses again.

“I wonder if this might not be better for me to show you rather than explain,” Henry says.

Alex looks confused, his brows furrowed.

“Like…you give me a handjob or…I give you a proper one this time?”

“Or, option C, I get myself off and you watch,” Henry says plainly.

Alex blanches and Henry takes a bit of pride in being able to shock Alex like this.

“You said you wanted to know what I liked, right? Feels like this could be the best way to do just that.”

“Well, I am a visual learner,” Alex says quietly.

Henry crosses the room and goes into his suitcase, starting to dig around.

“I think people have a tendency to get wrapped up in the idea of penetration being the only ‘real’ kind of sex,” Henry says thoughtfully. “If you ask me, that’s a very limited scope. There are so many different ways to intimately connect with your partner. Manually is one of them.”

He takes out a small bottle of lube and turns back to face Alex.

“Whether it’s you getting your partner off or watching them and vice versa, this is another way you can, for a lack of a better term, come together when intimate.”

Alex laughs. “Yes, I have the humor of a middle schooler. Sue me.”

Henry rolls his eyes and steps closer to Alex.

“Can I kiss you? It helps,” he says, not explaining further.

If Alex is confused, he hides it well. He simply parts his legs where he’s seated on the length of the bed and Henry steps between them. He frames Alex’s face, leans in and kisses him straight away.

The man is a pro at this and after a few moments, Henry can feel that familiar stirring in the pit of his stomach. Alex kisses him hungrily, deepening it and Henry feels his body respond immediately. He kisses Alex for a little while longer before forcing himself to pull away.

Rather than sit beside Alex on the edge, he gets in and lays back against the pillows.

Alex shifts to look at him. Henry tugs off his sweats and boxer briefs. It’s ridiculously easy to feel comfortable being naked in front of Alex and the fact that there’s still more weeks ahead should not thrill him in the way that it does.

He squeezes a small drop of lube in the palm of his hand. He coats his cock, shivering a little at the feel of the substance against his sensitive skin.

Alex’s eyes are wide and unblinking as he watches Henry’s movements.

“It’s the same principle you might have for when you get yourself off. Sometimes you might want it quick and rough, but more often than not, for me anyway, I really like the buildup. I enjoy getting myself worked up and close to the edge before letting myself let go completely. When I’m with a guy, I like it the same way. With teasing too. I can’t get enough of that, if I’m being honest. It drives me wild.”

He demonstrates, slowly stroking himself and circling the tip of his cock. Precome glistens on the head and he smears it with the pad of his thumb.

Henry shivers and practically purrs.

Alex doesn’t even look like he’s breathing as he watches.

“That first night, you were overthinking it. It made you second guess yourself rather than follow your instincts. If there are moves or techniques that you enjoy, chances are that your partner might like them too. But you’ve got to give them the opportunity to really experience it before jumping so quickly onto the next thing.”

Henry squeezes himself and pumps his hand again slowly along his shaft.

“I actually really like this and you had the basic thought of it when we hooked up, but it felt sort of mechanical. I could feel your hesitancy and it took me out of the moment,” he says gently.

Alex frowns. “Sorry about that.”

Henry shakes his head. “Nothing to be sorry about. Now you know for next time.”

Something flickers in Alex’s eyes and it makes a pleasant chill run down Henry’s spine. The promise of next time. Henry has no clue when their next hookup will be, but the idea of Alex’s hand on him makes him even harder.

His eyes roll shut and Henry lets his imagination run with the fantasy. He pictures this moment now, only it’s Alex’s hand between his legs, pleasuring him, teasing him. He thinks back to that night in Arizona, their first foray into the touch component.

Alex’s movements in his room were far better than their initial night. It seemed he had really taken Henry’s preliminary feedback into consideration. Since that night in Arizona, Henry had been wondering how things might have gone if they hadn’t stopped at strictly over the clothes, if he pushed their lesson a bit further.

A soft sound falls from his parted lips as his head tips back against the plush pillows as he envisions it. He spreads his legs wider and teases the slit of his cock. Distantly he hears Alex hiss. Henry does too. He’s so aroused and sensitive, even the air in the room makes the sensations more acute.

He bites back on his lower lip as he continues to stroke himself, his freehand massaging his balls. He feels the bed shift and he opens his eyes to find Alex on the bed in earnest, settled on his knees, studying him with rapt attention, his hands balled into fists against his lap.

Henry’s back arches as he stares at Alex, his heart pounding steadily. He gives his cock another firm squeeze on a downstroke and moans. It’s intoxicating knowing he has Alex locked into him like this. Alex’s cheeks are flushed, his eyes hungry and curious.

“Are you hard too?” Henry asks, his breath catching in his throat.

Alex scoffs. “How could I not be? Fucking hell, Henry, look at you.”

Henry smirks as he continues jerking himself off, teasing his leaking slit, his eyes never leaving Alex.

“Touch yourself with me then?” he hiccups. “If you’d be okay with—,”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Alex is already racing to get his pants off. He settles beside Henry, occupying the space on the other side of the mattress. His cock is slick already and Henry whimpers quietly at the sight.

“Think we can get you to come with me?” he asks, turning his head towards Alex.

“After watching you like this? I’m shocked I haven’t lost it already.”

Maybe it’s just easy banter but Alex makes him feel so desirable, wanted.

There’s a soft sheen of sweat at Alex’s temple and Henry’s eyes track a bead of it slowly racing down the side of his face. Knowing that Alex is this riled up because of him just arouses Henry more.

He watches the muscles flex in Alex’s arm, studies the way his fingers wrap around his own cock and work over the shaft. It’s unbelievably erotic and Henry feels his cock swell as he studies Alex. Alex’s breath is shaky as he watches him in turn.

