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thespiritssaidso · 6 days

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Call Me Cinnamon

Chapter 3: Huh. Well, That's New.

Notes: Thisssss took foreverrrrrr. But it's done now! So here you go :3 Also, big thanks to @obsidiancreates for beta reading!

Walking into the station, the two — technically three �� almost immediately ran into Lassiter, who also happened to be going in.

“Lassie! Fancy seeing you here.” They had stopped at the front doors inside, next to the counter at the entrance.

He just gave Shawn an icy stare. “Spencer, I work here. You on the other hand, do not.”

He’s about to continue walking further down the hall. Shawn asked, “Where’s Jules?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but she’s in the Chief’s office. What are you two doing here? Don’t you have your own circus to run?”

“Okay first of all: ouch, Lassie. You wound me. And Gus too. Second of all: we run a very real private detective business, solving your very real crimes.”

Lassiter scoffed. “Oh please. A frat house run by monkeys would be better at solving crimes than you two buffoons.”

Shawn heard a small ‘ooo buuuurned!’ from Cinnamon, but ignored her and continued “-and third of all: the Chief called us in for a meeting, said it was urgent. Not sure what it’s about. Although,” he quickly comes to a realization, and raises his fingers to his temple, “I’m sensing that it’s the same meeting she scheduled with you and Jules.”

Lassiter’s face scrunched up in confusion. “What? Why would she call you two in?”

Gus cut in before Shawn could. “No idea. She didn’t say anything over the phone.”

Shawn noticed that Cinnamon was being uncharacteristically quiet, save for the comment from earlier. He looked over at the nearest reflection — a mirror just above the bench at the entryway— and saw her standing directly in front of Lassiter, the biggest grin ever on her face.

“God, he is so much hotter in person.”

That really caught him off guard. Sure, Lassie was good looking, to the point where even he couldn’t deny it. But he didn’t expect her to say it so bluntly and up front like that. That seemed to be a common theme with Cinnamon.

She started rambling. “…but damn, I forgot he got that horrible haircut. It’s absolutely atrocious. He looked so much better in… 2008? No, no… 2011! Yeah, 2011.” She put a finger to her chin in thought. "But it did look really nice in 2017." She nodded to herself, but looked confused for a second. “Wait. It’s 2010 now, right?”

Subconsciously, Shawn let out a short laugh before trying to cover it.

But Lassiter caught it, and asked, “What’s so funny?”

Shawn thought on his feet, and quickly said, “Oh, nothing. Just the spirits. And…oh!” His fingers sprung back up to his head. “They are saying your haircut is, quote-unquote, ‘atrocious’.”

Unimpressed, he just gave Shawn a look and turned around.

“Wait, noooo! Why’d you say that I said that? Tell him I take it back!”

Too late. Lassiter had already stalked off.

“You’re just mad jealous I like Lassie more than you.”

Shawn huffed a small sigh. He was about to tell her to suck it, but stopped himself, remembering that he was literally the only person who could even hear Cinnamon. He turned to Gus. “Go on ahead, tell the Chief I'll be right there.”

Gus hesitates a for a second, looking like he’s going to ask why. But he just says, “Alright.” and walked to the chief’s office.

He pulled out his phone and pretended to call someone. Putting it up to his ear, he said “Rule 5-”

“You mean rule 4.”

“What? No, I mean rule 5.”

“Technically, rule 4 doesn’t exist, since you forgot it. So, that automatically makes the next one rule 4.”

Shawn rubbed his eyes with his free hand. At this point, he was too tired to argue. He was running on roughly three and a half hours of sleep and nothing to keep him awake. Not even coffee. The world was cruel like that.

“…Fine, rule 4: no making off handed comments about Lassie. Or anyone, actually.”

“Aww what, why?!”

“Because, despite being set back the crippling disability of not seeing the future, I can just tell that you won't be able to shut up about him-”

“You don’t know that...”

“-and I really don’t want to hear what you think about Lassie’s ass.” A police officer walked by and gave him a strange look when he said that last part. Shawn just waved awkwardly.

“…uhm, I never actually said anything about his ass, dude.”

He backtracked, and realized Cinnamon was right. “Don't change the subject."

"But I didn't-"

"Just... keep it PG, alright?"

"Ugghh fine. Whatever."

“What’s the deal with your obsession with Lassie, anyway?

She traded her slightly irritated expression for one that looked like she was daydreaming. “His wet cat personality and autistic rizz have captivated me.”

“…I’m not even going to ask what that means.”

“Good. I wasn’t gonna tell you anyways.”

That tracked. "This is so weird. He's like, 17 years older than you, at most."

She started nodding along, but stopped and thought for a minute. "No, wait. He's like..." She started counting on her fingers. "...23- no, 22 years older than me right now."

That made Shawn stop and think too, quickly doing the math in his head. “Wait, You’re not even 21 yet?”

She looked very confused when he said that. “Why would you think I’m older than 21?”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re literally wearing a jacket for a pub right now.” She was, in fact, wearing a zip-up hoodie advertising a pub. It had been completely unzipped to show off her shirt, which was a forest green shirt advertising a place called Westview, the colors complimenting her vibrant red hair. Was that why she preferred to be called Cinnamon? Because of her hair color? He was getting off track.

She looked down at what she was wearing, and said, “Oh yeah, I forgot I was wearing that.” She fiddled with the zipper. “I only got it because my family takes me and my siblings there a lot, and it looked really comfy.”

“Okay, so if you’re 19, then-”

"I should've chosen something better. Like, literally anything else in my closet would’ve been good. Can't believe this is the fit I have to wear for eternity."

"...I think you'll be fine." Where was he? "So, if you're 19..." Shawn’s face scrunched up. “Oh. Ew, that means Lassie-”

“-is old enough to be my dad, yeah yeah yeah. But that just means I can call him a dilf.”

“What.”

“Don’t worry about it. Now come onnnn, the Chief is waiting for you! Us, technically. Also, I kinda wanna see what this meeting is about.” She was right. They had been talking for a little longer than he thought they would. He ‘ended’ the phone call, and ran over to Chief Vick’s office. On the way over, Cinnamon muttered song lyrics under her breath. He caught a few words — I know, you know — but didn't recognize it. It was probably some future song she conveniently had stuck in her head.

When he walked in, he saw that Juliet and Lassiter had taken the seats in front of Chief’s desk, the former being on the right and the latter being on the left. Gus had opted to stand between but also a little behind the both of them. Which left Shawn to stand to next to Gus’ right side.

“Good to see you could finally make it, Mr. Spencer.” The chief got up from her desk and began pulling down all of the blinds. Consequently, that also meant getting rid of the reflections, save for the very dull and warped one coming off of her glass fish, which was where Cinnamon now had to reside. However, she had not been standing in view of the fish’s reflection originally, which meant she was unceremoniously shoved towards it by an unseen force.

"Mother fu-"

“Now, I want you all to listen to what I have to say very carefully.” She pulled out a file, one that was labeled ‘Channing, Amber’.

“Last night, we were called in to investigate a car wreck, as I’m sure you remember, detectives?”

Lassiter straightened up. “Of course, Chief. Amber Channing: lost control of her car in the sudden rainstorm and drove off the side of the road into a tree. Her head was practically split in two. But we had already ruled it an accident.”

That caught Cinnamon’s attention. “Wait, isn’t that how I-?”

She was silenced when the Chief opened the file, setting it on her desk for everyone to see.

"Wow. That car is fuuuucked."

Once again, Shawn had to hold back a laugh. This was going to be a problem, wasn’t it?

“Like Lassiter said, this is Amber Channing, the mayors daughter. Although she was better known by the nickname her father gave her: Cinnamon.”

He frowned when she said that. These similarities between the mayor’s daughter and Cinnamon were beginning to unnerve him. First it was the eerily identical deaths, now the nicknames? What’s next, they both look the same? Have the same hobbies? Either Cinnamon had extremely poor memory and this was turning into ‘The Butterfly Effect’, or this was starting to turn into one of those cheesy sci-fi movies with a parallel world the main character was sent to.

Parallel world. It was like he struck a chord deep in his chest. Where had he come up with that thought? As far as he was concerned, he had never seen or heard of any media portraying that trope. What was going on?

Chief Vick continued. “We’ve received some concerning evidence from our new coroner earlier. This might not be something as simple as someone losing control of their car in the rain.”

Juliet leaned forward a bit, curious. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying this is a cover up. Someone killed her and made it look like an accident. Obviously done by an amateur.”

Pointing at the photos of the crime scene, she continued. “As was pointed out by Mr. Strode, some of the cuts and bruises on Ms. Channing’s body don’t exactly match up with the damage done to the car.”

Shawn couldn’t help but ask, “I’m sorry, Chief. You know I’m not really one to look a horse in the nose. But,” He motioned to Gus and himself. “where do we come in?”

Before the Chief could get a word out, Gus said, “The saying is ‘looking a gift horse in the mouth’ Shawn.”

“I’ve heard it both ways.”

Chief Vick was visibly restraining herself from rolling her eyes. “I was getting to that.” She moved the photo of the wreck and revealed a new one underneath. "There was a note written on the windshield — or, what was left of it." There was indeed writing on the glassy remains of the windshield. It looked like it had been written in glowing green ink. Although it was almost impossible to read, having been written in a swoopy caligraphy. It read-

"Good luck, Shawn Spencer"

"As far as we and the photographers are concerned, that wasn't there the night of the crash. Nor was it originally in this picture. It just... appeared."

———

The meeting was over now. Chief Vick had ordered them to convene in the morgue and examine the body for themselves.

Before Shawn could take another step out of the office, Gus stopped him. “Shawn, can I speak to you for a minute?”

He froze a bit before pretending to act completely natural. “Uhhh yeah! Sure, man. What’s up?”

“Nice. Real smooth.”

“Why were you talking to yourself outside Chief’s office?”

“Ooohhh shit, he’s on to us.”

