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roseharpermaxwell · 4 months

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RWRB FirstPrince AU Recs - Part Two

I'm such a fan of an AU, and I love how many there are in FirstPrince. Any situation you can put Alex and Henry in, I'm here for it.

Here are many of my favorites so far, 10k+ words. Give the authors some love and let me know if you find something you adore!

And they call it— by @clottedcreamfudge. T, 10k. "You're late, but at least you're wearing a more interesting tie this time," The Dog Sitter says as he opens the door, leaning against the doorframe like he's a GQ model and not a law student slash dog whisperer. Henry's mouth feels incredibly dry.

"Mishap with my socks," he says, then immediately wants to throw himself into oncoming traffic. "I mean, I didn't have any trouble getting them on or anything — I'm perfectly capable of dressing myself."

"Good to know," The Dog Sitter says, looking amused and devastatingly attractive, as always. "David get ahold of them again? He looks at mine like I look at freshly-brewed coffee."

"Yes," Henry says, relieved. "Yes, exactly that."

Creative Differences by @sparklepocalypse. E, 10k. Zahra tilts her head at him, a contemplative expression on her face. “How attached are you to the notion of being a solo artist?”

(AU; Alex is a failed solo musician and Henry's band needs a lead singer.)

Dick, Dick, Dick (You Down) by @everwitch-magiks. E, 10k. It is a truth universally acknowledged that Henry Fox is an absolute dick.

Henry Fox is an A-list movie star, Alex is in charge of the craft services trailer on Henry’s new romcom, and Alex just might be the only person on the crew who has his doubts about the world’s unfavorable assumptions about Henry. Why would Henry be a dick just because he doesn’t stop to talk to his fans every time they crowd him? Henry Fox is probably like most people: not his best self every second of his goddamn life, but decent on the whole.

As filming gets underway, Alex learns both how right and how wrong he is. Henry Fox, much like Alex’s well-stocked buffet at crafty, is a goddamn snack — but he’s definitely not like most people.

(Alex doesn’t feel this specific way about most people.)

You Came Out of Nowhere (And You Cut through All the Noise) by @affectionatelyrs. E, 10k. Alex starts to feel worse about how he reacted to the man earlier — he’s usually all bark and no bite, but how is the bartender supposed to know that? Alex can be snarky, but he’s never cruel.

Allowing his lips to quirk up into a small smile, he replies “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you, really.”

“Well,” he says with a smirk, “in the event that you are lying to me simply to placate our earlier interaction, my shift ends in 15 minutes. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to stick around to chat with a perfect stranger?”

Alex’s brain stutters for a moment at his facade being so transparent that it's all he can do to stutter out a “Yeah—um, yeah. Okay, sure.” Maybe he also gets stuck on the words perfect stranger, and the immediate thought of mmmm, perfect indeed that pops up in his brain as a result. He chooses to ignore that as well.

Or, Alex is feeling insecure after a bad date - Henry shows him that he doesn't have to be

Controlled Experiment by clottedcreamfudge. E, 10k. Basically, what it boils down to is this; Alex is mostly sober when he says - to a group of people he barely knows - "Yeah, I might be a little queer, but who knows? I'd kinda like to experiment though, y'know?"

This statement, which is actually something he's thought about a lot, is met by general bobbing of heads, in the kind of bros-trying-to-be-chill way that usually happens when a bunch of straight guys are trying very hard to be non-toxic. That is to say, it's kind of awkward, but they get mad props for trying.

The only person who isn't nodding is Henry, Pez's best friend and the only known gay man in this circle of people. Alex has no clue about the others, but he knows Henry's gay because Pez once introduced him as, "the most handsome man in all of Christendom — and before you ask, no we've never shagged, which is a damn shame. Not for lack of trying on my part, of course, but Henry's one of those gays who thinks it's bad manners to get drunk and have an inadvisable fumble with your best friend for larks."

kiss my collarbone, found my archetype by uptownwarblerr5. E, 10k. English literature teacher Henry starts a new job, and immediately meets law teacher Alex (and in the process, becomes a little bit obsessed). Alex is a clueless bisexual disaster as per usual. Nora and Pez love their stupid friends. Zahra wants to go home.

Arts and Minds by @orchidscript. T, 11k. Henry felt like he was holding the shreds of his career and dignity all in one. The most profound interaction between Henry and the colleague he respected the most – had respected and looked up to since beginning his master’s degree – was now posted online, trending across Twitter, and was now up to 23 million views. Alex showing off and Henry standing there, mouth open like a fish. He wanted to throw up. He wished he had argued back, had said anything. Instead, he had all but swallowed his tongue and sunk back to his laptop, floundering for how to push forward.

23 million views.

Henry should be angry. He wasn’t.

He was going to die of embarrassment. Zahra would make sure of it.

Art history professors go viral, then go to a conference... and there was only one bed ;)

Fox Repairs (and Basic Construction) by floatingaway4. T, 11k. “Yes, so let me get your details and I’ll come over whenever it’s convenient for you,” says the voice. It’s dark and soft at the same time, kind of...velvety...and Alex curses his brain that can’t ask a simple question but can come up with a thousand adjectives for this guy’s voice.

“My details,” Alex repeats, while his brain is busy flipping through a list of similes that would get him fired if he ever put them into anything official. ‘Like honey...like molasses….like sunshine on a cloudy day…’ Nope, that’s a song lyric. He’d get charged with plagiarism for that one.

All Booked Up by @three-drink-amy. E, 11k. A book tearing up the Bestseller’s List is quickly shoved into Alex’s hands via June and Nora. Despite his resistance, he’s taken in by the book and its whirlwind romance. When Nora insists they all go to a reading with the mysterious author, Alex is drawn in by H. G. Fox, hanging on his every word. When they meet after the signing, it sets him on a path he’d thought was impossible.

Try Me On For Size by everwitch. E, 11k. "Yeah, I might be a little queer, but who knows? I'd kinda like to experiment though, y'know?"

Henry’s carefully orchestrated nonchalance melts away in an instant.

He’d been about to do what he always does at these shindigs when the topic of hypothetical queerness is brought up; come out. In this strange little pocket of humanity — this full-volume version of reality filled with red solo cups and many a youth exploring their sexuality — making his preferences known has always been Henry’s most successful first step on his path towards getting laid. And Henry does, truly, want to get laid tonight; he didn’t spend well over fifteen minutes on his hair for bloody Instagram clout. His discreet but unmistakable rainbow wristband isn’t meant to signify allyship.

The thing is, though, that Henry’s personal gay agenda for the night may just have taken an interesting turn; Alex wants to experiment.

In which Alex does experiment, and Henry is a most willing participant.

we've been here forever (here's the frozen proof) by @onward--upward. T, 12k. Objectively, I am aware that you – a stranger – cannot tell me my own sexuality any better than I can, however... Can you, please? Tell me? It’s 4am and I have been thinking about this for hours, and I can’t sleep.

Warmest regards,

ACD

It’s four in the morning, and Alex Claremont-Diaz has managed to follow a research spiral straight down into a personal crisis. It isn’t the first time.

Kinda think that I might be his type by @kiwiana-writes. E, 12k. “Bea.” He clambers onto his knees, grabbing her hands in his own. “Bea, take me to Thanksgiving with you.”

Bea blinks. Blinks again. “What?”

“Bea, I could terrorise your gran until she’s begging you to stay single forever.”

Or, Alex agrees to be his friend's fake boyfriend for a weekend. He is not prepared for his friend's brother.

Countermelody by @omgcmere. E, 12k. On an old tour bus, tucked into the corner of a bunk bed, there's a bit of wood that gets covered up when the particleboard shifts back and forth on the road. If you catch it just after the bus has gone over the right kind of bump, you can shine a light up and find a message etched there, with the tip of a key or maybe a Swiss Army knife.

Alex discovered it within his first week of the tour. He's never told anyone about it. It says:

RULE #1: DON'T FUCK YOUR BANDMATE

Luckily for him, as a solo artist, he doesn't really have to worry about it.

Alex is opening for Henry on tour and, uh, hates him. A lot.