“See? This can be just as hot. Maybe even hotter,” Henry notes. “Mutual masturbation can really do the trick too. It’s a different way of thinking about touch.”

Alex nods in agreement or understanding as he leans over, lips already searching. Henry kisses him at once. It’s heated and messy and only spurs them both on. The bed shakes as they both work to get themselves off feverishly, the two whimpering and moaning as they go.

Alex’s tongue toys with Henry’s so expertly it makes Henry’s toes curl. It’s too much all at once and Henry’s resolve slips. He comes hard into his fist, gasping into Alex’s mouth.

He rests his forehead against Alex’s as the man reaches his end a few beats later. Henry’s eyes are glued on the sight, his throat dry watching Alex’s release spill onto his hand and stomach. The urge to taste him is overwhelming. It takes every bit of restraint he has not to lick him clean.

Alex’s breaths are shaky as they fan across Henry’s face.

“How’d I do?” Alex asks, voice strained. He pulls back enough to look Henry fully in the face. His eyes are bright and wild and Henry would bet every dollar he has that he looks exactly like this too.

He outstretches a hand, tucking it under Alex’s chin.

“Top marks, Mr. Claremont-Diaz. Ten out of bloody ten.”

~*~*~

Minneapolis, MN Day 2

The excitement for the Crescent Valley special seems to have taken on new life the following day. At the convention center this morning, it felt as if every other person Henry walked past was speculating about the show, shooting off their headcanons and best guesses at what the writers had planned. Much like yesterday, Henry felt like a fly on the wall, a spy behind enemy lines getting intel on the ground.

The cast has been privy to it all. After their signing, they all sat around backstage talking about all the messages they’ve been receiving from fans all over the world. Henry couldn’t wrap his mind around that, a life in the public eye where people from all corners of the earth knew his name and cared so deeply about the work he was doing that they’d invest so much of their time and energy into it.

Henry tagged along with Alex to the cast photoshoot downtown. Once more he was struck by just how different his life was from Alex’s and the way even Alex himself seemed to be two people in one. When the cameras were on him, he could bring forth a version of himself that fit the celebrity bill to a tee. But the second he was off on the sides, away from the spotlight, he was his down to earth self, making jokes and keeping things fun for everyone around him.

Upon their return to their hotel, they head to their respective rooms with promises to see each other again soon.

In his room alone, Henry feels antsy for reasons he can’t explain. He watches a few episodes of Crescent Valley which is quickly (and still secretly) becoming his biggest guilty pleasure before he decides watching Alex on screen is no substitute for the real thing. He grabs his laptop and leaves his room, marching down the hall to Alex’s.

He knocks twice and stands back, running a hand through his hair, his brows lifting as Alex answers the door, a towel wrapped low on his hips, body glistening with water.

“Sorry, did you text me? I must have missed it.”

Henry shakes his head, mouth suddenly very dry.

“No, I thought I’d swing by, but I definitely should have reached out first. I didn’t mean to catch you at a bad time.”

“Don’t be ridiculous; come in.”

Henry tears his eyes away from Alex’s damp torso, in particular the water droplet that makes its way down from his chest to the towel at his hips.

He steps inside of Alex’s room.

“What brings you by? Missed me already?” he teases, unknowingly hitting right on the truth.

Alex slips on a shirt, the fabric quickly blooming wet spots from Alex’s fresh-out-the-shower skin.

Henry turns away, letting him get dressed with some modicum of privacy.

“I wanted to share the preliminary draft pages I worked on yesterday. I know I could have emailed them and you could make edits in the doc, but I thought it might be more helpful to go over it together in person so we could talk through any suggestions or changes you might have.”

Alex comes into view from behind him and takes a seat on one of the two single seater armchairs in the room. He’s fully clothed now which is both a relief and a disappointment. Henry switches off the side of his brain that feels the latter.

Rule number one of this arrangement could not be any clearer. The book will always be their top priority.

Henry sits in the chair opposite Alex and sets his laptop down on the round table between them, opening up the document.

Alex pulls the laptop forward and Henry anxiously watches as Alex starts to read. Henry kicks himself then. Maybe he really should have simply shot Alex an email. Watching his reaction in real time is nerve-wracking even though Alex seems to be enjoying it.

“We’ve really been spending a lot of time together, haven’t we?” Alex says, looking over the top of the laptop at Henry when he’s done. “You’ve got my voice down so well. This is actually kind of scary. You see, this is why we wanted you. You’re incredible at what you do.”

Henry laughs and waves him off. “It’s nothing.”

Alex shakes his head. “It’s a gift, Henry. You’re like a shapeshifter. You forget, I’ve seen the samples from your previous works. Each piece is so singular. It’s wild to know you’re behind them all.”

Henry blushes a bit at the compliment. “That means a lot, thank you.”

Alex sets the computer aside.

“You’re always asking questions about me, let’s switch it up.”

Henry laughs. “I’m not the one with a memoir due out, now am I?”

“Hmm, no. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to learn more about you. So, tell me. Do you think you’d ever write a book of your own?”

Henry rubs the back of his neck. It’s strange being the one under the spotlight, even in a harmless moment like this where it’s just the two of them.

“I’ve thought about it before. More than that, I’ve made attempts, but I don’t know. I think I’ve gotten so used to losing myself in other people, I’m not sure there’s much of me left.”

Alex searches his eyes.

“You clearly have a voice, Henry. People already pay good money for it. Just imagine when it’s your own stories on those pages.”

Henry smiles. “I’ve started quite a few stories. But ghostwriting, it’s been steady, sure work.”