“Gus, don’t be the grass on this side of the road. I’m fine! I promise.”

Cinnamon let out a little snort, and Gus made a tsch sound. “I’m not stupid, Shawn. I know you didn’t call anyone. Besides, you’ve been acting weird all morning. You haven’t made a single pop culture reference. You're still wearing your clothes from yesterday! So why. Were you. Talking to yourself?”

“Spencer! Guster!” They both look down the hall and see Lassiter, Juliet, and Chief Vick standing impatiently down the hall.

“Be right there, Lassie!” Shawn turns back to Gus. “Okay dude, I promise you the second I can, I’ll tell you everything.”

Gus looked like he wanted to argue a bit more, but ended up giving in. “Fine. But you’re telling me all the details, don’t leave anything out.”

—————

Notes: That’s it! Grrr I can’t wait to write out the next chapter

ao3 link

Beginning: Prologue

Previous: Chapter 2

Next: Chapter 4

Also, full credit to @birdyboylassie for helping come up with this line:

#shawn spencer #burton guster #carlton lassiter #juliet o'hara #chief Vick #karen vick #psych #psych 2006 #psych usa #psychusa #psych tv #psych show #psych tv show #psych fic #psych fanfic #psych fanfiction #toast tries to write

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strawbabysweet · 26 days

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If I keep getting ill I’m going to fucking lose it I swear

#🐰ྀི yapping #NO BC I JUST GOT MY PERIOD #AND CANT MOVE TOO QUICKLY WITHOUT VOMITING #NOW I HAVE A REALLY SORE THROAT #AND A BLOCKED NOSE #OUT OF NOWHERE #NOT TO MENTION THE CONSTANT COUGHING #sorry I’m like genuinely gonna go insane #this can’t keep happening I get so ill so fucking often #vicks vapo rub saving my life rn #anyways guys trust I’ll catch up on all ur fics soon you just gotta give me a moment

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figsandfandoms · 2 years

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#flufftober2022 #day eleven #psych #friendship fic #karen vick is a great mum she just doesn't think so #psych fan fic

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gardenerian · 2 years

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How to get ghost Mel to go into the light:

"Ian and his tomatoes are on the other side."

an emoji story: ✨🙎🏻‍♂️🧑🏻‍🌾🍅⛅️👻🪦🏃‍♀️💨

oh my god. gardening in the afterlife 🥺 that... that makes me EMOTIONAL. but yes, if yall are ever ready to just get rid of me, that's the way to make it happen!

#had to put mickey in there too #if ian's a ghost gardener then you bet mickey is around #GHOST GARDENER AU asdkjfh #that's basically vicks' ghost ian fic #which i must catch up on #that'll be my plan tonight #oh god mel stop talking #okay okay but #i hope you are all reading ghost ian fic 🥰#mel answers

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hirokiyuu · 2 years

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I am such a sucker for royal aus so just anything exocolonist related you can cook up for that will be greatly appreciated (also i feel obligated to mention that i was the one who left the vicks vapor rub comment on that fic)

ok im skipping ahead to this one bc ive actually Been thinking abt a royalty au. im not going to actually write it but ive been turning it over in my head LAKHSLGHAS

there's not really a coherent Plot just a few dif concepts that all are in the same verse technically. royal heir sol! i like royalty sol its fun. their kingdom is at war with the gardeners who are essentially some kind of fey wwww probably some kind of pact was broken on accident when they were about ten years old? adn now thigns are Goin. geranium+flulu were better peacetime rules so now that a war is happening its not going Great

few dif elements to this one!!! im just going to put them in any order

oh my god tumblr just auto turns these into numbered lists now i hate it here. let me out

ok anyways regardless. first concept is like.... sym/sol arranged marriage to end the war but dys is also there as a servant i think who's been conspiring (?) w/the fey for a while. they have messy feelings! honestly this might be a bit dyssol and sym is also there more than anything but i like dys having to watch sym+sol have all this like fanfare and Epic Romance and just go like. h.

2) vace is here. sorry this is one of the parts i think abt the most so Vace Is Here! i htink lum and them show up partway thru the war as like. powerful (?) duke from another area who basically shows up and starts throwing his weight around but bc he's helping the kingdom they cant really tell him to go away. it's a whole thing

as for vace himself i think he shows up w/the intent to seduce the royal heir so he can take the kingdom (lol) and instead. is bamboozled into friendship. becomes a better person. can't fucking understand sols love life at all but he'll.... let it go or whatever. he GUESSES. i have a clear idea in mind that after he tries to be better hes like. should i join your honor guard and sol is like. take some time to think abt it. and instead he fucks off across the kingdom on a Journey and after like six months sols like. hey when u come back u should join my honor guard theres a place for u here. nad hes like. cool (doesnt come back for another year and a half)

3) idk what im doing with it but i like the idea of nem+cal+tammy as a childhood friend trio only nem kind of was always on the outside. kind of grow up and apart and then after peace is brokered is like. ok what the fuck do i do w/myself now. id like her and cal to learn how to be friends again essentially? honestly she might kiss sym in this GLKAHSGDLKHASLKGDHALKSDHG i think abt sym+nem eternally ever since peace ending dating nem

THATS ALL I GOT THO WWWW none of these are coherent for a Story unfortunately except maybe the second one but. thats my vace in the pringles jar bias i guess

#WWW THANK U FOR THE ASK AND ALSO THE COMMENT #i do still think abt being the vicks vapor rub of fic authors every single day #asks #ask meme #i feel vaguely like i need to tag olivace bc.... well. u kno #sorry for being obsessed with my best worstie #i was a teenage exocolonist spoilers ?#teenexo stuff

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gemstone-roses · 4 months

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Hannibal:

Christmas fic request.

Summary: when all of your friends abandon you when you’re sick over the holidays, Hannibal steps in.

Warnings: 18 plus only please, hurt/comfort, being sick, fever.

A:N- hi I hope you like it, sorry it’s so short 🥹

Hope you feel better soon, give us a shout if you need anything.

You read over the message that’s posted in your group chat, thumbs up from everyone else in the group in agreement.

Your head pounds at the light from your phone. Dizziness clouds your vision as you try to clear your head.

You’d booked off a few days over Christmas at work, told jack not to call unless things were literally in flames, you had plans with your friends, long awaited plans. And then you woke up a day before, an awful ache throughout your body. And while they were kind at first, they switched their phones off as soon as they arrived at the retreat.

And now of course you did need something.

Probably a doctor, definitely some company other than a tub of Vicks and tissues. You scroll to the chat with Hannibal and send him a quick message, before curling up and relaxing into the darkness clouding your vision.

The pounding in your head sounds a lot like your front door being hammered, you stir slowly, an awful cough rips through you as you sit, confused as the noise is definitely coming from your door, before being confronted with Hannibal coming through the door.

“Erm, hi?” You croak, breathless

He looks slightly relieved, and then immediately concerned again, coming over to kneel in front of you on the couch.

“Are you alright?” He speaks softly, hand coming to rest on your forehead as he takes in your state.

“M fine, just a bit of a cold” you assure him but he frowns, grasping your hand in his his long fingers rest on your pulse point on your wrist.

“Your pulse is racing my love, you’re not fine” both his hands come to cup either side your face.

“have you eaten?” Concern laces his words as he asks.

“Not hungry, just tired” you mumble, closing your eyes once more.

“No darling I need you to stay awake a bit longer for me okay?” he soothes, stroking your face.

“We’ve got to get that fever down my love” he produces a bottle and a box of cold medicine and unscrews the cap for you.

“Here” he says softly, you sniffle as you take them, his hand rests lightly on top of yours.

“You don’t need to stay, I’ll be okay” you say, feeling awful you’ve interrupted his Christmas plans.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I came to take care of you, now, how does soup sound”. you wrinkle your nose at that, and he chuckles slightly.

“No soup then, I’ll make you something different, you rest” he says softly.

You curl up on the couch, Hannibal waits until you’ve found a comfortable position before placing your blanket over you.

“Thankyou” you mumble, burying your face in the cushion as he caresses your face smiling softly.

#hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter imagine #Hannibal imagine #Hannibal x gn reader #hannibal fanfiction #Hannibal fanfic

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halfagone · 1 year

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That Is Not Superman You're Looking At

I've had this fic idea for a while now. I don't know if it'll ever be posted on Ao3, but if I get more inspiration it could be! Here's a bit of a first look for anyone interested.

---

Danny shouldn't be so surprised that his luck was so terrible that he got Wes Weston looped in as his travel buddy for their school field trip to Metropolis. The guy's been giving him dirty looks in the entire time, as if this is his fault. Well, it wasn't, so Wes could just give up any time now, that would be great. If nothing else, Danny could always turn into Phantom for an emergency, right in front of Wes, and no one would believe the guy.

Nonetheless, nothing could stop his excitement for the Metropolis Aerospace Museum! Absolutely nothing.

And really, no matter Wes' comments or looks, Danny was having a great time. That was, until, Danny noticed that Wes wasn't staring at him anymore. Instead, he was looking over at a man, a reporter judging from the photographer accompanying him, who was probably here talking about all the schools here to celebrate this momentous occasion, yada yada yada.

Danny nearly looked away out of boredom, only to nearly give himself whiplash when he realized who Wes was staring at. That was Clark Kent, aka Superman. Danny had had the pleasure of meeting and learning the man's secret ID in an alternative timeline, but hadn't quite gotten the nerve to meet him again after that fuck-up. But Wes had that look in his eyes, that same look he had whenever he was about to tattle on Danny being Phantom.

Oh shit.

"Isn't that Super-" Wes began with a frown, beginning to point at Clark before Danny threw an arm over Wes' shoulder with a laugh.

"What are you talking about?" Danny said with a wide, almost inhuman smile on his face. "There is no war in Ba Sing Se."

"What-?" Wes startled in confusion, so Danny repeated himself.

"There is no war in Ba Sing Se," Danny said a second time, his eyes taking on an unnatural green glow.