Elevator buttons and morning air by dollarstoreannabethchase. E, 12k. Last night, Alex hooked up with the most attractive man to ever exist after getting stuck together in the elevator of his apartment complex. He's incredible, but the second day of the job that will make or break his career is not the time to be starting a relationship; even if he kind of wants to scream every time he thinks about Henry. So you can imagine his fucking surprise when he walks into the office the next day and sees none other than his Henry—elevator Henry, blue-eyed, British, dreamy, with thighs for days Henry—standing and talking to Pez. It’s in that moment that it all clicks, and Alex realizes. He’s Henry, as in, Henry, his other boss. Henry, his boss, a.k.a. the man who was on his knees in Alex’s bedroom last night. He is so fucked.

Or: Alex and Henry get stuck in an elevator together; Chaos ensues.

coyote ugly series by @smc-27. E, 12k. The bartender, in his mesh tank top, towel tucked into the back pocket of a pair of jeans, leans on the bar, eyes twinkling, and asks, “What can I get you, sweetheart?”

You Are the Wave I Could Never Tame by bleedingballroomfloor. E, 12k. That should be it. Henry is doing his job; the pool is getting cleaned, and Alex shouldn’t think anything more of it. Then why does he feel the slightest bit of disappointment when he walks back to the pool house and Henry isn’t there?

Or, the pool boy Henry AU that I couldn't stop thinking about until I wrote it.

Count The Stars And Constellations by everwitch. E, 14k. Alex and Henry meet at their first Partner Summit. After a single night of warm smiles and intriguing conversation, Henry is more than ready to follow his heart and enter a Match with Alex. But Alex is not.

Meet Your Match by allmylovesatonce. E, 14k. Alex had first learned about soulmarks when he was 10. June had just turned 13 and had woken up that morning with her soulmark. The two of them sat at the dinner table, in awe of the mark on her wrist. It was delicate and pretty. Three hearts intertwined like a triple infinity sign. Alex was almost envious. He wanted to know who his soulmate was so badly and he wouldn't get his mark for another 3 years.

Everybody needs good neighbours by @rmd-writes. E, 14k. To nora(9.37pm):

So a funny thing happened

My hot neighbour brought me the mcflurry i ordered and we fucked

From nora (9.38pm):

WHAT

DETAILS NOW

Which neighbour?

Wait, you only have one hot neighbour. Alex, did you fuck a guy?!?!?!

ALEX

Alex meets a hot new neighbour. Shenanigans ensue.

Captious (calculated to confuse, entrap or entangle in argument) by lucky (revolutionbarbie). M, 14k. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”

Alex hadn't intended to be 45-minutes late to his blind date, he really hadn't.

Thankfully Henry - broad-shouldered, blond, British and downright beautiful - didn't seem to mind.

written in the stars by @indomitable-love. G, 15k. Henry has always been entranced by the transformative power of stories; the way a happy ending can heal an ache better than any medicine.

He never set out to run a bookshop, but when he’d ended up with an obscenely large inheritance and an expanding cavity in his chest before he was even old enough to drink, there was only one thing that he wanted to do, only one way he wanted to fill the void: he wanted to be surrounded by the one place that had always felt like home – between the covers of a book. No matter the time period or genre, Henry has always found a home in books.

falling in love (in the cruelest way) by @coffeecatsme. M, 15k. “Alex?”

The name makes Alex stop halfway to the register and look back. Henry is standing in the same spot, shifting from foot to foot, before he juts his chin out. He meets Alex’s eyes.

“Where are you traveling to?”

Or, Alex picks up a stranger on a road trip, only to realize too late he's the missing Prince of Wales.

Financial and Other Instruments by clottedcreamfudge. E, 15k. “I’m Alex,” Alex says quietly, and something in Henry’s stomach jolts. “I’m a trainee financial adviser — I think you know my mom?”

***

Financial instruments are assets that can be traded, or they can also be seen as packages of capital that may be traded... These assets can be cash, a contractual right to deliver or receive cash or another type of financial instrument, or evidence of one's ownership of an entity.

Alex has owned Henry since the second he laid eyes on him, whether Alex knows it or not.

maybe take me into your room by smc_27. T, 15k. “This is kinda boring, ma.”

She pats him on the cheek, leans in a little closer, and says, “Find something to do, darlin’. You live here. You can’t leave.”

She’s not exactly right, but he isn’t going to argue. Plus, her main advisor, Zahra, comes over. Alex is already a little afraid of her, so he doesn’t feel the need to draw attention to himself by smarting off at the mouth.

She’s still talking to him when he spots this really beautiful guy about his age, and fuck, wow. Okay.

“Not him,” his mom says into his ear, and he doesn’t even… Look, if she knows about the few guys he made out with at parties in Madrid last year when the opportunity arose, this is the first he’s hearing of it. “His dad is the British ambassador. I can’t have you breaking hearts and causing an international incident.”

OR: Ellen Claremont is the US ambassador to Canada. Arthur Fox is the British Ambassador to Canada.

When The Time Is Right by everwitch. E, 16k. “Maybe I could challenge you more,” Henry suggests, his eyes carefully trained on Alex. “And hold you accountable for longer. How does that sound?”

“That sounds fucking amazing,” Alex tells him, the words coming out in a rush. “Yes. That. Please.”

“Alright, then.” Henry offers him a sly grin. “Alex, love. You just gave me a wonderful idea.”

It’s really something, how quickly Alex’s heartbeat picks up. “Oh? Do tell.”

Henry’s grin widens. He looks alarmingly pleased with himself. “How would you feel about a staycation?”

When Alex asks Henry for something a little more intense in the bedroom, they end up taking more than just their sex life to the next level.

you'll be right where i left you by smc_27. M, 17k. He wakes up to a weird noise and - once he realizes he’s not dreaming it - starts trying to figure out where it’s coming from.

He takes a steadying breath and opens the closet door, and the scream he lets out is like, practically not human at all.

He did not fucking expect there to be a man in his closet. A man who is also yelling. Who’s tall, and hot, and wearing what seems like a wool suit, some kind of medal around his neck, and a sash.

OR, a time traveling Henry AU

Tell Me All Your Secrets by everwitch. E, 17k. When Henry dates Liam, he inadvertently learns about June’s brother Alex’s not-so-heterosexual tendencies of the past. But Alex has explicitly told Henry he’s straight. If Alex had the slightest interest in being with Henry, he'd definitely have set the record straight (ha) in regards to his sexuality. Except with pride month just around the corner and Alex making another trip to New York, Henry finds himself reexamining parts of their friendship. Perhaps there is more to their connection than he's ever dared hope for?

Or: the one where Alex and Henry go to New York Pride.

Fate Marks the Spot by @preppymayhem. T, 17k. Alex Claremont-Diaz wants absolutely nothing to do with Prince Henry of Wales and would be completely happy to never speak or be in the same room with him again.

Except for the tiny fact that Henry bears his mark.

A/K/A: What if Alex and Henry were soulmates, literally.

The Art of Falling in Love by floatingaway4. M, 17k. Alex Claremont-Diaz is a struggling actor, but his next role might be his big break. To research the role, his agent connects him with her friend at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The employee assigned to show him around annoys Alex before they even meet.

Will they ever learn to get along?

(Spoiler alert: Yes. Yes they will.)

Cursed is a State of Mind by @dustratcentral and @welcometololaland. E, 17k. Alex Claremont-Diaz is well aware that he’s an absolute catch. He’s intelligent and quick witted, has an ass that absolutely refuses to quit and was once voted ‘most attractive law student’ in a slightly irresponsible and probably unethical NYU student magazine poll.

Which is why he finds it super fucking weird that his new roommate, Henry, thinks his caffeine consumption habits are a bit off-putting. So what if he has some unconventional drink choices? It’s not like Alex can’t vehemently defend all of them.

5 times Henry has something to say about Alex’s coffee choices and 1 time he says nothing at all.

team henesmee series by @coffeecatsme. E, 18k. Henry isn’t home when Alex returns from his weeklong trip to his father’s lakehouse in Texas.

There is, however, a bat hanging from their fan, wings curled around its little body, a drop of drool clinging to his lips. Sleeping.

“Huh,” Alex says, tilting his head. “I didn’t know vampires could actually turn into bats.”

Or, 5 times Alex learns something new about Henry and 1 time Henry learns something new about Alex.

Luck of the Draw by LolaLand (Lola_di_Penates). T, 19k. Henry isn’t an artist, but he runs an art studio. Alex isn’t in a bridal party, but he’s arranging a bachelorette.

Neither of them are looking for love, but when life gives you lemons, you throw them in the fruit bowl and find yourself the man of your dreams.