“But are you passionate about it?” Alex asks and Henry is a bit taken aback by how effortlessly Alex seems to see right through to the heart of the matter.

“That book you had with you that night in New York, the gamer guy. You didn’t look happy at all sitting there with it.”

Henry shrugs. “I was having a bit of doubt around my career when we met, yes. I’m sure these aren’t words you want to hear from the man currently working on your book.”

Alex waves him off. “At least it’s the truth. You should be excited about what you do. Writing is clearly what you’re good at. The way you’re able to voice all these different people, I can only imagine the characters you dream up. I’d hate for you to get a bad association with writing if you keep cranking out books that don’t motivate you.”

Henry frowns.

“I am excited about working on this one with you,” he says.

Alex smirks. “Well, yeah, that’s because I’m awesome and who wouldn’t want to spend every waking moment with me? I’m a goddamn delight,” he jokes before growing serious again, leaning forward a little and holding Henry’s gaze.

“Can you promise me something, Hen? After you’re done with our book, can you get back to one of yours?”

“Your book,” Henry corrects. Alex jokingly snarls. “But fine, yes. I’ll try with it again.”

“Good because I really think you should go for it for real this time. You’ve got far too much talent to let your words just sit on your laptop or for your characters to only live in your head. The world needs to hear you and know your name.”

“You know, if acting ever stops working for you, you’d make a killing as a motivational speaker,” Henry says.

Alex laughs and closes the laptop.

“We’ll call that plan B. I like keeping my options open.”

He gets up and stretches out on his bed, propping his head up on his hand and looking at Henry.

“It’s much comfier over here,” he says.

Henry laughs softly at the not so subtle invitation, but he gets up and lays beside Alex, staring up at the ceiling. He can feel Alex’s eyes on him, feel the warmth of the man’s body so close to his. Most of all, he can feel the growing tension between them, born out of nothing more than simply being next to each other and sharing space.

Some distant part of Henry’s brain cautions him against this, telling him to somehow scale back this very obvious attraction he feels towards Alex, but at this point, it’s as natural as breathing. He couldn’t help it if he tried.

He turns his head and Alex is right there, bright eyes already fixed on him.

“Since we’re doing things a little differently tonight,” Henry says, “how about we apply that to today’s lesson as well?”

Alex’s brows furrow.

“How so?”

“It’s important to know what your partner is into, how they like to be touched and handled. You’ve been doing really well with that, but I realize, it’s been a bit one-sided.”

Alex shifts slightly, still looking perplexed.

“I like how things have been going.”

“That might be so, but I want you to enjoy this too. These lessons have been about teaching you how best to work with your partner, but you should be able to know how to advocate for what you want as well.”

“Again, for the record, I have in fact been enjoying the hell out of myself. But I get what you mean and I appreciate it.”

Henry nods. “So, with that in mind, if you’re up for it, I’d like for us to focus solely on your pleasure and your needs tonight.”

In the quiet of the room, Henry can perfectly hear the breath that falls from Alex’s lips. To his credit, Alex quickly composes himself and nods.

“Yeah, I’d be alright with that.”

Henry smiles and leans forward slowly, watching Alex’s lips part in anticipation for him before he presses their mouths together. Alex all but melts into him and Henry is right there with his arms circling his waist at once.

They take their time, hands wandering along the slopes of each other's bodies, their tongues savoring each other’s taste. Henry can’t imagine he could ever grow tired of kissing Alex and, distantly, he thinks of the fact that one day very soon, this will all come to an end.

He pushes the thought from mind, opting instead to focus on this present moment where Alex is his alone.

Henry breaks the kiss first, but his lips don’t go far. He peppers a trail of kisses along Alex’s jaw as the man tangles his fingers in his hair.

Henry lets out a soft sound as Alex tugs and presses their bodies closer, rolling his hips forward, rutting up against him. Henry grinds back, stifling a groan at how half hard Alex is already.

“Tell me what you want most right now.”

Alex sighs, tightening his grip on Henry’s strands. Henry can hear the sharp inhale he takes.

“I want you to go down on me,” Alex rasps, breath catching as Henry continues dropping kisses on his skin.

“With pleasure,” Henry whispers against the shell of Alex’s ear, nipping gently on the man’s earlobe. He earns a deep moan in response.

Alex sinks back down against the bed, reaching for his jeans but Henry shakes his head and takes a hold of his hands.

“Allow me.”

Alex mutters a curse under his breath, his brown eyes growing darker still as he nods. Henry lets go of Alex’s hands and the man settles more, his arms folding behind his head as Henry begins to undo his jeans.

“Enjoying the view, are we?” Henry teases.

Alex grins shamelessly and shrugs.

“A guy could get used to this.”

Henry laughs and places a kiss against his hip before removing the rest of his clothes. He’s hardly a stranger to Alex’s body but still, being faced with it like this makes him a bit speechless.

He runs his hands up the length of Alex’s thighs which the man spreads, a silent invitation to all of him.

Henry curses. Alex merely smirks.

How could it be that one person can be both his salvation and damnation?

Henry lays on his stomach and skims his fingers along Alex’s inner thighs and feels the instant tremor in the man’s legs, watching how much his cock stiffens almost instantly. A pearl of precome gathers at this tip. Henry’s eager to taste it.

He decides to take mercy on them both and takes a hold of Alex’s cock, giving him a few steady strokes before taking him slowly into his mouth.

“Thank God, I was about to start begging,” Alex huffs.

Henry smiles to himself.

“Damn, should have held out a moment longer,” he teases before sucking softly on the tip of Alex’s cock, still taking his time but giving Alex enough to know he’s not being toyed with.