Wes wilted slightly under Danny's arm, finally catching his drift.

"Right, of course not," Wes agreed, rolling his eyes in resigned exasperation.

"You know it," Danny agreed with a nod of his head, starting to drag Wes in the opposite direction of Clark. Better not to poke a sleeping bear, and all that. "Hey, I saw Vick go this way, didn't you want to..." Danny rattled off about some nonsense, just to distract Wes from the fact that he himself knew about Superman's secret ID. Honestly, Wes would probably figure it out on his own, but the longer it took to get there the better.

Unbeknownst to either of them, Clark had heard it all. And couldn't help but wonder how, exactly, that blue-eyed, raven-haired boy had seemed to know his ID from the start. He needed a talk with Batman, just to make sure the man hadn't adopted another kid without anyone knowing.

#dp x dc #wes weston #a one shot a day keeps the demons away

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piratefishmama · 6 months

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fun fact: if you have spotify premium (i get it free thanks to work lmao), Flight of Icarus audiobook is on there, and it's included with premium.

i'm taking notes for fic purposes.

so far i've learned: (cut for spoilers)

Hellfire club -

Eddie Stan - (misses Hellfire a lot) Gareth - (potentially suffering abuse at home, has bruises from something hidden under his clothes), Veronika (Ronnie) Etker - (aro maybe ace, lives at the trailer park with grandma, got a full ride to college in New York pre-S4.) Jeff - (has older brothers, base player??? P sure Caitlin got that wrong cause big guy's the base player), Dougie - (could be the big guy's real name),

Other Named Characters

Mr Vicks - science teacher at Hawkins high, Eddie cleans the blackboards in his lab. Officer Moore, one of the other cops in the Hawkins Police force - blond buzzcut and square jaw, beer gut, hassles Eddie a lot. Seems to take joy in ransacking the van looking for 'illegal substances' that he never finds.

The Hideout

It's near the Steelworks. Never ID's. Sticky bartops, never been cleaned carpetting. Windows are bricked up cause it's harder to throw a person through a brick wall than it is a window. Bev - is the owner after her 'stray dog' husband died of 'mysterious causes' lmao go Bev. She has maroon hair, always yells regardless of how loud it is in there, speaks with a southern twang. Drunk Sam - drinks Rotgut Whiskey. Eddie works there 4 nights a week. The stage was built by Bevs husband, is made up of 2x4's pushed up against a wall and creaks a lot. Definitely health and safety risks there, Eddie thinks he'll break an ankle or something on there when it eventually falls apart. Definitely wouldnt stand up to some of the shenanigans we know Eddie would likely want to do.

This is all within the first 30 minutes.

gonna just ignore the paige subplot and enjoy my new resource ehe

#eddie munson #flight of icarus spoilers #info

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chishiyas-wig · 4 months

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new toh fic by me :))

this is the third part of my toh chatfic series

enjoy !!

#toh #the owl house #toh fic #chatfic #toh hunter #toh willow #toh gus #toh viney #toh skara #emerald entrails #<3 #vick's random shit #fic by vick

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aloysiavirgata · 12 days

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(if you are accepting prompts!) what iffffff you wrote a soft gentle little fic in which Scully has a spectacularly unlovely head cold and after some grouching Mulder looks after her? There are so many moments of peril on x files that sometimes it’s nice when the enemy is just a simple rhinovirus, lol.

He doesn’t even attempt to make it himself. Calls ahead to Loeb’s with his order, which he accepts from a stylish young Mexican man whose name tag reads Pierre.

“A sheynem dank,” Mulder says, echoing the grandmother who called Samantha a shaineh maideleh.

Pierre nods. “Bitte, baby,” he says. “De nada.”

***

Mulder clomps up her stairs with Puritan determination. He feels that since he did not cook the food himself he must exert some other effort for it. His soul is at eternal war with itself.

He doesn’t knock; lets himself in with the Home Depot key Scully had made for him around the time that Tooms wanted into her pants for all the wrong reasons. It sticks a little still, even after so many years. He’s rarely had to use it - when aren’t they together?

A hacking noise from her bedroom, something wet being coughed. Spat.

Mulder helps himself to a bowl, a plate, a spoon.

“I’b arbed,” she rasps from down the hall. “I’b a Federal Agent.”

“Don’t shoot,” Mulder calls back, hunting down a napkin. “I am a poor boy from a poor family.” Her mother wears Revlon and his wears Guerlain.

He tips some soup and two of the matzo balls into a bowl, wedges one of the challah rolls next to it. He puts the leftovers in the fridge.

Mulder carries the plate down the hall, the nearly-full bowl sloshing dangerously atop.

He enters Scully’s bedroom. She’s been upgrading over the past couple of years, replacing her IKEA basics with good secondhand finds in cherry and walnut. The candle she’s lit smells like white flowers with thick, creamy petals.

Scully is tucked into bed like an Austen heroine, all delicate pallor and genteel unhappiness. Her nose is pink-tipped and raw, hair in a ponytail. She’s wearing a gray sweatshirt instead of her usual pajamas.

Mulder sets the food down on her nightstand, next to a vase of dried roses and her Yaqui slide holster. A speed loader. There’s a well-framed Monet print over the bed.

Pat Conroy’s Beach Music is open face down on her lap, surrounded by crumpled tissues. She doesn’t look happy to see him, her purple-shadowed eyes narrowing a bit.

“Go away,” she says. Sneezes.

“Brought you some soup,” he says, unnecessarily. Points at it, also unnecessarily.

“Bulder,” she sniffs. “Go hobe. I don’t like being fussed over. I hab a cold, dot Ebola.”

“Too bad,” he says. “I’m going to. Do you have Vick’s Vapor Rub? You really should have Vick’s Vapor Rub.”

She closes her eyes. Pinches the bridge of her nose, centering herself. “It’s dot your fault I’b sick,” she says, looking back over at him after a moment.

“I dragged you into the woods again. You fell down a hole full of corpses! You’ve been in remission for like…twenty minutes.” He jabs the spoon at her.

She rolls her eyes. “You don’t get a cold frob being in the woods. Or frob being chilly. You get a cold frob a virus.”

He feigns outrage. “Excuse me, but are you contradicting noted excellent mother-slash-world-class-epidemiologist Doctor Teena Mulder MD?”

This sends Scully into a flurry of coughing. She swats at him in annoyance. “Ugh,” she says at last. “You see why I can’t hab you here, you’re a lousy durse.”

Mulder takes her hand, pale as a kid glove. He shoves the spoon into it, squeezes her fingers about the handle. “Eat the soup or I’m calling your mom. I’m calling BILL.”

She narrows her eyes again. “You wouldn’t.”

“I think you’re well aware that I’m capable of being overly dramatic when the wind is southerly and the fancy strikes.” He holds the plate before her like an offering to a goddess.

Scully considers him. “You did get us out ob the teabwork sebidar,” she observes. “Techdically.”

“I did,” he agrees.

“You bade be sing,” she adds. Reproachful.

He grins. “The angels all were singing out of tune, And hoarse with having little else to do, Excepting to wind up the sun and moon, Or curb a runaway young star or two.”

Scully looks at the spoon in her hand for the first time, as though wondering how it got there.

“Byron,” she says, a little smile. She picks up the roll, examines it. Peers at the soup. Sneezes again. “Mad, bad, and dangerous to know.”

“Caroline Lamb,”Mulder replies. He doesn’t point out that Caroline Lamb had been Byron’s lover, that she’d sent him a clipping of her pubic hair in the mail. He certainly doesn’t think of the juncture between Scully’s thighs at all, whether it matches the drapes, whether it tastes like kettle corn and Vineyard whitecaps in July. Lobster rolls and saltwater taffy.

He’d meant it, about the sleeping bag. He wishes there had been a sleeping bag and he is so, so grateful there was no sleeping bag.

Scully sniffles again, defeated. “You got be batzo ball soup?”

He thumbs an escaped tendril of hair back from the sweep of her extraordinary cheekbone.

“I did,” he murmurs back. He sets the plate down between them. He peels the roll open, yeasty and fragrant, and dunks it into the golden broth.

He raises it to her mouth.

Scully sucks at it, draws it past her lips. She bites. Chews, swallows. She holds his eyes with hers. She catches an escaped droplet with her tongue.

“Good,” she mumbles. Watches him dip the dry part back into the bowl. “Thank you.”

He feeds her another bite. Her mouth opens like a snapdragon, like an oyster in the tide. She drops her gaze this time. Her guard.

They complete the entire roll this way, and one matzo ball. Silent, slurpy. Scully’s lids droop, her lashes brushing her cheeks.

“Sleepy,” she mumbles, curling onto her side. Her paperback falls to the floor.

Mulder returns the food to the night table. He strokes her hair until she’s out cold, snoring a little. He curls into the bed as well, his nose to hers. He touches her philtrum with his pointer finger. He traces the tender pink whelk of her ear.

They sleep for hours until she coughs awake, gasping, her thin chest heaving. Mulder rubs circles between her scapulae.

“Go hobe,” she says, knees drawn, leaning against his chest. “You deed to sleep.”

He puts his arms around her, drops a kiss on her tangled head. “Okay,” he agrees.

She’s out again in moments. He holds her upright until he drifts off as well.

They sleep until morning. He feeds her soup for breakfast, calls into work with a case of Ebola.

#xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #msr #my fic #sick fics #detour post episode #fluff #inbox #prompt

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aut189 · 4 months

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#psych #carlton lassiter #shawn spencer #psych fanfiction #psych usa #case fic #my writing #shassie one shot #Shassie #juliet o'hara #burton gus guster #buzz mcnab #Dobson psych #karen vick #james roday rodriguez #timothy omundson #writerslife #angst with a happy ending

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thewintersoldierdisaster · 29 days

Note

hi! idk really know if you’re taking requests. i hope you are hehe.

i’ve been sick with a stomach flu the past few days and it got me thinking if you could do a svechy blurb of how he’d be if reader were sick (no necessarily stomach flu 🫠).

thanks! and i love your fics xx

oh no!! the stomach flu is the literal worst - i hope you’re staying hydrated and feeling better ☺️ i’m always taking requests, even if it takes me forever to get to them lol. i’ve got a few thoughts on andrei with a sick reader and the last fic i posted is a little more on that topic too! but let’s get into some headcanons

definitely realizes when you’re getting sick because you’re quieter or cranky and aren’t acting like yourself

pretty bossy when you insist that you’re fine and you don’t need to sleep - he usually just frogmarches you up to the bedroom and tucks you in

brings gatorade and toast and yogurt and whatever snacks you feel like eating

once tried to make chicken soup, but set off the smoke alarm so now he just orders it in when you’re sick

does the pharmacy run and buys tissues and nyquil and cough drops, even picks up vicks vaporub and those little shower steamer tablets so you can unclog your sinuses with a nice hot scented shower

also runs you really bubbly baths for you to soak and nap in

surprises you with a new book or magazine when he comes back from the pharmacy so you’ll have something to keep you entertained

will cuddle with you if you need him to and you only insist on it if you’re feeling better because you don’t want to get him sick

but also he runs hot so it’s nice to curl up against him when you’re feeling cold and yucky

andrei definitely holds your hair back when you’re vomiting, rubs circles on your back and tries to be as soothing as possible even though he’s trying not to vomit himself (def could see him being a sympathetic puker or just getting triggered by the vomiting noises)

he lets you pick the tv show even if it means cheesy romcoms or garbage reality tv

if he’s away or has to leave when you’re not feeling well, he’ll text and call when he gets a chance so he can see how you’re feeling

if you fall asleep on the couch, he’ll cover you with a blanket instead of trying to move you

definitely has called his mom for her random cold remedies to try out on you - some of them work, some of them make you feel worse but you’ll never tell elena that

tries to pump you full of pressed juices and wellness shots even though you think they’re disgusting and just want some jello

lets you steal as many hoodies and sweats as you want from his closet so you’re comfortable

once when you had laryngitis, he jokingly brought you a little bell to use to call for him and then promptly hid the bell when you abused the power

mostly just tries to help you feel better as best as he can, even if that means just stroking your hair while you try to sleep

#asked and answered #anon #andrei svechnikov #andrei svechnikov x reader #andrei svechnikov headcanon

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toiletwipes · 6 months

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Whenever I'm Alone (With You) | clinic!wilbur

MOUTH SO SWEETLY TELLING LIES — PART TWO

5k words. / [Two months after the festival you're left in the dust of what to do with yourself when you've been ghosted by a really cute guy. Depression hits and it's not a good mix.] [watch out for self-deprecation, slight suicidal ideation, kind of an unhealthy relationship brewing out of pain]

Part 1 — Masterlist

fic title from Lovesong by The Cure but the chapter title is from Cut by The Cure

thank you @drop-of-void for proof-reading!! and i'm tagging some lovely folks now. @sleeby-anon @loversj0y @struggling-with-delia @l0veb0mb1ng @boiled-onionrings

xxxx

After the first month, it’d been easy to slip into the same old routine. Wake up too early, stare at the wall until your alarm goes off, manage either the longest shower ever or brush your teeth, then go to work and come home exhausted. Maybe eat. Stare at the wall a little more, go to bed. Music was optional.

And Seff wasn’t having it after the second.

“If men do this to you, then they don’t deserve you.” You grunted, listening to him ramble as you sat on the couch, arms feeling like noodles as you fold towels that sat on your bed a little too long, with Seff mopping your floor, the rugs rolled up and against the wall. The room smelt like fabuloso. “I’m serious. They don’t get to have a great night, express that they want to get to know you more, exchange numbers and then do jackshit with it.” He stops mopping, opting to lean against the length of it, eyes staring straight at you. You don’t make contact.

“Well it’s not up to me what they do, remember?” It’s hard not to be mean about this, you’re all too aware that when men do this, it’s not your fault. (...Entirely.)

“Vividly.” He says, before finishing up the last corner and putting the mop back in the bucket and putting it off by the laundry room. When he joins you, you’re halfway done. He helps you with the rest of the towels, getting you off the couch and forcing you to tuck the towels into the cabinets. When you get back almost ten minutes later, you find the living room fan turned on high and the floor drying faster, Seff himself back on the couch with gummy candy. He offers some to you when you join him on the couch. You dig a hand into the bag and pop them into your mouth, chewing on them as you let the cleanliness of the place wash over you.

“Doing anything feels like I’m moving through- through a thick goo, like tar. And I can’t get out of it.” The words come out only a smidge louder than a whisper but it was so loud between the two of you. Seff doesn’t say anything. So you continue. “It wasn’t… just him. It was all of those guys. Like, how could all of them have one night and change their mind so fast, like it wasn’t real for any of them.” But it was him. He was the last straw. He made the choice to come up to you and spend the last of the festival with you, it was him that wanted your number. It was all him and then- and then- tears prick your eyes again.

And it was him again, ghosting you, just like the others. They were so different from each other, how could they all do the same thing? There had to be a reason and the only logical one is that it was you. They regretted what they did, what they said, and they regret you.

You feel the hazy feeling wash over you, the tar-like substance coating your limbs and mind as Seff hums, wrapping an arm around you. He knew you so well, you wondered why he stayed. “They’re jackasses, don’t forget that, no matter how nice they were or how they smiled at you, they decided that being a coward was easier, it had nothing to do with you.” You nod, not really listening… but still, it’s a little nice to hear the words. Even if they didn’t stick like they should’ve.

He rubs your shoulder, offering you more candy and letting it sit in his lap when you decline. “Here, let’s finish up cleaning and then you hop in the shower. Vick wants you over for dinner tonight, she’s making your favorite, okay?” You nod, Vick was always so nice and sweet to you, snarky towards her husband. And on good days it didn’t hurt to be around them, to see them in love like crazy people.

“How’d you do it?” You don’t recognize the words coming out of your mouth, foreign and sickly tasting. He hums, sighing as he breathes out while he looks around the apartment.

“How’d I do what?” He asks.

“How’d you know it was her, I mean, you guys moved so fast, how did you- just- how?” Words failed you and you wanted answers but even on autopilot, you’re unsure of what you want to know. Of what you want to hear.

Silence grows as he mulls over the answer. Then he starts standing, getting you up on your feet with him, speaking as he pushes you to the shower, “I’ll tell you when you’re done, how about that?” He smiles as you reach the middle of the tiled bathroom floor, turning to him helplessly as you shiver.

He’s about to close the door when you stop him, reaching out with a hand. He stands there, unmoving, eyes moving up to meet yours and you gulp.

“Thanks.”

He smiles and he shuts the door with a click.

You undress, making no attempts to look at the mirror as you step into the shower, closing the curtains. The water hits your scalp and you try to picture your ails being washed away with the oils in your hair. You try to follow your old routine as best as you can but when thirty minutes pass and all you have to show for it is clean hair and nothing else, you turn the shower off. You’ll take a win where you can. You don’t entirely know it’s been thirty minutes to be fair, but when the water turns from hot to cold you can take the hint it’s time to get out.

Getting dressed and drying your hair with a shirt, you exit your room to find Seff on the couch, finishing the bag of gummy candy off. The corner of your lips twitch up as you toss the shirt at his head, snorting when he shouts and somehow falls onto the ground. “And after all that I’ve done for you!” He says as he wrenches the shirt off his head, throwing it right back at you. “I’ve rolled the rugs out AND I’ve got your bag and keys, and this is the thanks I get?!” A small smile plays on your face, wrapping your arm around his neck in a limp headlock as he continues to mumble about how unfair it was.

“Come on, you big baby, let’s get you back home to Vick,” and at the mention of his wife, he perks right up, handing your things over as he rushes to the door. You follow after him but as you lock the bottom lock, you hear a banging on your window. Your head snaps to the living room, just barely catching the dimmed blue sky of the night, nothing to be seen in the glass. You’d check it out but then you hear Seff call for your name. Turning away, you finish locking your door, following your best friend down the stairs and breathing in and out as your thoughts try to race ahead of you. Despite the genuine fear of a burglar… you couldn’t be bothered to worry too hard about it. One, there wasn’t a thing you could do now, pulling the seat belt over you as Seff started the engine. Two, and you’re sure it’s a bad thought but your mental health has never been known to be particularly okay, but you almost hope there’s somebody waiting for you. Whether they’d kill you immediately or to kidnap you, you’re clueless to which you want more, both are fine options. Maybe torture. Maybe you’d come out of this haze your mind seems to be stuck in.

You hardly notice the car parking, only when the door unlocks and you, automatically, take your seat belt off, opening the door and watching with blinking eyes as Vick, the beautiful woman she is, finds the two of you and hugs both at the same time. It’s a nice hug. Her soap smells nice. Makes you feel sleepy again.

Dinner is filled with laughs and despite your small fears, she doesn’t bring up Wilbur and she doesn’t bring up anybody and she doesn’t say that you deserve better. She just finds ways to make you laugh, make you gasp with the drama she’s heard, helps you with setting the table as Seff finishes off the toasted bread.

Wine is poured in your glass and Vick’s, juice for Seff. You quirk an eyebrow at him and he raises both in return, “what?” he asks as he lifts the fancy glass to his nose, swirling the liquid and then smelling it, with a satisfied nod.

“Pregnant?” He hangs his head in shame as Vick snorts, getting the salt and pepper from the kitchen.

“We wanted to be sure it was hers,” he sends a wink your way before beaming at Vick, accepting the bowl being passed for bread.