The Beginner's Guide to Floristry by clottedcreamfudge. E, 19k. As if there's anything romantic about it; as if it's not the most humiliating death Alex can imagine. This is why he doesn't do relationships. This is why he never will. The risk, as far as he fucking sees it, is too great.

Hanahaki Disease is a fictional disease where the victim of unrequited or one-sided love begins to vomit or cough up the petals and flowers of a flowering plant growing in their lungs, which will eventually grow large enough to render breathing impossible.

Route 11 by LolaLand (Lola_di_Penates). E, 19k. Alex thought the New York City subway was a cursed public transport system. That was before he moved across the Atlantic and took the route 11 bus every day.

A public transport love story told in 11 parts.

My Songs Know Secrets You're Sick of Keeping by ma_lark_ey, paythe_piper. T, 19k. "How about this," Alex offered, "If I win AOTY, I announce Henry and I in my acceptance speech. If I don't, we do it your way."

OR: Alex is a world famous pop punk star, Henry is still the Prince of England, and the public is onto them.

A Practical Arrangement by @kiwiana-writes. E, 19k. “I know.” In fairness, he didn’t ask his mom to delay the wedding after the betrothal was made official when he turned eighteen. It wasn’t that she expected another option to materialise—he’s pretty sure she was trying to give him and Henry more time to get to know each other, maybe move past their open animosity a little. They’ve been pushed together every few months for the last three years, their marriage an inevitability. “I just… I still can’t quite get my head around it, you know? Married. To Henry.”

All the Old Showstoppers by @cha-melodius. E, 20k. “Dunno, kinda looks like you know what you’re doing. Are those macarons?” Alex asks incredulously after a little while, and a moment later Henry sees him start slowly approaching out of the corner of his eye. “I didn’t know princes could bake.”

“I’d wager not many of them can,” Henry replies as he works, letting one corner of his mouth tug upward.

(In a universe where Alex didn’t go to the royal wedding, three years later Alex and Henry find themselves both competing on an episode of The Great Celebrity Bake Off. Will old hostilities lead to disaster, or is there something else causing all that tension in the tent?)

i told myself don't get attached (but in my mind i play it back) by coffeecatsme. E, 20k. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Claremont-Diaz,” the woman behind the counter says, eyes wide and apologetic. Alex grits his teeth so he doesn’t say something inappropriate in a lobby full of scared families, crying kids, and the obscenely tall British guy that’s currently giving him a fucking migraine. “Due to the snowstorm warning, all the flights are cancelled, and unfortunately the room you’ve booked is currently occupied.”

“Occupied,” Alex repeats dumbly, nails digging into his palm. “I booked this room three months ago.”

“Yes, well, the previous occupant—”

“Should’ve been out of here by now.” Alex knows he sounds harsh, he knows the stupid blond is hovering somewhere behind him listening to the whole conversation, but he can’t help it. He’s not spending what’s supposed to be his vacation alone with another guy in his room.

Or, Alex and Henry are stuck in the same room in a hotel during a sudden blizzard

For all the world to see by everwitch. E, 20k. Henry Fox — bestselling author, mystery millionaire and infamous recluse — never gives interviews. So when June is tasked with writing a profile on Henry, Alex agrees to help her. How? By posing as Henry’s next-door neighbor, charming his way into Henry’s life for the purpose of obtaining some real substance for June’s article. Eat the rich, right? What could possibly go wrong?

i wake with your memory over me (that's a real fucking legacy) by coffeecatsme. E, 21k. The ski instructor stops in front of him, takes off his goggles, and Henry about stops breathing for another reason. “Hey,” Alexander says with a grin, his face distinctly lacking in wrinkles Henry was expecting from a renowned instructor. There’s a bright grin on his face that rivals the sun, rich brown curls spilling out of a red beanie, and Henry realizes he’s absolutely fucked for a whole other reason than his inability to figure out how to stay upright in skis.

Or, the one in which Henry is hopeless at skiing despite his family's aspirations, and Mary hires Alex as an instructor to amend that.

we might just get away with it by smc_27. E, 21k. Henry is the most gorgeous man Alex has ever seen. And Alex has seen a lot of gorgeous men. He’s a fucking model.

“This is Henry Fox-Mountchristen,” Prada’s current PR lead says, and Alex smiles and pushes his hand out. “He’s a journalist covering the merger.”

Alex doesn’t know what merger or what it would have to do with Paris Fashion Week. But he does know that Henry holding a glass of champagne as he shakes Alex’s hand is maybe the sexiest thing ever, and there is just no explanation for that.

“Hi. I’m Alex.”

Henry says, “I know,” and then does this weird, forced smile at Bianca and walks away.

Alex doesn’t know how to like, not be completely obsessed with things he wants.

OR, Alex is a model. Henry is a journalist, and a bit of an asshole. Alex wants him anyway, even when it doesn’t feel good.

Fractured by clottedcreamfudge. E, 23k. Alex has been in the New York PPC for seven years, and it's seven years too long. He's not looking for his Half, because he isn't half a person. The Algorithm can kiss his sweet, Texan ass.

He doesn't need anyone - leggy, blond, or otherwise - trying to change that.

The Snow Prince by @orchidscript. M, 24k. Two little boys meet in a dream that isn't quite a dream.

Years later, two young men dance at a ball without touching.

A governor's son falls in love with an isolated prince who cannot be held.

A winter fairytale inspired by folktales, fairytales, and other stories. Alex and Henry meet twice, then fall in love a decades-old curse. When the threatened effects begin to come true, Alex endeavors to break it.

in summer air series by Standinginmoonlight. M, 25k. There’s something magnetic about Henry, though, and his feet feel like they’re rooted to the spot. He opens his mouth again and decides to just go with it. He’s on vacation, after all. Whatever fucking goes.

Or: the one Alex Claremont-Diaz flies halfway around the world to find himself and ends up finding Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor instead.

One Wild and Precious Life by @sprigsofviolets. T, 26k. In 2015, Arthur Fox was diagnosed with cancer. He went into surgery to have a tumor removed from his brain, and fell into a coma.

Nine years later, he wakes up.

Clue Me In by bleedingballroomfloor. E, 27k. Henry and Pez’s new shelter is opening in Brooklyn, and Henry is determined to spend the entire night avoiding Alex, while Alex is determined to do the exact opposite of that.

Cracked Heart by @absoluteaudacitywrites. E, 28k. Liam takes a deep breath in and out. “I’m so sorry, Alex. I’ve thought a lot about this and I don’t want to hurt you but it’s the right thing to do.” He pauses, taking another deep breath. “We need to break up.”

after hours by @dumbpeachjuice. M, 28k. “Spend the night with me. I’ll show you around the city, take you to all my favourite haunts. Give you a sample of what the real New York is like,” Alex explains, altogether far too casually to excuse the speed with which Henry’s heart has set off galloping. “Maybe you’ll even change your opinion that we Americans have no taste.”

Henry’s mouth feels sort of dry, so he swallows a large gulp of his new martini down and immediately chews through both olives to stall for time. “Why on earth would I do that?”

Alex shrugs. “It’ll be fun. I’m an excellent tour guide. I have references.”

The Byline by @rosetintednerdglasses. M, 28k. Press Secretary Alex Claremont-Diaz serves at the pleasure of the President, and he does it excellently until a new White House correspondent darkens his press room: Henry Fox, The Guardian.

Every Star That's Ever Fallen Knows the Way to Where We're Going by @dracowillhearaboutthis. G, 29k. When Henry’s family moved in next door when Alex was four years old, Alex was not a fan.

In Your Orbit by everwitch. E, 30k. Alex, a third year student at the pilot academy — and more importantly the son of the First Commander of the Unified Systems — finds himself kidnapped by a duo of interstellar smugglers, Henry and Pez. The two space fugitives soon turn out to have a plethora of problems; between a severe illness, a freighter that keeps falling apart, and a meteoroid storm raging outside, they're in quite a pinch. Alex reluctantly comes to their aid, if only to make sure they all get out of this alive.

The thing about Henry, though, is that despite everything, he doesn’t actually seem cruel. He seems the exact opposite of cruel.

muscle memory by stutteringpeach. E, 30k. It's been ten years since Alex was in London to stage a PR friendship with Henry after ruining the royal wedding. It's also been ten years since Alex dropped to his knees in front of Henry in a Kensington Palace kitchen.

But now Henry's in the Hamptons for the summer, and who should he bump into? None other than Alex Claremont-Diaz, who happens to be working in New York all summer long.