“Henry.” The name falls from his tongue in a fierce growl.

When those rich brown eyes land on him, Henry hardly recognizes them. Gone is the humor, the teasing.

In its place is something so carnal and exact it pierces right through Henry and leaves him aching for more. He opens his mouth further and takes more of Alex. He closes his eyes and moans, letting his tongue swirl on the underside of the man’s cock. He massages his balls, squeezing them here and there as he goes.

Alex’s hips tip upwards and Henry pays close attention to what techniques get the biggest reactions from Alex.

The man is never shy or unresponsive in the bedroom and now more than ever, Henry appreciates how vocal Alex can be.

He repeats his ministrations, all too pleased to hear every sound his actions coax out of Alex.

He takes him down deeper, his jaw slackening to accommodate. Henry feels his eyes water a little, but he keeps going, a deep moan emitting from him as Alex’s cock hits the back of his throat.

Alex trembles like never before. Henry half expects him to be levitating, suspended in some other plane of existence entirely. It only makes Henry double down. He can taste Alex on his tongue, feel the early traces of his release. Alex is right there teetering on the edge.

Henry keeps his touches deliberate, the tips of his fingers gently skimming across Alex’s inner thighs once more.

“Fuck,” the man hisses from above. Henry looks at him, feeling himself harden at the sight of Alex covering his mouth with the back of his hand, his fingers curling into a fist.

Noted, Henry thinks to himself, pleased to discover one of Alex’s weaknesses.

“Wait,” Alex chokes out.

Henry pulls away immediately and takes the time to catch his breath.

“I want…,” Alex rasps. “Fuck, I don’t want to you to stop, but I don’t want to come like this. I want…I don’t know.”

“More?” Henry asks. Alex nods heavily, his legs trembling.

Henry places a kiss on each of Alex’s thighs before getting up on his knees.

“I need you to be specific then. More could mean anything.”

Heat rushes to Alex’s already flushed face.

“Well, if we’re keeping with the theme of doing things a bit different…I, uh, I kinda want to try something new. I didn’t put it on the syllabus because we didn’t do it that night and, well, I don’t even know if it’s something you’d be into.”

Alex sighs, picking absentmindedly at the bedding.

“This would completely blow past other steps we should probably take first, but it’d be so…it would be everything. God, this is embarrassing as hell.”

Henry places a reassuring hand on Alex’s knee.

“It’s okay. We can talk about it. What’s going on?”

Alex licks his lips and looks away, still picking away at the bedspread before catching Henry’s eye again.

“Since you’re down there, I mean, I wouldn’t exactly be opposed to feeling your mouth elsewhere…or your tongue. God, don’t make me say it. Is that specific enough?”

Henry quirks a brow. “I think so,” he says, gently slipping a hand under Alex’s ass, his thumb ghosting over his entrance. Henry stares at him, silently asking.

Alex shivers, eyes fluttering for a moment as a look of relief washes over his face.

“Yeah, I wanna feel you there,” he says as he settles back, taking a breath. “I want to know what it’s like. I've seen videos and I’ve…always wondered.”

Henry brushes his thumb against him again as he nods.

“Let’s not keep you waiting then, love.”

Alex’s eyes go comically wide.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Henry echoes.

This may indeed be more advanced than where they are in Alex’s outline, but Henry reasons it’s a worthy exception. It’d be a different case if the roles were reversed. He knows what he’s doing here and Henry is a man of his word. This is something Alex has been curious about and he’ll provide a safe space for him to explore it.

Henry grabs a pillow and descends again. He positions the pillow under Alex right on his lower back, giving himself better access. Alex takes a deep breath and swallows hard.

“Doing okay?” Henry asks, lightly stroking Alex’s cock.

Alex nods twice. “Yeah, keep going. I’m ready,” he assures.

Henry smiles at him before turning his attention to Alex’s entrance. He maintains his hold on Alex’s cock and licks experimentally at his rim.

Alex cries out sharply, his cock twitching, a telltale sign of his arousal at this new development.

“Holy shit. That’s it. Again, sweetheart, please,” Alex sputters.

Henry doesn’t hesitate. He licks again, slower this time before swirling his tongue. Alex huffs out a rough breath. Henry repeats the move over and over, taking his time and letting Alex truly experience these new sensations.

Alex opens beautifully for him. Henry’s own cock feels heavy between his legs but he ignores it, so focused and devoted to the task of pleasuring Alex as he wants.

His tongue delves in deeper, gently probing now, and greedily searching. Alex’s whole body twitches. He gets a hand in Henry’s hair and tugs.

“Oh, my fucking god,” Alex chokes out, his legs instinctively trying to squeeze shut. But with Henry so firmly in place, the move merely traps Henry further.

He lets out a moan, knowing the vibrations will only heighten the sensations coursing through Alex. He gets his confirmation as Alex lets loose another curse, his breaths raspy and uneven.

Henry’s hand continues to pump Alex’s shaft. He can feel Alex’s resolve slipping in the way his cock drips and his walls tighten. But Henry doesn’t let up; he takes these cues as motivation to keep going, to dive deeper inside of Alex, leaving every bit of Alex explored. He can feel Alex’s walls clenching more as he gets more vocal. Alex fucks into his fist, back arching a bit before he thrashes against the bed.

A flurry of curses and moans fall from Alex’s lips. Henry’s thumb encircles the head of Alex’s leaking cock as he rolls his tongue inside him once more. He nibbles softly, smirking as Alex cries out again. Henry could spend hours like this, but from Alex’s sharp reactions, he knows it’s only a matter of time before he breaks.