The night passes fast and before you can soak the warmth and happiness in for the long run, Seff is already dropping you off, double-checking that you’ll be okay for the weekend. “We’ll be at her mom’s place and you know her mom, middle of nowhere. No signal and—” you cut him off with a tight hug. He doesn’t say anything else until you let go. Until you’re sure the wine isn’t the only thing warm in your chest and belly. You’re slow to pull away but when you do, you walk backwards into your apartment, hand tight around the doorknob. The fear from before is back and though you know he has to leave, you wished he would stay. But that would mean asking. And you can’t ask that of him, not when he’s done so much for you already.

“See you when you get back.” He nods, tight-lipped.

“See you.” He starts the walk back to his car when you call out to him.

The words choke up in your throat but you manage to force them out, tasting bitter like vomit, “love you, be safe.” He parrots it back and tears blur your vision as you wave, watching as he disappears down the steps and then out of sight when his car drives away.

You swallow the lump in your throat, hoping you wouldn’t throw up on the floor after he mopped it, the fear of a familiar pit in your stomach as the door closes behind you. It’s quiet.

Way too quiet.

You turn your TV on, just loud enough to cover the ringing silence in your ears as you sit on the couch, not daring to check your bedroom or the kitchen for any intruders. You’re not sure what you want to find.

Head falling to your lap, phone open, your hand trembles as you press the icon for Wilbur’s contact. Despite him not answering before, you kept texting him and everyday it would stay on delivered, nothing would change. It felt maddening. Lonely. Desperate. You start typing a message out, speaking as your fingers moved, “Seff came over… helped clean and everything. I don’t know… where I’d be without… him.” Tears dripped onto your cheeks as you felt stupid and pathetic and- and- you couldn’t breathe, not around the sobs that escaped your mouth, covering it with one hand as you sent the message. He was just a guy and he only spent one night with you. It wasn’t even that special- you weren’t that special- why would he ever think-

It’s hard to focus but when the tears stop falling and you can breathe, at least through your mouth, you wipe the snot off with your sleeve.

Burglar be damned, you walk into the kitchen, tearing a paper towel off the roll and blowing your nose. It’s loud and it’s warm when you pull it away, groaning at the sight. “Fucking hell,” you mumble, tossing it into the trash.

The floor is cold beneath your feet walking back to the couch and when you sniff, you catch a whiff of that fabuloso again, pressing a hand to your forehead as you reach down to grab your phone. Your breath catches in your throat.

They’re- the messages- they’re not delivered anymore. He’s opened them. Thousands of emotions run through you in the matter of seconds. Air lodges itself in your throat, leaving you dizzy and unable to breathe as you think about it. Shame, humiliation. He’s seeing this pathetic, sad and lonely person vomit in his messages. Shock. Did he- did he lose his phone? Briefly angry, why couldn’t he just open it that night why did he have to wait till now? Staring down the phone screen, you can hardly recognize your thumb pressing on the call button. Without question, the cold press against your ear brings you to the moment, your mind clears of the haze as you’re forced to think, in milliseconds of a game plan. You thought of one over the last two months, wondered what you’d say to him, given the chance, but with your self-deprecating ass it was hard to think at all right now. Taking him back so quickly definitely was wrong, as was assuming he wanted you at all. Oh what to say?

As the call goes through and rings, hearing a vibrating noise outside the window you stiffen up. The one where you heard a noise from-

And the phone picks up, the vibration stops and all you can hear is the distant city noises, and perhaps the quietest panting you’ve heard. You approach the window, holding both hands at your phone, clutching as you whisper, “Wilbur?” Turning around until your back meets the wall beside it, you try to see if looking out would do anything. It doesn’t. It’s just as dark as it is inside of your living room, the only thing disturbing that inky blanket of darkness is your TV. You’re almost scared to turn it off. “Wilbur, what- are you there?” You didn’t know if you meant in general or right outside your fucking window but you can only imagine the answer when you see a phone drop onto the fire escape, a body falling to its knees, you can barely make out the silhouette. You drop your own phone when a hand smacks against the glass, dragging down as it smacks again and again. The shake in your hands makes it hard for you to flip the locks and you slide it up, just barely asking the question: just what in the hell are you doing??

But the hand falls off and a head of fluffy brown hair sticks in and he falls in with as much grace as a limp noodle, groaning all the way. You move him enough only to reach out and grab his phone, looking around to make sure nobody caught him sneaking in. You hope that in the case they do, they assume you’re only sneaking in a boyfriend— even if the assumption hurts to ache for.

“Fuck, Wilbur, what happened to you?” You hiss as you close the window, crouching as you help him sit against the wall, trying to look over him as his head rolls back. His eyes stare up at the ceiling as you look back at the window, catching sight of the red tint dragging down in the shape of his hand. Picking his wrist up, you do see the drying blood coating his skin. Your chest coils tight, thinking the worst of the worst. You try asking him what happened, where’s he hurt before his eyes drift down and find you, his face softening and a deep sigh rattles out of him, interrupted by a hiss and an attempt to press against his ribs. You need to call the ambulance, hell, take him to the hospital yourself but the way he’s sitting on your floor, already adjusting himself seems a little too… relaxed. As one can be relaxed when, no doubt, pain is at the forefront of your mind. “Wilbur, say something,” you beg with gritted teeth. You need a reason to not kick him out, to not pull him into your arms and kiss the wounds away no matter how tempting and how useless it would be. “Say something before I kill you myself.” And then he passes out.

You groan out in frustration, having caught his head in a panic when his body slumped over again and making a dive for the tile. “I cannot be doing this, Seff will kill me-” and then the sudden reminder, of oh yes, as of right now, you cannot call him. Despite more than likely being in the city together, you didn’t want him worrying over you again. You cannot keep doing that to him, he has a life of his own, Vick needs her husband and they’re going to visit her mom— and in your panic, a minute has passed and his head is still in your hand. You, out of nerves, started carding your free fingers through his hair, finding it… wet. You sniff close to his head and nearly groan again, yeah, his hair is wet with sweat.

You push his head back and reach around him, mumbling to yourself about how you should do it. Picking him up by the waist doesn’t do you any favors, neither does pulling on his arms. Bad idea in the first place. Sighing, you make a note to apologize later if he doesn’t die on you when you drag him to your room. It’s no question that he lies on your bed- after a towel has been laid out for him. If he’s bleeding, you don't want too big of a stain. You had considered leaving him on the floor… but then you couldn’t do it.

You check his arms, pushing his sleeves up and finding none of that. You check his head, nothing bleeding there. You take his shoes off but… that’s about all you do besides getting the first aid kit and setting it next to you, along with water and painkillers. If he was bleeding in the legs or chest or hell, even his feet, you needed him awake for that. And despite him literally being on your fire escape, which raises all sorts of questions mind you, you couldn’t undress him. You couldn’t.

After a few minutes, you shake his shoulder, giving his face a few smacks when he wakes up with a jolt, looking around until he finds you and then he groans, clutching at his side again, eyes shut tight. Then he tries to sit up. “Hey slow down there,” you say, holding onto his shoulder when it seemed he would stand up.

“Please, I should-” he swallows and you despise yourself for looking at his throat move, “I should go.”

“You shouldn’t be moving at all, now where’s the blood?” You speak fast, hoping to hide the shake in your voice if you were mean about it. He tried to fight you on it but when you pushed on his chest, stepping between his legs, he couldn’t move, head flung back as he tried to reel the grunts of pain in, trying to be quiet. “If you needed the hospital- or- or a clinic, you should’ve gone there first. But you didn’t, so you’re gonna tell me what’s hurting so I can help you.” He lays limp on your bed, unable to look at you as his mouth dropped open and snapped shut several times. “If you don’t tell me where it hurts, I’m going to stab you and then stitch you up myself and then throw you out my window so fucking- say something.”

It’s silent. Until it wasn’t. “Everywhere,” he rasped, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “It hurts everywhere. I can’t-” he gasps, hand coming up to where your own still processes, in the middle of his chest and over yours“-think.” You retract your hand immediately, backing up as you give him space. Space for yourself.

“Is there anything bleeding?” You ask and when he shakes his head, you think back to the clear blood on his hands, on your window. It doesn’t add up but taking it with a generous fistful of salt, you want to scream. “Okay- okay. Fuck.”

In the end, you have him sit up, half-apologizing for the pain and the other of you lets him have it, he can handle it just this once. He could’ve called, he could’ve texted, anything, but no, he had to wait until he was literally too hurt to move.

“Did you break anything?” You ask, digging through the first-aid kit while you waited for him to take his shirt off, “because with the way you’re bitching about these bruises—”

“—bitching?” He cuts you off, shirt halfway over his head.

“— yes, bitching, you’re not bleeding, if anything was broken you would’ve, surely, gone to a clinic. A healer, just, fucking anybody. No, you had to come to me.” You say, pulling out the self-adherent wrap and opening it up, unable to fault yourself in finding a battered, bare-chested Wilbur on your bed and losing your voice for it. The hair on his chest that leads down his stomach that leads further down into his pants… you breathe in as he himself is quiet. Starting at his ribs, you have him hold it down as you begin wrapping it around his torso, dedicated to ignoring the heat of his skin, how close you are to him. How you have to stand with one leg between his and lean into his space.

With each go-around, you make sure it’s not too tight, just enough to keep pressure and when you tape it down, you have him lay back down, gathering the first-aid kit to put on the nightstand. Heading into the kitchen for an ice-pack. In the middle of making one in a ziploc bag, you wonder what the fuck you’re doing. You’re patching up a guy who fell into your living room after having ghosted you for two months.

You want to be mad at yourself, you want to punish yourself so badly for letting him in so easily.

“Listen, I just wanted to say—” he says when you walk in and you couldn’t help yourself, you chucked it at the bed and snatched the throw blanket on your dresser, ignoring any other attempts at conversation.

“Get some rest, don’t call for me unless that bag is melted.” You say over your shoulder, closing your bedroom door shut and you can’t help the pathetic slide down against it. Tears try to fall but you wipe them furiously. He does not get to wander in and fuck everything up. For goodness’ sake, you’ve just mopped.