Double, Double, Acting Trouble by @welcometololaland. E, 30k. Due to no fault of his own, Alex Claremont-Diaz winds up in a theatre class.

Due to every fault of Percy Okonjo, Henry Fox Mountchristen-Windsor finds himself roped into the very last thing he ever wanted to do - following in his father’s footsteps by being thrust onto the stage. OR

Confusion now hath made his masterpiece as Alex and Henry fall in love while performing the Tragedy of Macfish.

Be Worthy Love, and Love Will Come by @sparklepocalypse. E, 30k. "For Christmas this year, all I would like is a best friend who doesn’t mind too much that I’m a prince. Most of my classmates poke fun because of who I am, or treat me like I’m too special to be their friend. I want a best friend who knows me as much as my family does and still likes me. I know that you can’t wrap a best friend up in a box and put it under the tree, but you’re magic so you know the best way to bring one."

(Movieverse canon divergence; Prince Henry, age 8, writes to Father Christmas wishing for a best friend. A few weeks later, he finds one.)

it's you and me by smc_27. M, 31k. He can’t fucking wait to see everyone. To hug Bea. To have Catherine tell him he’s handsome and tap his nose with her index finger like she’s always done. For Arthur to make some inevitably fucking terrible joke about Alex bringing two duffels and a carryon. He also honestly can’t wait to see his mom and Arthur together.

Alex just really needs this summer. He needs time away, outside of Texas, with his family and the people outside his family who know him best.

or, an indulgent summer fic in which Arthur and Ellen are best friends and their families summer together in California

Nebuchad-never had a friend like me by clottedcreamfudge. E, 32k. When the dragons came, it was like nothing the world had ever seen before – and it hadn’t been anything like the movies either. There weren’t great, leathery wings beating up hurricanes and pinpricks growing larger on the horizon until sharp, white teeth became visible; there were no screaming citizens or calls to arms; nobody saw them coming, because they didn’t come the way Hollywood had expected them to.

The dragons had, instead, crawled out of the earth, just hatched and hiccupping smoke, barely old enough to support their own heads.

The world had fallen in love in an instant.

Waiting in the Wings by DracoWillHearAboutThis. M, 33k. Henry had always known he would end up in an arranged marriage.

He had not expected, though, to end up in an arranged marriage with Prince Alex Claremont-Diaz, who he'd secretly been in love with for the past fifteen years.

when i need to get home by smc_27. E, 35k. He drives the car he’s rented up the lane and half wonders if he’s just exhausted or if the place actually looks as bad as it does.

Oh. Oh god. Christ. What’s he gotten himself into?

He can’t help thinking if Jean knew her home had fallen this far, she would’ve been heartbroken. He’s not going to let her home sit like this. He’s going to fix it. For her, yeah, but for him, too.

or: Alex inherits an English country home, and Henry lives in the cottage next door.

Seven Years by @welcometololaland. E, 35k. Seven different places, seven different timelines, seven different meetings, seven different Decembers.

And still, Alex and Henry find each other in every universe.

Take me where I cannot stand by clottedcreamfudge. E, 36k. Henry blinks at him. “Galactapol?”

“Yeah, you know – the Intergalactic Peace Force?”

“Yes, I know them,” Henry says drily, “but you said—”

“We don't have a lot of respect for them around here,” Alex informs him succinctly. “If that's the kind of line you wanna take, then maybe—”

“No, no,” Henry says hurriedly, straightening up. “Galactapol. I like it. Catchy, even.”

“Read the contract or don't, Fox,” Alex says firmly, pressing his own hand to the line of studs between the engine room and the lower corridor. “I can find another engineer if I need to, but you'll never – and I mean never – find a ship like this again in your life. Jackie's one of a kind.”

Space, smuggling, and a ship called Applejack. Everything's shiny.

Before This, After That by @orchidscript. M, 37k. Henry Fox is lost. After suffering a serious injury from horseback, he struggles through the pain, depression, and frustration inherent with long term healing. Giving up is easier.

Discontent to leave him so unmotivated, the Fox siblings go in on a new solution: a private, personal physical therapist. Enter Alex Claremont-Diaz. He comes with glowing referrals, top of his class in all his degree programs, a sparkling personality and dug-in stubbornness to match. If anyone could light a fire in Henry again, it would be him. Right?

Most People Exist by SprigsofViolets. T, 40k. Henry Fox is a nurse at the New York Cancer Center. He’s happy with his job, content enough with his life, but it all gets turned on its head when he connects with a patient with a brain tumor—Alex Claremont-Diaz.

into the spotlight by indomitablelove. E, 40k. Alex Claremont-Diaz is a star on the rise.

A wildcard up-and-coming new actor who finds himself thrust into the Hollywood limelight when he’s nominated for a Golden Globe for Best Actor for his small-budget indie movie. It’s his more than he could have imagined in his wildest dreams. That is, until he discovers that also in his category is his mortal enemy: Henry Fox – generically attractive, completely boring and part of an acting dynasty that stretches back generations. In short, everything Alex hates about Hollywood.

So when a comment Alex makes about Henry in an interview goes viral, and the two find themselves thrust together through awards season, Alex can’t help but think his dream has become his worst nightmare.

Except, maybe – just maybe – Henry isn’t quite what he seems.

Down For the Count by LolaLand (Lola_di_Penates). E, 40k. Alex came to Las Vegas to count cards, not feelings. Henry came to win it all.

Is it possible to find something real in Sin City, where nearly everything isn’t as it seems?

Goodbye reality, hello Vegas (the blackjack/poker AU).

What's Up, Danger? series by @cultofsappho. E, 41k. “How thick do you think I am, exactly?”

Alex mumbles something under his breath that sounds like, “Got away with it this long, didn’t I?”

Henry’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “I’m sorry, are you bragging about lying to me?”

After a long pause, Alex says, “...No.” slowly.

“Hm. Thought not.”

In which Henry can’t recognise the sound of his own boyfriend’s voice, Alex isn’t as good of a liar as he thinks he is, and living with a superhero is both exactly, and not at all, what Henry thought it would be.

In Any Universe by SprigsofViolets. T, 54k. Boy Meets Boy.

Boys Become Friends.

Boys Fall in Love.

The Red White and Royal Blue Heartstopper AU that no one asked for.

Camp Llwynywermod by bleedingballroomfloor. E, 56k. The first night of camp with Henry is always weird. Weird in the sense that they haven’t seen each other in nearly eleven months, but Alex knows that Henry has been thinking about him in the months leading up to camp. Alex is guilty of it too; often the first thing he thinks of after applying to be a counselor is seeing Henry, Henry and his stupid blond hair and stupid English accent and stupidly gorgeous face, and thinking about just how he could outdo him in pranks this year.

Alternatively, the camp counselor AU that nobody asked for.

Fall Into You by lucy_in_the_sky. E, 56k. Alex is smart and witty and kind and clever and driven…but graceful, he is not. Several stints in the ER within one semester can confirm this unfortunate fact. The only good thing to come out of wracking up his out of pocket co-pay is the gorgeous nurse with beautiful eyes and a killer smile. Maybe breaking several bones is kinda worth it.

Basically: several times Alex was a clumsy wreck and Henry had to patch him up.

The Arrangement by cmere. E, 58k. “Gran sat me down the day I finished my A levels and made it abundantly clear I was not to let anyone know about any deviant desires I might be beginning to harbor that might reflect poorly upon the crown, and there were appropriate channels to maintain appearances if necessary.”

Shaan approaches Henry with a deal from the Queen: agree to an arranged marriage with a woman to flaunt in public, and he can enjoy the services of a male escort in private. Alex comes storming into Henry’s life with sparkling brown eyes, a mischievous smirk, and a challenge, and Henry struggles to maintain control of his emotions as boundaries begin to blur.

Alex doesn’t actually care about him; it’s just a job. Right?

Down By The Water, I Saw You by @myheartalivewrites. E, 63k. “Henry straightens up, head snapping over to look at the new arrivals. Then there’s the sound of a voice he’s not heard in ten years, a voice he never thought he’d hear again.

“Fuck, I can’t cook tonight. I think I’d rather starve.”

Henry stares, mouth dropped open. A head of curly brown hair turns slowly his way and his heart explodes.

“Henry?” Alex says, and Henry can’t bring himself to reply, so he just keeps staring. Alex looks at him for a few more seconds, eyes wide, blinking furiously, before swiftly turning on the spot and walking away from him and into the woods, but not before Henry can see the distraught look on his face.”