Henry rolls his tongue faster, squeezing Alex just under the head of his cock. Alex shudders hard and grabs a fist full of Henry’s hair, panting and riding his tongue, begging Henry not to stop.

It’s a pointless request as Henry has absolutely no intentions of slowing down, let alone cutting things short all together. He strokes Alex again, getting lost inside Alex and sending another moan through him.

Alex slams his other hand down against the bed and makes a choked sound before crying out as he reaches his end. His release coats Henry’s fist, makes a mess of his fingers but Henry doesn’t stop. He carries Alex through his orgasm, delighting in the soft broken sounds that escape his mouth as he rides out the wave.

It’s only when Alex falls back against the bed and stills that Henry resurfaces.

He finds Alex still catching his breath, his fixed to one spot on the ceiling, eyelashes and cheeks wet. Henry settles into the spot beside Alex and kisses his shoulder lightly.

“I’m starting to think you aren’t actually real. Or maybe you're like, some kind of sex god that got put in that bar that night to completely wreck me,” Alex muses, turning his head to face him.

Henry laughs. “I’m going to hold you personally responsible when I inevitably turn into a raging egomaniac.”

Alex shakes his head. “You’d deserve to gloat. Fuck, you’re really a pro at all this stuff.”

A smile works its way onto Henry’s face as he props his head up on his clean hand.

He sucks his index finger into his mouth, eyes fixed on Alex’s as he tastes him. Alex stares in stunned silence for a moment before he curses.

“Years at all-boys boarding schools will do that to a person,” Henry says, picking back up the conversation as if nothing has happened. “I’m glad I could make you feel good.”

Alex shakes his head as if to clear it.

“We can safely add that to the list of things I like,” Alex says. “Shit, that’s officially in first place actually.”

Henry laughs. “Welcome to the exciting world of rimming.”

“I really like it here. I’m moving in as we speak.”

Alex laughs breathlessly and searches Henry’s eyes for a moment, a bit of uncertainty in his gaze the longer he stares. He reaches out a hand and traces the curve of Henry’s bottom lip with his knuckles.

Henry wonders if Alex even realizes how intimate his little touches can be.

“We’re still doing what I want, right?” Alex asks, lowering his hand.

Henry can still feel his touch like a phantom sensation on his lip.

He nods slowly, curious what Alex has in mind.

“The night is completely yours, yes.”

Alex looks down between Henry’s legs where his sweatpants do absolutely nothing to hide his arousal.

Alex clenches his jaw, the muscle flexing. He looks away again, back at Henry’s face. His fingertips ghost along Henry’s inner arm instead now.

Henry can feel goosebumps rise in their wake. Truly, did Alex not know how much he was making him come undone with these subtleties?

“In that case, I want to watch you get yourself off and when you do, I want it to be on me.”

Henry’s brows shoot up to his hairline.

“Is that too much?” Alex asks.

Henry quickly shakes his head to dispel his worries.

“Not at all. I’m just surprised. I didn’t see that request coming.”

Alex laughs deeply.

“Hey, man. I haven’t stopped thinking about you touching yourself since that one magical night. You can’t give me an experience like that and not expect me to want a repeat.”

Henry laughs. “I never said I had any objections,” he counters smoothly, already reaching for his waistband and slipping out of his sweats and boxer briefs in one fell swoop.

“In fact, I’d be all too happy and willing to oblige.”

He switches his position and straddles Alex’s waist, settling on top of him, his messy right hand already on his own slick cock. It’s filthy, but Henry hardly cares and judging by how hard Alex swallows and stares up at him, the other man doesn’t mind either.

Henry doesn’t bat an eyelash as he sets a slow rhythm on himself and stares back, anchoring his free hand to the center of Alex’s abdomen.

“This is so fucking hot,” Alex murmurs, rubbing circles against Henry’s thighs at once.

Henry laughs softly before growing serious again, keeping his eyes trained on Alex’s face. He rolls his hips over him, moaning at the feel of Alex’s spent cock against his ass.

The way Alex looks at him, so intent with sheer wonder, it makes it easy to slip up and forget that this isn’t something Henry gets to keep.

“You’re so goddamn gorgeous like this, Henry. Seriously. Shit. So, so beautiful and good for me.”

Henry shivers at that, basking in the praise. He grinds once more against Alex’s cock, biting back on his lower lip.

Alex reaches a hand forward and tugs Henry’s lip free with his thumb.

“I want to hear you when you lose it. Don’t get quiet on me. I want to know how badly this gets to you, sweetheart.”

“Christ, Alex,” he mutters, feeling the command squarely between his legs.

Henry teases his slit, hissing at how sensitive the flesh is. He lets out a moan unabashedly as he trembles.

“Good. Just like that,” Alex whispers and Henry has no clue how the power dynamic has shifted, but he feels so desperate to keep hearing Alex talk to him like this.

He can see the moment it fully clicks too in Alex’s eyes. That wicked smirk Henry has been obsessed with since day one makes its way onto Alex’s lips.

“You like that, don’t you? Being good for me? Putting on a show only I can see?”

Henry gasps, his hand moving faster along his shaft. His throat feels dry, his heart racing, but he doesn’t let up for even a second. He nods obediently and whimpers in response.

“Yeah, I can tell you do,” Alex continues, rubbing Henry’s thighs again.

A keening noise slips from Henry’s lips.

“You like being all mine. Having me watch you. It drives you crazy, doesn’t it? I bet you want me to touch you. But I know you can continue being good for me. I know you can get yourself there. Go ahead. Show me how good you can be, sweetheart.”

Alex’s hands find their way to his ass and grip Henry tightly. Henry arches his back and cries out, his hips rolling once more, cock leaking. He encircles his tip with his thumb, staring into Alex’s hungry eyes as his palm slides up and down his throbbing shaft.