Setting up camp on your couch, you lie down with the knowledge that yeah your neck will be shit in the morning, but you don’t care. You don’t care. It won’t matter in the morning because in the morning, he’ll be okay enough to get up and stand somewhat straight and maybe without help and he’ll insist on leaving. That’s just how it’ll go. He’ll say he never meant to end up on your fire escape and in the morning, he’ll apologize for taking up your bed. Because that’s just how it’ll go. And then he’ll go. And you’ll never see him again.

That’s how it’s going to be. It’ll never be anything more. You sniffle, can’t even stop crying for a night. How fucking useless. You bury your head into the throw pillow and shiver under the thin blanket. It’ll be over soon. It’ll be over and he’ll be gone and you can pretend that you never intended on letting someone murder you. You can pretend that you’re normal and pretend everything is okay. Breathing out, you let sleep fall over you.

You rub the ache in your neck, grimacing as you flip another pancake, successfully burning it. It goes onto a stack of burnt pancakes. Turning off the stove, you don’t even pull butter or the syrup out of the fridge. Maybe your bitterness will fade away with time… maybe you’ll be able to look back in time and say, it’s okay. It just wasn’t meant to be. For right now, you get to be petty and serve your bruised guest burnt food.

Opening your bedroom door, you halt in your footsteps; finding him fast asleep. The ice-pack is nowhere to be found. A sigh falls out of your mouth, the sound of the plate that knocks against the dresser is almost as loud as your defeat. You take the blanket you’d slept with and drape it over him, tucking the edges under him. The idiot slept on top of the cover. Standing up straight, you look at him. This is the first time you’ve seen him in two months, and you feel hopeless. He looks so peaceful, so handsome, so pretty, so helpless you can’t help but want to stay. But he’s hurt you. No matter what he has to say.

You breathe in deep before turning to leave and you would’ve made it out the door had he not reached out for you, grasping your wrist with cold fingers. You shiver under his touch as his head falls to the side, his hair falling into his closed eyes. “What you do to me is cruel,” you whisper, sliding down to the floor and letting him hold your wrist. You don’t know how much I regret meeting you and you don’t know how much I cherish meeting you at all.

It takes twenty minutes for him to wake up, two minutes after that for him to let go. You stand up, throwing a new shirt at him. This one happened to be completely oversized and old for you, perfect for him. “Get dressed and eat, I’m either taking you to a hospital or a healer you know, fifteen minutes.” You don’t give yourself time to loiter in the room, you don’t give him time to explain himself. (You know that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mean to ghost you but let’s be real, you’re you. And he’s Wilbur. The math isn’t adding up. He just wasn’t that interested.)

About ten minutes after you walk out of your room, he stumbles out, gripping onto the walls and he groans with his mouth closed. You don’t let him see your flustered face at the sound, just walking out and letting him follow you to the stairs. You pull one of his arms over your shoulders and make a point not to talk to him, even when he tries to get you to let go. Saying all about how he can walk on his own and stairs are no problem… you couldn’t resist it though, he was pretty insistent that he’d be okay and maybe you’re still upset. You let go and watch as he falls down one step, catching him before he scraped himself up even more.

“And you said you had it under control.” You mutter and you can see he wants to say more but you send him a look that has him clenching his jaw again.

“Look, you don’t need to take me to a hospital.” He begins after the two of you are settled in your car.

“So you know a healer?” You turn to him, giving him a blank stare.

“Well- maybe- I-” he stumbles over his words as you start the engine.

“You have very limited options right now. Either I take you to someone who will help you or I will dump your ass on the front step of the nearest doctor. Pick one.” His jaw sets and you make it a point to stare ahead as he gives you directions.

In no time, you find yourself in front of an apartment building, helping him get out of the car and into the lobby. You barely helped him into the elevator before turning to leave, watching as he leaned against the elevator doors. He stumbled over his words again.

“I couldn’t text you. I wanted to, so badly.” He says, with the wettest eyes known to man.

“So you’re telling me, you saw I was texting, couldn’t respond for some mysterious reason and you expect me to tell you it’s okay?”

“I’m not saying it was.”

“Two months, Wilbur, you left me alone for two months.” You say, throwing it out there and he wants to say more, you can see it so clearly. You can see he wants to say why, wants to tell you everything. His big, sad eyes stare you down, tears close to falling. You look behind you, holding onto the elevator doors as you lean closer into the enclosed space. “And we’re only talking because you showed up at my window, bruised to hell and back with someone’s blood on your hands. Talk to me when you’re healed. Because yeah, I have questions. And if you can’t answer them when you’ve healed up, just go back to ignoring me. It worked perfectly fine for the both of us, didn’t it?” You don’t know why you said any of that, bitterness and hurt chokes you up, your words coming out stilted or too fast. Because no way in any version of reality were you okay. You wanted the truth. You wanted to know exactly what went wrong that night for him to ignore you.

And if he’s being honest with you right now, you’re not sure what to make of it.

But you’ve said your piece and the first tear falls down his cheek. So you lean in, palm smacking the button for the doors to close. You don’t wait a second before turning around and heading back to your car. Breaking down right in front of it.

You were so far from being okay, so, so fucking far.

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot x y/n #c: wilbur #c: wilbur soot #eggplicit #<- i go a little nuts at the thought of chest hair my bad #and stomach hair..... a happy.. happy trail sjghsghs #ANYWAYS!#c: clinicbur #au: clinic #c: sirenbur #gender neutral reader

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roseharpermaxwell · 4 months

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RWRB FirstPrince Canon Compliant Recs

Click below for some of my favorite fics that are book and/or movie canon compliant!

Every Version by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf. M, 1.1k. Alex does a magazine photoshoot, and the day that the magazine arrives, he wants Henry to look at it first.

Acts of Service by TuppingLiberty. E, 1.4k. After a vacation, Henry shaves Alex’s scruff off, because he loves taking care of Alex.

5+1 Times Henry Was Attracted To Alex (Texas Edition) by @absoluteaudacitywrites. E, 1.4k. Alex in a Stetson though. That’s the stuff of Henry’s most filthy dreams. He swears his husband gets even more Texan with it on, his drawl getting slower, more syrupy. He calls Henry darlin’ and tips the brow to him as he passes and Henry knows it’s stupid but he finds himself weak at the knees from being in proximity to his own personal cowboy.

A Hoarse I Love You by a_velvet_blazer. NR, 1.6k. Alex knew he wasn’t particularly… pleasant when he got sick.

Before, in the white house, June helped out. She had a container of Vicks in her room and would bring him soup from the kitchen. She had down the perfect mix of checking on him to make sure he was still breathing and leaving him alone to wallow.

The times he was sick in the brownstone were easy enough to play off, with (a different) tub of Vicks in their bathroom with a nice collection of Advil and Tylenol.

He has a system.

That is, until he doesn't.

boxing with no gloves by @littlemisskittentoes. G, 2.2k. Henry is pushing his arms through the woolen sleeves of a peacoat. He faces Alex and there’s no softness left in his features. He’s genuinely angry this time. None of the endeared exhaustion of his antics Alex is so used to seeing from him. None of the fondness that always plays hide and seek in his eyes when he looks at Alex. Henry looks blank and placid. His press face, edged with a hint of venom.

And Alex has seen versions of this face. He’s seen a calmer facade of it, one that had boarded a plane back to England by the time Alex woke up.

There’s something cold settling in Alex’s stomach. A kind of panic crawling up his throat. There’s ice dancing at his fingertips, but his hands are sweating, and oh God, Henry’s leaving again.

Or, Alex and Henry get into a fight. Henry tries to leave, Alex needs him to stay. So he does.

I'd Wanna Be Felled By You, Held By You by @sparklepocalypse. E, 2.3k. In hindsight, Alex should probably have known that letting Henry borrow his clothes for the weekend would absolutely wreck him. But Henry had fretted about his wardrobe being too formal for a casual visit to the lake house, and Alex has developed somewhat of a Pavlovian response to the way Henry’s brows furrow and his mouth pinches when he’s anxious. Once the words “You can just wear my stuff, no worries,” were out there, there’d been no stuffing them back into his mouth.

Here’s the thing Alex should’ve taken into consideration: Henry would look hot dressed in a garbage bag. So the morning after their lake house arrival, when Henry steps out of the shower and into a pair of Alex’s swim trunks and Alex’s Arrels Barcelona shirt, Alex takes one look at him and drops his phone.

(Movieverse; Henry wears Alex's clothes at the lake house and Alex reacts accordingly.)

i'm so in love (i might stop breathing) by vibrantsaturn. T, 2.4k. He looks so fucking gorgeous like this, eyes half-lidded as he looks at Alex. He rests his head on Alex's chest, tightening his arms. Alex can see the tips of his ears turning pink.

"It's ! H G E J F M W C D 2 4 !" he mumbles in embarrassment, hiding his face in the crook of Alex's neck again. A beat of silence.

Then, almost shouting in joy, Alex yells, "Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor- Claremont-Diaz! That's your fucking password?"

"Shut up!" Henry hisses and Alex feels so many butterflies in his stomach that he's going to throw himself off of a cliff. Really, teenage girls with celebrity crushes have nothing on him at this moment.

or,

Henry is drunk and Alex is so in love he could die.

it was you he gave me by @coffeecatsme. E, 2.5k. The tattoo artist traces Alex’s thigh with a gloved finger as she grabs the needle, brows furrowed as if she’s trying to make sense of the lettering. “This is beautiful,” she says, awe in her voice. Alex feels a sort of pride surge through him. “Who’s the poet?”

Alex smiles. “If I tell you, can you keep a secret?”

Or, Alex finds a pen in their sex toy drawer and Henry finds a use for it.

in sickness, and in health by softcinnamonroll. T, 2.5k. It all started with a slight niggle in Alex’s right side. He was at the library, face deep in one of his law textbooks as he studied for his midterms and he sat back to stretch, only to feel a sharp nip in the side. He frowned as a hiss left his lips, hand moving to grip his side slightly and rub the skin where it hurt. He didn’t think too much about it, after all he had been sitting in the same position for hours. It was likely due to lack of movement.