Henry and Alex first met and fell in love as teenagers, while on holiday in Jamaica. Ten years later, they run into each other again, and have to deal with the emotional fallout of how things ended last time. And fall in love again along the way, of course.

With so much of my heart (that none is left to protest) by @kiwiana-writes. E, 65k. Alex is a former child star struggling to make the transition into being seen as a serious actor. He jumps at an opportunity to perform on stage in the UK, seeing it as a way to break free from the typecasting and show what he can really do. But he wasn’t prepared to star alongside someone he hates.

Henry is a recent theatre graduate who accepts an amazing role in a queer reimagining of Much Ado About Nothing. And then it turns out his co-star is none other than the man he’s been hopelessly pining after for years—even though Henry made a terrible first impression when they met.

It’s… well, it’s practically Shakespearean.

You Know I Love a London Boy series by @three-drink-amy. E, 66k. When Alex has a break off of work, he decides to get away and spend that time in London. On his first day there, he meets Henry and sparks immediately fly between them. As they spend the summer together, touring the city and enjoying each other, Alex continues to keep a very big secret about himself: who he really is.

Nova, Baby by chamel. E, 66k. Agent Henry Fox-Mountchristen is an asshole.

Alex is 90% sure those exact words are going in this mission report. Yeah, they’re supposed to be objective when writing this shit up, but that isn’t his opinion. It’s a fact.

(CIA agent Alex Claremont-Diaz and MI6 agent Henry Fox-Mountchristen don’t exactly get along, but that doesn’t keep their respective agencies from insisting they work together as partners. Then a mission in Colombia changes everything, and their relationship begins to shift and grow into something that neither of them ever expected… and something that could have deadly consequences.)

Shatter Me by @historicallysam. M, 67k. Henry is resigned to the life he's meant to lead until he meets a man so full of happiness and life that he's got no choice but to confront the secret he's been keeping for years.

Deep Blue by myheartalive. E, 76k. “I picture myself in a small house by the sea, overlooking the water. Writing and reading all day and taking David on long walks and swimming everyday. Somewhere really quiet, where there’s not a lot of people. And where nobody thinks of me as Henry Mountchristen.”

Fed up of working under his grandmother, Henry quits his job in London, dropping everything for a writer’s life by the sea. He’s desperate to focus on his work and produce something worthy, but a mouthy American with a beautiful smile and a chin dimple has other plans.

But I love him, whether or no. by @leaves-of-laurelin. E, 77k. Henry moves to New York City to help Pez with the opening of his new bar in the East Village. The location—fortunately for business, but unfortunately for Henry’s sanity—is directly across the street from a fire station. The sound of sirens is bad, Alex the gorgeous firefighter is worse. But when Alex helps Henry avoid a near catastrophe the night of the bar’s opening, the two form a tentative friendship that starts to develop into something more.

I'm Taking A Ride With My Best Friend by @cultofsappho. M, 79k. When Zahra, the leader of the Fireflies, makes a deal with Alex to smuggle some guy outside of the D.C. Quarantine Zone’s walls, Alex immediately says no. He doesn’t move people, not anymore. Not since his ridiculous, and definitely past-tense, savior complex got him into hot water with June.

What could possibly be so special about some scrawny refugee? When he had his gun pointed at Henry, the expression on Zahra’s face was not one he’d ever seen on her before. She desperately needs him alive. For once, just this once, Zahra isn’t the savior today. It’s Henry.

“What’s so important about him?”

“Nothing you need to worry about. He’s just cargo, Alex.”

Alternate Universe - The Last of Us

Never a Guarantee by clottedcreamfudge. E, 87k. Henry – Prince Henry, third in line for the throne of Windsor and Alex's goddamn betrothed – has very soft hands. Alex knows this because he is literally holding them in his, both of them standing in front of just about everyone with a title in either of their two kingdoms, while a man in an extremely large hat has them repeat oaths and other things Alex has been learning by heart since he got engaged.

Looking back on their time at the altar, Alex should maybe have read a little more into the way Henry kissed him like it was the last time.

the poem you make of me by cmere. E, 91k. "Just, you know," Henry says. "If your mum weren't the president and you were just a normal bloke living a normal life, what things might be like? What you'd be doing instead?"

After being discovered on Instagram as a teenager, Alex Diaz is thriving as a social media influencer and model who just landed a high profile, high fashion contract with Calvin Klein. Alex can get any girl he wants, and he’s loving it. Meanwhile, British poet Henry Fox has just arrived in L.A. to kick off a North American tour promoting his new, steamy book of gay erotic poetry, and he’s attracting a lot of attention.

Bad blood is immediately sparked between them when Henry blows Alex off at their first meeting. Several tabloid rumors and an Instagram tantrum later, Alex and Henry are reluctantly thrust together to make nice, resulting in a grudging friendship and a magnetism between them that Alex can't explain. Why is Henry's poetry making Alex feel like this? And just what is it about Henry Fox that gets to him so much?

(our last summer) memories that remain by bleedingballroomfloor. E, 91k. Fresh out of law school and fresh out of a relationship, what Alex Claremont-Diaz needs most is a goddamn vacation. He plans to spend his summer on a small island off the coast of Wales, three months of peace and relaxation and figuring out what the hell he actually wants to do with his life. But all that is thrown out the window when he runs into his ex-fling, Henry Fox, who just so happens to be running the hotel he's staying in for the next three months.

Four years prior, Henry Fox meets the most beautiful boy he's ever seen at an NYU party: Alex Claremont-Diaz. Henry soon finds himself whisked away to Texas with Alex, a summer full of poetry and skinny dipping and stolen kisses, and everything is perfect. Almost too perfect for a summer fling. Yet Henry can't stop himself from falling in love with Alex, falling for the lake house and everything Alex loves, even when he knows it's too good to last.

Two summers, two places of falling in love, one filled with memories of the last. It leaves Alex and Henry wondering: is this summer truly going to be their last one together?

A Long Way From the Playground by allmylovesatonce. E, 96k. Henry and Alex were best friends growing up until they went to separate colleges and they grew apart. When they see each other again as adults, against the odds, both living in the same city again, will it be a joyful reunion or will the pain of the years apart get in the way? How do you become friends again when there is so much of the past in the way?

Peaches and Cream do Sexy Murder series by @dumbpeachjuice and @clottedcreamfudge. E, 103k. There are precisely three things Henry knows for absolute certain:

1. There is nothing that can’t be solved by a good cup of tea.

2. His dog, David, is probably the person who loves him most in the world, and that is because Henry is the provider of sausages.

3. His sister would do anything for him, including, but not limited to, murdering his wanker of an ex-boyfriend.

Or, Henry is a witch with a slew of dead ex-boyfriends, and Alex has a badge and a gun.

The Consequences (Of our Actions) series by @anchoredarchangel. E, 135k. "I sort of came out as bisexual to both Nora and myself when we were watching that fucking snoozefest of a Royal Wedding years ago, and I told her with no hesitation that you were on my list.”

Suddenly, Henry looks very present in this previously one-sided conversation, eyes boring into him even if he sounds a little choked as he clarifies, “I was on-”

“My No Consequences sex list,” Alex confirms brazenly, “Yeah."

Or: During an inadvisable spot of dating years back, Alex and Nora made a game out of making extensive lists of celebrities they could hook up with without it being cheating. One breakup and several years later, Alex meets someone on his list for the very first time at a charity gala and decides it's appropriate to tell him all about it.

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!

RWRB FirstPrince AU Recs Part One

RWRB FirstPrince AU Recs Part Three

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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writerpetals · 1 year

Text

the client | 🔞

; optional male lead smut | ☁️

w; sex work, pantyjob

The smell of burning wax fills your nose in the form of vanilla scented candles the moment you step foot into the suite. Your heels click against the marble floors until your feet touch its cold surface after slipping out of the red, suede straps, sending a chill through your entire body, but you know it’s mostly due to excitement. Your coat follows with a shrug of your shoulders to rid your body of the leather hiding the black, silk lingerie you were instructed to wear beneath.

Your client for the evening is only a few steps away, settled in a comfortable chair with his sights hindered by a blindfold to protect your identity, and thanks to his heavy breaths, you’re well aware it’s his first time.

You call for him, voice lowering to a sultry invitation as you fill the gap between the two of you, making your way to his half naked body waiting on your command.