“I’m so close,” Henry pants.

“I know. Let it out. You’ve been so good. You’ve earned this. Come for me. Nice and hard, baby, right on me.”

It’s the pet name most of all that sends Henry careening off the edge. He moans Alex’s name as he comes, his body shaking with the sheer force of it.

His release paints streaks across Alex’s stomach and chest. Henry can feel his face flush seeing just how hard his orgasm hits, the rivulets of his finish thick against Alex's skin. But Alex’s darkened eyes eliminate any fear or concern that this is all too much.

Alex sits up just enough to kiss him. It’s heated and sloppy and Henry can’t get enough of it. He strokes Alex’s cheek as they kiss, moaning into the man’s mouth. It takes every bit of his willpower to pull away.

“Maybe we should add that to the syllabus?” Alex says. “We kinda slipped into new territory there with dirty talk at the end. Are you okay? I’m sorry if I went too far.”

Henry leans in and kisses Alex twice. “Not in the least,” he assures.

“We’ll call that extra credit, but yes. We can cover that down the line if you want, but I’m telling you right now, you don’t actually need instruction there. As you saw firsthand, it’s another thing I enjoy and you’re damn good at it. Scary good. Don’t be afraid to lean into that with me. It's fully encouraged.”

He smiles at Alex who looks relieved. Henry kisses his cheek. He looks down at the complete mess of their bodies, perhaps more aroused than he ought to be at the sight.

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Let’s get us cleaned up. Shower with me? I wouldn’t say no to round two in there,” Alex says, wiggling his brows.

Henry shakes his head in disbelief.

“It’s going to be a long night, isn’t it?”

Alex searches his eyes, his head tipping to the side, his curls falling over his eyes. It’s far more adorable than a scenario like this should be, but it makes Henry weak; he knows he can’t resist Alex when the man looks like this. He suspects Alex is aware too as his perfect mouth curls into a smirk and he replies.

“Yeah, but I promise, you’re going to love every second of it.”

~*~*~

Memphis, TN Comic and Fantasy Convention Day 1

“How far are you into the show?” Alex as he sits cross-legged on his hotel bed.

Henry sits at the desk in Alex’s room with his laptop out, taking advantage of the fact that they’re still wired from traveling. They arrived in Memphis a mere four hours ago ahead of tomorrow’s convention. It only gave them enough time to grab a bite and scrub the smell and germs of the airport and Uber off themselves before checking in.

The pace at which Alex hops on flights and gets settled into new cities is mind-boggling, but Henry is grateful that at least this time around, they’re actually in the same time zone from the last city they were in.

He has to admit, it is exciting. But he can’t help but to wonder what it would be like doing this alone like Alex ordinarily does.

He makes a note to himself in his document to ask Alex about that at some point.

“Just started series three,” Henry says. “I’ve been live texting Pez. Rather, he’s been ambushing me with messages, asking after my progress. He still can’t believe I’m touring with you. Crescent Valley was so major to him when we were at school. He’d beg me to watch, but I never did and somehow I managed to miss one of the greatest cultural phenomenons of our generation.”

Alex smiles. “You ever think about how differently that night in New York would have gone had you known who I was?”

Henry pauses and considers how to answer. After getting the shock of his life in going to that lunch and finding himself seated with none other than the man he’d slept with the night before who, on top of that, turned out to be a celebrity was (and still remained) hard to fully wrap his mind around.

Henry’s simply glad for the fact that he and Alex have been able to make the most of it, to actually become friends despite the rocky start.

“I have. But I think I prefer the course it actually took. Makes for a more compelling story,” he says.

Henry falters for a moment.

“If I had recognized you though, do you think you would have still gone through with it all?”

Alex smiles thoughtfully. “It wouldn’t have changed how I felt…or what I wanted with you. I wouldn’t have been able to resist.”

Henry searches his eyes and feels his heart beat a little faster at Alex’s candor as he tries not to think too heavily on the implications of Alex’s words. Whatever the risk might have been, Alex deemed him worth it.

He licks his lips and forces himself to look away, to break the spell of Alex’s eyes.

“Let’s talk about the early days of your career,” Henry says, grabbing his phone and opening the voice app to record.

“According to your Wiki page, you got your start doing commercials as a child in Austin. Is that true?” Henry asks.

“As you can imagine after looking at me now, I was freaking adorable as a kid. I think I had too much personality and energy to contain inside the house without driving my family crazy. I’ve always felt comfortable in front of people and playing pretend. It seemed like a natural fit. I could lose myself in a role. During the times my parents’ fights got to be too loud, I’d just go into the backyard and dream up another life for myself time and time again.”

Alex shifts on the bed, grabbing a pillow and dropping it into his lap.

“I booked a few local spots and moved on to theater. That opened up a whole new avenue and I think that’s when I fully realized just how much I loved inhabiting a character and getting to work off other people’s energy. With commercials, it was a few lines here and there. You’d film that one day, maybe two depending on the situation and then you’d move on. But with the stage, I got to live and breathe those characters on a daily basis. It was straight up magic.”

Henry smiles.

“What prompted you to then find a bigger stage? A life in California doing television and film?”

Alex mulls it over for a moment.

“I started to feel like a big fish in a little pond. And I don’t mean to sound like an asshole, like theater was somehow beneath me or something. I’ll always love stagework and honestly, I’d love to return to it someday. I just…felt a calling elsewhere at that time as I got older. I felt myself being pulled out there.”

Alex grows quiet for a moment as he travels back in his memories.