A Goddamn Fairytale by toffrox. T, 2.5k. Henry wants to be angry. He does. He wants to feel it simmering in his chest, wants to be sitting there like Alex is next to him with his eyes smouldering. He wants to be like Bea, pacing the room with her fists clenched, absolutely livid.

"You can't let her do this!" Bea cries.

"It's just one tiny part of the day," Henry says with a sigh. "Everything else will be exactly as planned. I'm just not sure it's worth having a big fight over."

Bea glares and looks like she's going to rant when Alex cuts in-

"Fuck. That."

A Lover's Embrace by septemberleaves. T, 2.6k. Alex realizes he doesn't know the name of Henry's cologne and has a slight crisis.

Asking For Permission by @cultofsappho. T, 2.6k. Henry knows he's going to ask Alex to marry him. And he knows its a ridiculous tradition, but he wants to ask the most important person in Alex's life for their blessing, just to be sure.

Behind a Locked Door by @rmd-writes. E, 2.8k. Alex glances at the celebrant who holds out the card with his vows printed on them. He looks at Henry as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his reading glasses. Henry’s eyes widen and as Alex puts his glasses on, there’s a sharp inhale from Henry. Alex winks. Henry looks like he might have stopped breathing.

What happens when Alex pulls his glasses out during their wedding ceremony? Henry finds a room with a locked door.

wake and shake by weather_stained. E, 2.8k. Alex wakes up to find Henry indulging in some...classical literature.

Just Say Yes by @everwitch-magiks. G, 3.2k. “Well,” Alex says slowly, “You look… marriable? I guess.” He lets his feet carry him a couple of steps closer, reaching out to adjust Henry’s tie even though it’s already perfect. “I’m not a hundred percent on this shade of blue, though.”

Henry’s bottom lip catches between his teeth as he meets Alex’s eyes, his expression one of carefully concealed amusement. “Heaven forbid that you marry a man whose choice of neckwear doesn’t convey a sense of adventure,” he says gravely. “Would you perhaps prefer something patterned? Why don’t we request one with little embroidered pictures of David?”

Alex grins widely. “A personal touch. I love that, baby.”

The royal stylist is glancing between the two of them with abject horror.

you look so good it hurts by greenandmoss. M, 3.2k. After Berlin, Alex can't find his sweater.

Or: English Princes are thieves and Alex doesn't have the strength to cope with seeing Henry wearing his clothes.

Favours by Veronae. E, 3.3k. Buttercream swirls haunt his nightmares.

Henry got Alex a cupcake for his birthday, and they do sexy things with it.

in bloom by rizcriz. T, 3.5K. This is all Nora’s fault. No, actually, it’s the fucking Crown’s fault. No, no, it’s homophobia’s fault. Fuck, okay, he doesn’t know who to blame but he’s pinning it on the lapels of the universe with a frown and a fuck you.

Because Henry, beautiful, wonderful, rosy cheeked Henry—the man Alex would fucking die for and who deserves the whole god damned world—has never been given flowers. It may seem small, innocuous, but the look in his eyes as June smells the bouquet of lilacs Nora brought to the bar for her says fucking otherwise.

Henry’s words are still hanging over the group of them; “I wouldn’t know,” he’d said with a small shrug and a smile that said he wasn’t too upset, but Alex saw the little crease in his brow, the way his gaze dropped to the table on the shrug, he knows it matters; “I’ve never been given any.”

Or, five times Alex bought Henry flowers.

when you say my name (i like the way it sounds) by kittentoes. G, 3.6k. When he looks back, he gives himself a moment to take it in. He basks in the sound of familiar laughter echoing around their kitchen in the simmering warmth and comfortability that comes with being sucked into Pez’s antics and lulled back by Bea’s steadiness. He revels in the swirl of Nora’s genius and calm of June’s kindness.

It’s not quite the same as LA all those years ago. It doesn’t take him by surprise or feel novel anymore. But it's still that feeling of rightness, a crystal clear understanding that this, these people, will always be a kind of home to him.

or, The Super Six take on a Halloween party. Henry, for once, let’s himself let loose. Drunk, uninhabited, and free to love Alex in public, Henry is happy. Alex stays sober to look after him, and he is so in love he could die.

give yourself away sometimes, sweetheart by @omgcmere. M, 3.8k. Tracing the evolution of sweetheart in five scenes over the years.

Everything’s Growing in our Garden by bleedingballroomfloor. E, 4k. Alex hums in contentment, turning his face in Henry's lap. "You haven't played polo for a long time now," he says casually.

"I haven't," Henry agrees.

"But your thighs are still so fucking strong," Alex says around a groan, and suddenly, Henry knows where this conversation is going very, very quickly.

In which Alex and Henry celebrate an anniversary with a picnic and some thigh worship.

L’Amour de Ma Vie by quill_and_ink. E, 4k. He studies his expressions like he'll be tested on them later, and he'll be damned if he misses a single question.

In other words, it's the Paris bed blooper.

Bisexual Disaster Alex Claremont-Diaz by TuppingLiberty. E, 4k. Five times Alex wears an amusing bi pride shirt to Brooklyn Pride, and one time both he and Henry do it.

to build a home by @indomitable-love. T, 4.1k. He loves the life they’ve made for themselves. It’s messy and busy – there’s always a cardigan of Henry’s thrown over a chair and a paperback open on the arm of the chair with the spine cracked; Alex’s notes on the dining room table, and three different loyalty cards for the coffee shop down the street on the table by the door because Alex keeps forgetting his in different pockets. His life with Henry is full of laughter and soft touches: David curled up at Alex’s side as he reads through class notes while Henry snaps a photo; Henry's arms around him when he gets in from class; the two of them bartering over whose turn it is to take David out when he needs to go out and it’s raining.

It’s mundane a lot of the time – something Alex never thought he would want – but he loves it.

Or, at least, he loves it when Henry is here.

Which, right now, he isn’t.

He hasn’t been here for five weeks. Which… like, it’s fine. It’s not a whole a thing.

Henry goes back to England and ends up having to stay far longer than expected. But he'll always come back to Alex.

Kiss and Tell by @dani-dabbles. M, 4.1k. “Now that is spine-melting, isn’t it?” Henry speaks in a dreamy, lascivious way that in any other context would be very flattering. But right now? With the current company?

Nora hums, barely avoiding sloshing wine as she raises her glass in the air, “No complaints. No notes. Ten out of fucking ten.”

Both sigh happily and eerily in sync, knocking back more wine.

Henry’s head lulls in Nora’s direction, “So the other night, we tried something new and we-”

No. Absolutely not. Alex can’t hear anymore. He needs to stop this.

First Monday in May by @three-drink-amy. E, 4.3k. “How do I get invited to the Met Gala?”

“If I knew that, Alex, I’d have been there before,” she says, looking back at her magazine.

Alex throws himself on her bed and tosses the magazine behind him to the floor. “June! Come on. Help me!”

“Why do you want to go to the goddamn Met Gala? When I showed you pictures from it before, you asked why they were dressed like that. Why do you want to go?” She laughs to herself. “What, did Henry get invited?”

He falls silent in reply.

The White House Trio, Henry, and Pez attend the 2020 Met Gala.

If You Love Something by allmylovesatonce. M, 4.3k. Alex calls Henry to tell him a funny incident from his day. When a miscommunication sends them both reeling, both of them are questioning if the other is wanting to end their relationship. Their friends take things upon themselves to get them to see eye to eye.

no one's gonna love you more than i do by peppermintpatties. G, 4.3k. 5 times Henry became Alex’s support system in law school + 1 time Alex made sure the whole world knows it

Backseat Serenade by bleedingballroomfloor. E, 4.4k. "You seriously don't remember?"

"Alex, for the life of me, I do not."

Alex's face splits into a devilish grin. "Oh, baby." His voice is absolutely sultry. "All I'm hearing is that I gotta make you remember."

'cause I love to watch you dream by Rainbow_waffles. T, 4.5k. “Don' turn off the light,” Alex mumbles again and Henry is really, really struggling not to laugh.

“Why?" he questions softly, inching his face closer to Alex so he could hear him. Alex doesn't answer.

“Why, love?” he presses.

“They need t'see,” Alex grumbles and shifts a bit.

“Who needs to see?” Henry thinks that if Alex mentions any other people or ghosts being around he's going to either wake Alex up or go sleep in the guest room, he's not having any of this.

“The bugs,” Alex mumbles exasperatingly as if it should be obvious.

Five times Alex talks in his sleep +1 time Henry does.

yrs. faithfully (if a little early) by @clottedcreamfudge. E, 4.6k. “You’re going to be over an hour early for your first lecture,” Henry points out from his seat at the kitchen table as Alex shoves an apple and a bottle of water into his bag, looking around for his shoes with a frown.

“Well, yeah,” he says distractedly, locating said shoes and squatting down to slip them on and tie his laces. “I was gonna cram some studying in at the library at the end of the day, but now I can do it before the day really starts. Efficient as fuck.” Henry snorts delicately into his cup of Earl Grey and puts it down on the table when Alex straightens and rolls his shoulders.

“Admirable,” Henry says.

a goddamn blaze in the dark (and you started it) by orionseye. T, 4.6k. “You had a thing with who?” Spencer asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“No one. It’s nothing.“

“Oh c’mon. We finally get to the juicy shit and you won’t tell me?“

Liam bites his lip, stifling a laugh. “I had a thing with my best friend. All through high school.”

“I thought you had a girlfriend?”

“I did! I thought I was a proud heterosexual until I came here and figured shit out. We–we just, didn’t talk about it. Somewhere in our minds, the whole “making out for an hour” thing was, like, straight or something.”

a.k.a, liam and spencer’s adventures through the tendency of a famous ex-boyfriend to cause international scandals.