“Y-yes?” He gulps a second before a smirk appears on your lips.

You love first timers. It took you awhile to get used to them after starting with the company you work for, knowing their nerves only fueled your own, but once you adjusted to performing favors of sinful acts you’ve mostly never heard of for wealthy clients in an exchange of money, the ones with no experience grew to excite you. Maybe it’s the power they give you, loving the control of bossing customers around that were “big dogs” in the regular world, feeding their deepest, darkest desires and getting them off. If the world only knew what desperate, vulnerable men they turned into the moment you pressed a few of their touchiest buttons, taking them to heights they’ve never gone to before.

“First time?” you ask regardless if you know the answer. From the gulping. From his trembling, full lips. From the sweat beading on his forehead. He’s nervous, yet the sound of your voice earns a tent in his thin boxer-briefs that sends adrenaline rushing through your veins. “Don’t be nervous. You paid a lot of money to have me. Let’s have fun.”

You swear you can see his muscles ease the tension the moment your fingers glide over his bare shoulder, with a sharp inhale following as his head falls against the chair. He’s handsome, you’ll give him that. With soft skin, a sharp jaw, and his cologne mixing with the vanilla candles to warm your body to the core.

“To be honest, I’ve never heard of such an act before, wondering how it could get you off.” Your voice lowers as you lean into him, placing a knee on each side of him to press into the thick, leather chair. His body tenses once again, causing you to drag your fingertips across his chest to relax him. He settles beneath the touch. “And if I’m being honest, the idea intrigues me quite a bit.”

“It does?” His deep, raspy voice wavers, but you can tell he’s gaining confidence, anticipating the moment you lower yourself onto him to meet his body. “I-I wasn’t sure if—”

“Baby,” you interrupt, leaning close enough that your lips brush over his ear to whisper, “don’t worry. I’m going to make you feel so good, just trust me.”

He gulps again once your lips press to his jaw, trailing soft kisses just before reaching his lips. With anticipation growing, he releases a subtle, yet deep groan from his chest that vibrates your fingers pressed to his skin. You can tell he’s eager to get started, yet you’re in no hurry, knowing the company likes for you to take your time and allow the client to get their money’s worth. With someone like him, it’s hard to mind spending those extra, small but meaningful moments with him.

“Are you aware of the rules?” you ask, if only to make sure. You know the company made him sign the contract, make the payment, promising to abide by the ever long list of rules to keep the two of you safe and the business hush hush, but it never hurts to check just to make sure you’re both on the same page. It wouldn’t be the first time someone thought even the simplest of rules didn’t apply to them, but you typically don’t have to worry about such things with first-timers. “You can touch, but no grabbing, holding, or leaving marks. Understood?”

You’re confident he isn’t much of a rule breaker, but you give him the rundown just to make sure. If anything were to happen, the bodyguards watching from the other room thanks to tiny cameras installed in each corner would barge in, much to his surprise. Luckily for you, the most action they ever get is watching you and a few other employees perform on nights like tonight, but it suits them just fine. As well as you. You’ve always liked an audience. It’s what makes the job so easy, other than the hefty paychecks that allow you to pay rent on time.

“I understand,” he assures you, with his hands resting against the arms of the chair and his fingers itching to feel your skin against his. “But can I… can I kiss you?”

You pause for a moment, the question catching you off guard, before you cover the slight hesitation with a light chuckle. “You’re sweet.” A moment later your fingers are running down his chest, brushing over his stomach to feel him tense beneath your touch until the second you grip the hem of his boxers. Your fingers hook into the band, urging the fabric down with assistance from him as his hardened cock springs free and your eyes instantly take in the sight.

He bites down on his bottom lip, anticipating your every move a second before your fingers wrap around his girth, earning his hands on your hips and his jaw to fall open with another groan. Slipping your grip to his swollen, reddened tip, a hiss spills from his parted lips, then your palm slides back down his length as his hips push forward into your grasp.

“Eager, aren't we?” A chuckle follows the question, watching him struggle to form an answer, yet you only receive a slight nod as you repeat the motion. You can’t pull your eyes away from his face, watching his brow crease and his tongue swipe over his lips again. You sometimes wonder how exhilarating it must be to have someone pleasure you that you have never seen before, feeling their hands on your body while your sight remains hindered, relying on your other senses in the moment. The swipe of your soft skin against his own, the smell of your perfume, the sound of a sultry, intoxicating voice filling his ears must have his head spinning and his cock aching, and it makes your heart race at the thought. “So, how do you like it?”

“H-huh?” he struggles again to reply, too focused on the lazy way you drag your palm up and down his length.

“Cowgirl? Reverse cowgirl? With you on top?” You give him options, but he hesitates. Only a few seconds pass before it clicks, allowing you to realize the reason. “I see…” He has never had anyone to act out his fantasies on, which only challenges you to come up with something on your own.

After a moment of debating to yourself, you finally lower your hips toward him, feeling his grip tighten against your hips just a bit, though you don’t mind. Your thighs part for him, pressing your center against his cock to feel the silk over his swollen, throbbing flesh so eager to be touched. You hold still, drawing out the moment to make his cock twitch against you for release, all before beginning to rock your hips softly back and forth.

As you do, the silk panties glide over his cock, earning a hiss followed by a few curses to fill your ears. You can’t help but to smirk as his fantasies come to life, giving you all the more power because you’re the one making them come true. Your palms press to his shoulders to offer stability as your hips roll against his body, and if you were being honest with yourself, the deep groans he begins to release are warming you up just the same.

“God, that feels so fucking good,” he curses beneath his breath, a chill running up your spine thanks to the praise, “just like that.” You press into him, applying pressure to his cock leaking with a few drips over the tip to soak into your panties, and you can’t help but to feel the warmth flooding between your thighs to have your own arousal pooling at your entrance.

Your pace quickens as you grind your folds against him, earning a few twitches of his hips in return each time you slip toward the head of his cock. The sinful groans and curses begin to drive you wild, yet you try to ignore the bubbling in the pit of your stomach from listening to him tell you just how good you’re making him feel. You try your best to keep your focus, easing the silk over his cock to get him off, to make him weak and vulnerable, to make him come, yet with the friction the position offers, a few soft moans slip from your lips as well.

It’s just a job to you. The thought crosses your mind again and again, and normally clients don’t give you the time, or effort, to get yourself off, leaving you a mess of frustrations. Yet, his hands on your hips, guiding you to grind against him faster, harder, rougher, only allow your clit to press against his cock as the silk slips against your folds just the same.

You can’t deny the bliss that fills your body. Punishments weigh in the back of your mind if anyone were to find out you weren’t giving every ounce of your attention to your client, yet in the moment it’s hard to care over a cut in pay or the possibility of losing a client, and it becomes hard to stop yourself. Grinding your clit against him has you lost in the moment, legs beginning to quiver as his fingers press into your hips harder, head falling back, curses pouring from your lips.

Yet, his nails beginning to press to your flesh pulls you out of your state of bliss, snapping you back to reality in an instance before pushing his grip from your body. With your hips slowing a moment later, he releases a huff as if he were about to lose his mind if you kept up the motions any longer.

You want the moment to last, not knowing why it’s easy to get carried away with him, yet knowing you can’t let the moment end just yet.Maybe it’s his vulnerability or lack of experience in realizing his own fantasies, but you’re drawn to him. Reaching between the two of you, you slip the black silk to the side, enough to ease his cock between your folds before adjusting the panties back in their place. You bite your lip not to gasp at the feeling of his cock pressed to your flesh, trapped by tight fabric holding him in place. You nearly lose your mind just as he did the moment you begin to rock your hips once again.

Juices dripping from your center making it effortless to slip back and forth over his cock, and with your arousal coating his flesh on the underside, and your silk panties caressing him on the other, he doesn’t hold back any longer. He reaches for you, but you’re quick to grip him by his wrists, pinning his hands next to his head against the leather seat, making sure he doesn’t leave marks to have either of you disciplined later. It would be a shame if he weren’t allowed to request you again over a simple mistake.

You continue grinding against him, clit pressing to his cock to earn goosebumps flooding your skin, yet you take long, deep breaths to keep your composure. Focusing on him and nothing but him, you keep your gaze locked on his face to concentrate, studying the curve of his lips as you thrust forward, outlining the shape of his nose once you pull away.