“It was an open call for Crescent Valley,” Alex says. “Looking back on it, I honestly still can’t believe that from the thousands of guys who auditioned, they saw something unique in me to say, ‘yeah, that’s who this show needs in this role’. I’ve never been one to believe in fate and all that stuff, but when something life-changing like this happens to you, it’s kinda hard to rule it out completely.”

Henry smiles to himself. The action must not go unnoticed.

“What?” Alex asks.

Henry looks at him and shrugs.

“Nothing. It’s interesting hearing you talk sometimes. You’re a bit of a romantic.”

Alex seems to consider this for a moment.

“Certain things bring it out of me.”

Henry wonders if the same could be said about people.

Henry gets them back on track and he digs further into asking questions about Alex’s career, his foray into film as well. Alex is such a great conversationalist, his stories always laced with humor and interesting asides. It makes Henry all the more excited about working deeper on the preliminary pages and delving further with his voice for these segments.

They talk for another hour but it hardly feels laborious or tiring. It hardly even feels like work at all. Ultimately Henry puts a pin in their talk when he notes the hour. It’s creeping close to midnight and Alex has an early morning phone interview ahead of the con and Henry wants to work on transcribing this conversation.

“Calling it a night so soon?” Alex says, as if he doesn’t have a busy day ahead of himself.

Henry laughs and swivels around to look at him. Alex is still seated on the bed, but his arms are outstretched behind him. It’s a casual pose, though something in his eyes betrays the effect.

“Do I sense the next item on the syllabus coming to the forefront with mere minutes to spare before a brand new day?”

Henry has the document cemented in his mind. He knows exactly what lesson is next.

Oral.

Alex shrugs. “I’m not tired. Are you?”

Henry can’t resist taking the bait. He can pull an all-nighter after this.

“I’ll defer to you. How would you like the practical to go?”

Alex smiles, his expression a bit thoughtful.

“In Minnesota, you were incredible. Bold even,” he continues. “I’ve been wanting to put into practice the things you did to me and I’d love to figure out what makes you tick too.”

Henry is certain his face is red. He can feel warmth flood his cheeks, curious as to how often Alex allows himself to picture it.

“If that’s what you want, then yes.”

Alex looks at him, shaking his head slightly.

“Is it something you’d want?” Alex counters, moving the pillow off of himself.

Henry mirrors his stare.

“Of course,” he says, seeing little use in pretending otherwise.

“Then let me hear you say it plainly. I won’t lay a single finger on you unless I know you want it too.”

Henry’s heart races, beats right up to his throat. He keeps his face as neutral as he can as he speaks though, inside, his mind is a riot.

“I want you on your knees for me, Alex. I want you to taste me.”

Alex breathes a little heavier but he doesn’t say a word as he gets up and crosses the small space between them to where Henry sits at the desk. He settles on Henry’s lap and immediately Henry feels his own cock stiffen in response. Alex’s confidence is extremely attractive. His body can’t help but to react to it.

“I know how much you like the buildup,” Alex says quietly, running a hand slowly up under Henry’s shirt, his palm skimming his bare skin.

Henry shivers. Alex merely smirks.

“I’ll give you what you want. I’ll take my time with you.”

He leans in and kisses Henry, his mouth inviting and all too familiar. Henry feels his body relax further as they kiss. Alex’s thumb rubs against his nipple and Henry trembles in response. He can feel Alex smiling once more against his lips before doing it again on the other side. Henry can feel the delicate skin grow harder, among other things.

From his position on his lap, Henry knows Alex can feel it too.

Alex’s touch is feather-light as his hand brushes Henry between his legs for the briefest of seconds. It’s downright tortuous, but Henry wouldn’t have it any other way. He kisses Alex with renewed vigor, his right hand slipping into the man’s hair and pulling him closer. He opens his mouth to Alex, letting their tongues meet. Alex’s hand slips under Henry’s shirt once more, fingernails scratching teasingly down across his skin. Henry’s hips jerk forward on their own accord.

Alex has learned what he likes so well now, keeping up his promise from before and not rushing matters. Henry deepens the kiss, moaning deeply as his fingers continue curling in Alex’s hair and his tongue ensnares Alex’s.

Henry craves more and Alex seems to understand as he grinds down on him. Henry is almost unbearably hard.

Alex pulls away slowly just then and settles down on his knees, peering right up at Henry through his lashes all the while.

Henry shakes his head in disbelief of how gorgeous Alex looks. There’s something sweet yet tantalizing in his gaze. It completely wrecks Henry already.

Alex undoes Henry’s jeans and slips his cock out. His face feels hot Alex takes a hold of him and licks a languid strip up the underside from root to tip.

“Alex,” Henry gasps, clutching the arms of the chair.

He hadn’t been expecting this level of assurance from him right out the gate. Henry doesn’t think he will need to guide Alex much—if at all— through this lesson if he’s hitting the ground running like this.

Alex’s face is the picture of innocence, as if he has no clue the kind of frenzy he’s causing to flare up inside Henry now. He repeats the move and Henry thinks he’s prepared for it, but he’s quickly thrown off in the best way as Alex’s lips wrap around the head of his cock and he begins to suck.

Henry’s knuckles turn even whiter as he grips the chair tighter still as he studies the way Alex’s pretty mouth looks wrapped around him.

“Someone’s been doing some studying on the side I see,” he manages to say, his voice wavering.

Alex smirks and it’s so unbelievably sexy to see the mischievous sparkle in his eyes. He slips Henry out of his mouth.

“Oh, you do not want to see my browser history,” he says before taking him in again.

Henry sucks in a breath. “Actually, I think I would rather enjoy a peek at that.”