How to save a life by dollarstoreannabethchase. G, 4.7k. “Henry,” Cash’s voice called from the other side of the closed door to their brownstone, and something in his voice set goosebumps to Henry’s skin. “You need to come with me. It’s Alex.” Henry had gotten up from the piano immediately and flung the door open, wearing nothing but a ratty old t-shirt and sweatpants. “What is it?” he asked, dread creeping down his spine in a slithering motion. “There’s been an accident.”

Or: Henry's day after Alex is in a car crash, not knowing whether or not he'll make it.

I Choose You by @cityofdownwardspirals. T, 4.7k. Finally, after a long moment, Alex speaks up. “So…he seemed nice,” he says, matter-of-factly. He still isn’t looking directly at Henry.

“He is. Not like we talk a lot. I haven’t seen him in years,” Henry admits, turning fully towards Alex to show him he has his full attention for this conversation.

Alex takes a gulp of his champagne before turning towards Henry as well. “And what happened all those years ago?”

Alex and Henry attend their first official event in the UK as a couple after the elections. Henry is proud to finally be able to introduce his boyfriend to the world. When Alex meets an unexpected guest, he gets an answer to the question of "which other famous boys Henry has shagged" and he seems to struggle just a little bit with it.

What If I Do? by colorfulmoniker. T, 4.9k. What was Henry thinking when he left Alex at the lake house? What were the days that followed like for him before Alex showed up at his door and forced him to face not only Alex, but himself?

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy by cmere. E, 6.3k. "Would now be the moment," Henry says, breath catching, "to tell you about a little fantasy I've had concerning you and horses?"

Alex snickers. "Uh, I don't know, babe. If this is going the way it sounds, I'm not sure you should say anything you won't be able to take back."

"Oh, Christ, shut it," Henry says, laughing, still not stopping the motions of his hand. "The horse aspect is nonsexual."

"Okay, well in that case. Yes. Obviously." Alex grips his own thigh, refusing to give in and touch Henry, or himself. For now. As long as he can stand it.

As it turns out, Alex isn't the only one who has a thing for his beloved on a horse. Henry's birthday seems like a good time to make use of that new information.

i ask you how you’re doing (and i let you lie) by matherine. M, 6.6k. The first time Henry sees it happen, he knows instantly that it is not the first time it has ever happened. They’re sitting in the living room of the brownstone, the two of them surrounded by their favorite people in the world, a night of board games long abandoned in favor of mocking the eighth season of Game of Thrones.

“God, don’t you have an off switch?” June groans, laughing as she chucks a piece of popcorn in Alex’s direction while he rambles passionately about the international legal implications of the Red Wedding. Nora cackles. “Whatever you do to thank Henry for putting up with you, it’s not nearly enough. Jesus, I can’t believe he put a ring on your loud mouth.”

Or: Alex is fine. Really, he’s fine — he just wants Henry to stay, even if Alex is too much. Henry just wants his husband back.

sink beneath the waves by indomitablelove. M, 7.1k He leaves the note in the kitchen, and slips back out into the dark morning and into the waiting car. He wonders if Alex will ever know quite how much everything truly means.

The lake house to Kensington, from Henry's POV.

in wildest dreams (i never dreamed of this) by millsx. T, 8k. “H?” Alex asks, turning around. He’s been sitting with his back against Henry’s chest, listening to his low voice rambling about saltwater and coastlines.

A Stork Beneath London Bridge by @ficsmarvelmerlinao3. G, 7.5k. Henry was supposed to be enjoying his first fully American Thanksgiving, filled with first hand witnessing of the Turkey Horrors and strangely sweet vegetable dishes. But in a single whispered phrase the world turns immaterial, Alex is his only anchoring point, and the black suit carefully packed over every single trip is being laid out on the pretty pink bedspread.

Henry stops and looks at him, prompting him to go on with a tip of his head.

“You’re my favorite person ever,” Alex says quietly.

It’s Alex’s birthday in New York City, and life is just a little bit better than he would have ever imagined.

i will find you darling (and i will bring you home) by indomitablelove. E, 8.2k. ‘You’ve never had it from both sides of the ocean before, and– well, the devil works hard but the British tabloids work harder,’ he says with a sad smile.

take me out and take me home by coffeecatsme. M, 10k. “Shh.” Alex presses a finger over Henry’s lips. Their corners twitch, as if Henry’s desperately fighting a smile. “This is our house, baby. We gotta make it our own."

The press and public opinion are fickle masters. One day they love you, the next they hate you. Alex struggles with the constant negativity of the news cycle, Henry makes him feel better.

A real fucking legacy series by @dreamsinthewitchouse. E, 9.9k. Alex drifts into consciousness in a bed full of tangled limbs and warm, sleep-rumpled skin. He’s lying half on his stomach and half on his side, the shoulder smushed against the bed protesting in a way that tells him he’s going to have a crick in his neck for the rest of the day.

But fuck if he cares, with Henry stirring next to him, one of his long legs draped over the back of Alex’s thigh. Alex doesn’t need to open his eyes to know the room is hazy with filtered sunlight, spilling pale yellow through the carelessly drawn curtains.

Soon after Ellen's election, Henry and Alex move into a brownstone in New York. This is a story of how they make it home.

every day is a birthday by indomitablelove. E, 10k. Henry blinks a couple of times and sits up quickly. He gives a cursory glance to David on the back seat, checking he’s still there – as though he hasn’t been asleep since the second they pulled out of their street – and leans over to look out of the window.

‘Alex,’ he breathes. He’s quiet for a minute, then murmurs, ‘it’s beautiful.’ Henry turns to him with narrowed eyes, both suspicion and mirth glinting happily in them. ‘What are you planning?’

Alex simply reaches over and clasps Henry’s hand with his own, then brings them to his lips. ‘Happy birthday, baby.’

Alex surprises Henry with a belated birthday weekend away... with the help of a few visitors.

Every nation ought to have a right to provide for its own happiness. by imaginentertain. T, 11k. "And that's when Henry knows: He doesn't ever want to go back."

"This is very formal," she says eventually. "Sending a request for an audience with your grandmother."

"Yes, well, this needs to be done formally," Henry says, "it needs to be done right."

And in that moment Henry sees his mother stiffen a little beside him and he knows she's realised. She's put the pieces together. If he's not here to ask for permission to marry then—

Henry takes a deep breath, rolls his shoulders back to lift him up to full height, and draws on all the courage he can muster. "I have come to inform you that I wish to abdicate," he says, just as he'd written and rehearsed, "and I would therefore like to petition Parliament as soon as possible."

Title is from Alexander Hamilton's letter on foreign policy. Because what else could I use?

Book canon compliant.

behind the diamond-shaped glass by Celaestis. M, 11k. Five times Alex and Henry used tea and biscuits to communicate, and one time they don't need to.

Smiles Await You When You Rise by supernatural_mondler (starzinoureyes). T, 11k. It’s incredible, really; he spent almost all day trying, willing himself into slumber, but after less than an hour of listening to Alex’s soothing voice and looking at his beautiful face, Henry is just moments away from the most peaceful sleep he’s had in weeks. God, why don’t they just do this every night? Henry might be able to get his sleep cycle back to normal if he only had Alex talk to him whenever it was time for bed.

Or, five times Alex helps Henry fall asleep.

No Regrets by @uglygreenjacket. M, 11k. “I think we should have a royal wedding.” It’s a thing Alex says to Henry over breakfast one Saturday morning shortly after they get engaged.

And he really hopes he doesn't come to regret it.

Love, Pyramus by @sprigsofviolets. T, 15k. Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor has always been different, and he spends his life finding himself in the pages of a book, connecting with queer people through literature.

Alejito y Marimar series by th0ughts. T, 18k. He continues to mutter ramblings about high society and the impossible balancing act of keeping up appearances before he falters to a tapering quiet, brown eyes coming alight with a realization.

Martha’s stomach churns, sensing a grand idea that could either be pure genius or terribly ill-advised. (With most of Alex’s ideas, it’s usually both.)

Alex is Martha’s plus one at her high school’s pre-reunion soirée, and she learns a thing or two about gumption.

I love you, aint that the worst thing you ever heard? by dollarstoreannabethchase. E, 18k. Because Alex is Alex, and as they say in Scandal, he’s the kind of person who would blindly follow someone he loves over a cliff. All Henry can think about is that Alex doesn’t understand what’s waiting for him at the bottom of that cliff; that Alex is hopelessly optimistic—naive, even—but Henry knows they won’t survive the fall. And he cannot, for the life of him, figure out why, out of all the things Alex could choose to go over a cliff for, he seems so set on choosing Henry.

Or: Henry’s perspective of the lake house and the week he and Alex are broken up.

Las Flores series by 14carrotgold. M, 26k. Oscar gets in close and bluntly asks, “Earlier. In the bathroom. Did you do it?”

Alex scoffs, “No. Don't be a perv. Why would you wanna know that anyway?”

Oscar rolls his eyes. “Mind out of the gutter, chamaco. Did you propose?”

Ah.

Henry is introduced to the extended Diaz side of the family at their matriarch's birthday. Shenanigans (and romance and feelings) ensue.

all that glitters (is not gold) by indomitablelove. E, 111k. Alex Claremont-Diaz has it all. His mom won the election, he’s got the perfect boyfriend. He gets to love Henry out loud. Everything is great. Perfect.

Except for the itch under his skin every time he goes outside, and the tightness in his chest when he goes online, and the fact that he can’t fucking sleep.

But it's fine. He's fine. Really.

Or: after the emails, Alex Claremont-Diaz isn’t fine.

I only tag an author once per post, but I'm still figuring out firstprince author handles. If you see one I may not know or find a broken link, please give me a heads up!

Master List of RWRB FirstPrince Recs

Master List of Recommendations

#firstprince #rwrb fic recs #rwrb #alex x henry #red white & royal blue

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