The noises begin to flood your ears once again, deep groans, heavy exhales, him telling you how fucking good you feel, how fucking wet you are, yet it’s only a distraction as you feel the bliss swelling inside of you once again. You can’t stop yourself when your hips increase their pace, rolling against him to offer the both of you relief, clit swelling with a need for release as you feel his cock twitch between your thighs once a few moans fill the room.

Your grip on his wrists tightens, nails digging into his skin because there’s no rule about leaving marks on him. In some cases, clients enjoy the souvenirs until the next time you meet. Maybe you’re getting angry at the fact that being with him feels so damn good, so you take it out on him. You can’t help yourself, not wanting to get lost in the moment, not wanting to lose yourself to pleasure, yet it finds a way to consume you both.

He can feel your thighs shaking around him, giving him the courage to pump his hips a few times to catch you off guard. Gasping, your back arches and your head falls back, continuing to move your hips over his cock, continuing to use him to find release with your clit caressing his flesh, and continuing to give him the service he paid for with your black, silk panties offering friction as his cock rests between your folds and the fabric.

“Fuck,” you whimper, entire body tingling, trembling, yearning for the last little push to send you over the edge, “I-I’m gonna fucking come.” And it’s not a warning your clients often hear due to this being nothing but a job, yet you can’t stop the words before they’re spilling out.

“Come…,” he begins to mutter, so breathless and he’s losing courage, but he’s trying to keep up, “come on my cock, p-please. I wanna feel you come.” His words send a rush of electricity through your body, out to every tingling limb and curled toe, and you can do nothing but lose the last shred of control you are holding onto.

A gasp hits his ears a second before your body falls limp against his own, and you’re shaking as the first hint of bliss begins to course through you. You ride out the pleasure against his cock, yet your hips have slowed, but it’s enough to have you whimpering his name one last time.

And he can finally take hold of your body, wrapping his arms around you as he begins to thrust from below, fucking himself between your soaked folds and silk panties as groans fill the air. After a few moments, you grow completely weak, allowing him to take control for the first time, allowing him to hold onto you, allowing him to use you to get off until the moment a sharp inhale fills your ears and he’s releasing inside of your panties.

Thick ropes of white spill from the hem of your panties, soaking through the fabric and coating your flesh and even his own. His breath stalls for a moment before he releases a relieved exhale, head falling back as his hips attempt to keep thrusting, yet he’s lost all momentum as the pleasure takes hold of him.

When you finally pull away from him, you take one look at his parted lips releasing soft breaths until he regains his composure. He seems content, yet the embarrassment and guilt is flooding you for being so greedy, so selfish because you were thinking of your own pleasure over his. If anything, you can blame it on him and the way he breathlessly begged for your own pleasure, for you to come. As long as no one was harmed in the process, you can’t imagine it being a huge deal as you ease yourself off of him to make your way to the bathroom connected to the suite.

You hear his voice calling for you, probably curious of where you went to as you turn on the warm water to rush a fresh washcloth beneath the stream. You take your time cleaning your soiled body after tossing your panties to the side, lucky enough the crew to take care of the messes once the two you leave will handle everything else, just like they set up the room with candles, chairs, and blindfolds to begin with. At your request, you spot the fresh pair of panties resting near the sink they provided for you, though the white cotton isn’t nearly as enticing, even if it’s more comfortable.

You leave the bathroom to make your way back to him with a clean, damp washcloth in hand. Sometimes the clients don’t wish for you to clean up after them. It’s typically the more experienced ones that only want to get off before they run back to their families and pretend like they didn’t just pay for your services, but since it’s his first time, you hope he won’t mind.

“I’m going to clean you up,” you tell him, kneeling before his frame still settled in the chair, skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat beneath the pale lighting. He nods to give you permission, and you begin by cleaning the few drops of his release left on his stomach before reaching to other places.

“Can I… can I ask you a question?” His voice is low, but the words have your heart skipping a beat.

“Sure,” you tell him as you run the cloth over his skin, and he relaxes beneath the way you care for him in the moment. “As long as it’s not my name, or phone number, address, basically anything that would tell you who I am.”

He grins, and you bite your lip to keep from chuckling. “So you get to know me, my name and place of employment as well as my personal and sexual history, but I can’t even know your name?”

“That’s to keep us both safe.” You sigh once you’re finished cleaning up the mess the two of you made, searching the floor until you find his boxers to toss into his lap. “What’s your question?”

“Can I see you?”

“Well, now that we have had our first session, you know how to book me. You can request—”

“No, I mean your face?” He licks his lips, pausing for a moment. “Will I ever get to?”

You narrow your eyes as you wonder if he’s asking because he wants to, or he wishes to keep up the mystery for the sake of his pleasure. Grinning, you lean closer to rest your hands on the chair, whispering in his ear, “that’s only for special, privileged clients. So I guess we’ll see.”

The blindfolds are for new clients, mostly. The company wanted a way to keep creeps from pursuing employees after the sessions were over, not wanting anyone to be recognized outside of hotel suite rendezvous, but he doesn’t need to know that. If you’re being honest with yourself, he doesn’t need to know most of what you told him, but you decide you like him, so you’ll humor him and his questions.

“One more question,” he insists to have you smirking as you make your way to where you left your coat and heels. “Can I kiss you?”

It seems as though his confidence has returned now that his cock isn’t in your hand or your panties, and the question earns a chuckle as you wrap your coat around your body and slip your heels on your feet.

“Like I said,” you begin to speak over your shoulder, one hand on the door, “you know how to book me.”

#bts smut #marvel smut #call of duty smut #twilight smut #harry potter smut #jungkook smut #loki smut #nct smut #got7 smut #monsta x smut #stray kids smut #harry styles smut #ghost smut #jimin smut #taehyung smut #x reader #x reader smut

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prolix-yuy · 1 year

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A Bearable Weight

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x F!Reader

Summary: New Years Eve is the holiday of new beginnings, and you take a leap to see if Javi might be one of them.

Word Count: 3k

Story Warnings: T, plenty of sweetness, more ridiculousness because I can't help myself, some lightly spicy kisses. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ so MINORS DNI.

Notes: I had to get these two to New Years. They were just too cute to leave hanging. I hope each and every one of you reading this waves goodbye to anything that made your 2022 difficult and enters 2023 with open arms and excitement. Now let's see where the new year takes Javi and Conejita!

Cross-posted on AO3

The restaurant is smaller than you thought it might be, unassuming in a strip of businesses. The sign for it is understated, white lettering on a black rectangle with a thin gold border - Aperitif. You’ve been studying the sign, and the door below it, for well over ten minutes, the chill night air creeping up your bare legs. The new dress you bought for the occasion - black, tasteful but a little sexy, an amount you’re comfortable with - weaves around your knees when a breeze makes you shiver. You look down at your heels again, still torn between whether the glittery gold is too loud for your personality or loving that they make you feel festive. Your hair is styled, your makeup is perfect, everything is ready for you to go inside.

And you’re still rooted on the damn spot.

Javi texted you a few times since the first voice message. Every new phone alert made your heart jump, evolving to a flutter when it actually was from him. He sent you photos of his friends’ Christmas tree, their dog plopping her head in his lap, the snow outside a fogged up window. He also asked you things about yourself, some that you expected and others that made you stop and smile.

What food will you eat if you’re having a bad day?

Best movies adapted from books?

Did your sister like the message?

Your sister did indeed, and after catching you grinning at your phone several times throughout the long weekend finally made you confess how you got it. Her elation over the serendipitous meeting was only eclipsed by your hesitation over seeing Javi again.

“Are you serious right now? Cute, funny, probably loaded, a dork, sweet, and definitely into you? I will drive you there and drop your ass on the sidewalk if you don’t do it yourself.”

So you accepted the invitation, which was accompanied by a string of excited texts filled with details and one that made you tingle from head to toe.

Thank you for accepting. I hope you will consider what I asked you in my first message. But only if you’re comfortable. I really like talking to you, no matter what.

A beat, then…

If you’d like to be mine, this year.

You did. Holy hell, you did. But you were also a classically trained overthinker, and the days leading up to New Years Eve were spent Googling and riding the rollercoaster of excitement and dread. The Gutierrez family had an online presence, and not all of it was good. Luckily it seemed like Javi wasn’t in the crosshairs, but the more you learned the more convinced you became that this was going to be a shitshow. Wealthy, influential, a lover of the arts and gorgeous in every photo you find, your hopes got buried a little deeper with each word.