Alex laughs before sobering up and focusing his attention once more. He pumps his hand along the hilt of Henry’s cock as his tongue swirls around the head. Henry feels overstimulated in a good way, his whole body buzzing as Alex works him over.

Alex plants his left hand on Henry’s thigh and takes in more of his length a bit quickly.

“Nice and slow, darling,” Henry gently reminds him. “You’re doing so well,” he continues, running his fingers through Alex’s curls.

Alex slows his pace again and sets a rhythm as his head angles this way and that way, moaning deeply as he sucks Henry off.

“There you go,” Henry says softly, cock throbbing at the attention to it. “It’s like your mouth was made just for me.”

Alex glances up at him, eyelashes casting shadows against his sharp cheekbones. Henry can barely handle the sight of his perfect full lips wrapped around his cock. It takes everything in Henry not to thrust forward and fuck into the wet heat of his mouth. It’s a close thing as Alex blinks prettily and takes him in just a bit more, clearly testing his own limits.

Alex’s tongue is relentless, snaking around his length with ease. Henry murmurs continued praise, his body feeling limp as Alex tends to him.

After a moment, Alex slips off of him, but his hand is right there without missing a beat, jerking him off as his tongue laps against one of his balls.

Henry jerks forward involuntarily. Alex peers up at him, a question in his eyes. Henry merely brushes his curls off his forehead.

“Keep going, love. That feels amazing.”

Alex nods once and licks again before popping one of his balls into his mouth. Henry groans, grip tightening on Alex’s curls as he gently rolling his hips. Alex gives the same treatment to his other ball before getting his glorious mouth back on Henry’s cock.

Henry shudders feeling Alex’s tongue run along his shaft once more. He feels like he could just about explode.

“Alex, I’m not going to last much longer,” he warns, the pressure in the pit of his stomach reaching a fever pitch.

Alex doesn’t break his stride, not even a little. It’s almost as if he hasn’t heard Henry at all. His head bobs as he sucks him off, his tongue brushing here and there. The combination feels so good, Henry can only surrender to it further.

“Alex,” he cautions again more firmly, but the man doesn’t relent. He merely locks eyes with Henry and slackens his jaw a little as he kneads Henry’s balls.

Henry bites back on his lower lip at Alex’s tightening grip, his tongue pressing a sensitive spot just under the head of his cock and Henry loses it instantly.

His body shudders as he comes, a soft laugh falling from his lips. His instinct is to close his eyes and ride it out, but he refuses to deprive himself of the sight of Alex nestled between his legs, dutifully taking him, tasting him as requested.

The sight is downright obscene. Alex swallows down what he can, but his mouth is a mess as Henry’s release drips down from the corners. He can’t look away, especially with how Alex smirks and stares back almost defiantly.

Henry takes a breath as he comes back down to earth.

Alex merely wipes at his lips and chin with the back of his hand.

“Come here,” Henry says, his voice completely shot as he pats his leg twice.

Alex gets to his feet shakily and perches in Henry’s lap again. He looks to Henry expectantly, searching his eyes.

Henry cups his face, eyes drifting to Alex’s mouth.

“Was that okay? Should I have done anything differently?” Alex asks, wrapping an arm around Henry’s shoulders.

Henry leans in and kisses him deeply, tasting himself on Alex’s tongue as he explores his mouth. It only drives him madder. Alex gets his fingers in his hair, kissing him back roughly.

“I guess I was pretty decent then if you’ve got no compliments, huh?” Alex remarks in between kisses.

Henry laughs in spite of himself.

“You’re an absolute menace. Did you know that?”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean. I’m a goddamn saint.”

Henry rolls his eyes and kisses the tip of Alex’s nose.

“Shall I get you off?” he asks. “You must be like a rock right now.”

Alex smiles. “It’s nothing I can’t handle in the shower.”

Henry makes a wounded sound in the back of his throat at the mental image.

Alex cackles and kisses him, taking a hold of Henry’s hand and slipping it into his pants. Henry shivers as he grasps him.

It’s just as he suspected. He’s so hard and wet, Henry knows it won’t take much to get Alex to finish. He brushes his thumb back and forth along the man’s shaft. Alex’s eyes flutter at the sensation. He hums softly, lightly combing his fingers through the hair at the back of Henry’s head.

“I mean, I guess you could do it for me. That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,” he muses.

Henry laughs and kisses him again, stroking his cock in earnest as they get lost in each other. He can’t get enough of the way Alex responds to him, hips jerking forward, moans pouring from his mouth, goosebumps blooming on his skin all because of him.

Surely, he thinks, they both have lost their minds for getting tangled up in this arrangement. But Henry is so grateful for it. Once upon a time, he used to be the most straight-laced individual in the world. Now that he knows this life of recklessness, he’s not entirely sure he could ever go back completely.

Henry breaks their kiss and begins sucking on Alex’s clavicle.

Alex all out fucks into his fist, soft grunts emitting from him. Henry is obsessed with it all. He bites down on Alex’s collarbone and sucks harder, letting the tip of his tongue skim along the spot he’s bitten.

Alex moans his name and Henry quickens his speed against his shaft, tightening his grip as Alex bucks forward over and over again until his breath catches. He goes flying over the edge and Henry diligently helps him through the aftershocks, kissing up to his neck, along his jawline, and back to his lips.

“Dammit, Henry,” Alex hisses against his mouth, taking a few heavy breaths. “I can’t get enough of you.”

Henry rests his forehead on Alex’s and pecks his lips once.

“Darling, there’s no limit. You can have it all.”

#rwrb fic #red white and royal blue #firstprince #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz #userthai #tusersonia #tuserpaige #usernicholas #usersteen #tusersilence #userjamiec #lookstevie #kimmy writes

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