He told you it was going to be a party, nothing large, but the idea of being in your department store dress among the elite of society made you want to cancel. Go out for coffee instead. Let yourself down gently when you realize how different your worlds are.

But then you find a voicemail - a missed call from Javi:

“Hi conejita, I hope all the texts have not been too much. I realize that you barely know me, and I am maybe moving a little too fast. I get…ah, well, I get excited. You have made me very excited, and I want to be, you know, ‘cool’ about it, but I am not so great at that. Anyways, I am…hah, yeah, excited to see you tomorrow. It will be a lot of fun. And, um…we don’t…I only want what you want, conejita. So let’s just…see where the night takes us. I know what I feel, but I…I only want you to…to know…agh! I am messing this all up. Sorry, this message is so long now. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m…I’m really happy to see you tomorrow. Okay, bye.”

What’s the harm, you thought after listening to the message three times. If it’s terrible you never have to see him again.

Another breeze ripples over your skin, finally making you move towards the door.

And if it’s amazing?

You smile to yourself and enter the warmth of the restaurant.

Aperitif looked small from the exterior, and the interior is about what you expected. It could maybe seat 30 fully booked, but the dining room has been cleared out in favor of buffet servers against the walls, the ivory bar lined with champagne glasses and eager bartenders shaking cocktails. The handful of people chatting inside don’t look like heiresses or oil barons. Your shoulders relax a fraction.

“Name?” the man at the door asks, a short list in his hand. You give yours and are ushered in, a drink immediately put in your hand and a string of metallic gold beads tossed over your head by a waitress.

“Happy New Year!” she says, taking your coat. You slip into the crowd looking for the only person you came here for - Javi. But his caramel curls and exuberant laugh haven’t reached you yet.

“I love what they’ve done with the decorations!” a cheery voice exclaims over your shoulder. You look around, then up to see a delicate web of black and gold streamers holding balloons precariously above you. One single streamer hangs to the floor behind the bar, which an olive-skinned hand points to. “I think at midnight they pull that.” You turn to see the woman speaking to you, and she’s...normal-looking. Peppy brunette with a sharply cut bob, sparkling brown eyes, and a glittery top with black slacks. Maybe you had nothing to worry about.

“That’s fun, I haven’t been out on New Years in ages,” you say, taking a sip of champagne. The bubbles tickle your tongue pleasantly. It’s good, much better than any champagne you’ve had at parties.

“Oh then you’ve come to the perfect place! Who invited you?” she asks, finishing off her glass and placing it on a waiter’s tray as it floats by.

“Javi,” you say, a little shyly. He mentioned that he was hosting it, but you had no clue who the other guests were. How long could you keep up the facade?

“Of course! How do you know him? I’m a long-lost cousin myself, been out of the loop for a while, but it’s nice to see him again.” She waits expectantly, and if you didn’t feel like throwing up before you definitely do now.

“Uhhh, we met…on a flight…” you start to say, working through how the hell you were going to explain the circumstances of your meeting to a stranger, when her eyes light up.

“Oh my GOD, it’s you!” she gasps, grabbing on to both your shoulders. “Javi told me about the girl on the plane on his way here. That story, the way he tells it, it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. And you’re here! Now! I have to find him, he’ll be so excited!” She squeezes your shoulders again with a little squeal before darting through the crowd, a nervous giggle smothered in your hand.

He told people about you.

He told people about you in a way that made him sound happy.

You could burst, the light inside you is so expansive.

You’re about to follow when a large palm circles your bicep, turning you gently around in the crowd.

“You came.”

Javi says it like a prayer, like he believed but never thought a miracle would grace him. His curls are swept back from his face in tantalizing waves. He’s in a gray blazer, a navy button-up with some abstract patterning hanging onto his broad chest for dear life. The top three buttons already gave up the fight, chest dewy with the humidity in the room. But it’s his face that melts your anxieties away. His eyes drape warmth over you, fondness in their depths that he only hinted at in his messages. His soft smile lashes your heart into a gallop, breaking into one of your own.

“Of course. How could I miss it?” you say, winking when his grin widens. He leans forward to place a chaste kiss on your cheek, hand spreading across your lower back.

“I am so happy to see you, conejita,” he whispers, raising goosebumps along the nape of your neck.

Oh, you’re in it deep now.

As the night continues more people file in, filling the small space with chattering conversation. You find the bubbly brunette again, who introduces herself as Julia, and get to talking about houseplant care and aggravations. She’s unpretentious, passionate, and makes you feel like you belong. Honestly, most of the people do. As the night wears on and you shake more hands and spark more conversations, it dawns on you why these people are all together tonight. This is Javi’s circle, people who understand him and bring him joy.

Bashful happiness that you might bring him joy settles in your chest.

Javi scoops you up every few minutes, guiding you to new groups or asking you if you’ve tried something. The upscale pigs in a blanket are your personal favorite, snagging a whole tray for yourself when a waiter walks by. You’re almost embarrassed, but Javi’s crinkled smile as he tries to steal one and gets his hand slapped is worth it.

A murmuring begins by the entrance, a flocking to the door. Javi comes to your elbow, leaning on one foot and placing his warm hand on your lower back. He’s been doing it to you all night, every time you stand beside him, but it’s never less thrilling.

“What’s that all about?” you ask, your third glass of champagne fizzing delightfully under your skin. He catches someone’s eye in the crowd, gesturing them over.

“Just a good friend who came to visit.”

You almost choke on your sip of bubbles.

“Nicolas. Fucking. Cage,” you scoff to Javi under your breath as the man himself emerges out of the crowd. He’s bee-lining your way but stops to shake hands and engage in polite conversation. His emerald velvet jacket contrasts the burgundy button-up underneath nicely, but the faded Dad jeans and white tennis shoes clash adorably with the ensemble. “You could have warned me!”

“Your reaction was well worth your annoyance,” Javi placates, pressing you forward as the crowd falls back.

“How are you doing Nic? How’s the family?” Javi asks, pulling the famous actor in for a hug. They give brief updates, you standing back a step awkwardly. Debating on slipping away, Javi introduces you to Nic and pulls you back into the conversation.

“The girl on the plane,” Nic says, and if you ever thought his speaking affect was fake you’re certain now it’s genuine. He takes your hand in both of his, shaking it earnestly. “I heard your sister is a big fan. I hope she liked the message, I know it was a little rushed but, last minute on the holidays, you know…” You shake your head, fighting back your sister’s scream in the back of your mind.

“She was over the moon. Thank you again for doing that, it was very kind of you,” you say, trading a secret smirk with Javi. It’s a harmless lie, but the fact that he’s perpetuating it makes you even giddier.

“Well next time you’re at one of Javi’s parties you should bring her. I love meeting fans,” Nic says, giving you a pat on the shoulder and peeling off to get himself a drink. Javi slides back to your side, the laughter you’d been suppressing squeaking out of the corners of your mouth.

“Clara’s gonna die. I’ll have to lie to her to get her in the same room as Nic,” you sputter, leaning into Javi’s side as he puts an arm around your shoulders. Frenetic energy dissipating, you savor the solid breadth of his chest, that delicious citrus bite of his scent. He holds you there, and after a moment his cheek presses against the side of your head. He inhales, your face burning when you realize he’s smelling you.

“That’s it, you’re a wizard or something. No one can grant as many wishes as you,” you tease, twisting to look into Javi’s face. The crows feet and wrinkles smooth as he looks at you, eyes darting from your own to your lips and back again. “Thank you,” you finally say, letting him slide his arm down to pull you into his chest.

“It is I who should be thanking you, conejita. I’ve been living a full life, a better life in recent times, but it feels that much brighter when you’re close to me.” His touch is hesitant when his fingers graze your jaw, his hold loosening on your back. It’s all broadcasting only what you want. He would chase you if you let him, though if you stepped away now he’d let you. But in those touches are the longing to be more than acquaintances. And in this room you thought you’d never belong in, you feel safe, and seen.

Over the chatter and laughter swirling past, you talk. About Javi’s life, and your own. Your work and what you love to do. His love of movies, your love of old houses and national parks. Your mutual dislike of overused CGI elements and predictable jumpscares. He strokes your back, your arm, as you speak, sometimes needing to break away to say hello or answer a question, but unfailingly coming back to you.

As the final minutes near, you voice the question burning in the back of your mind.

“Javi, you’re so…” you gesture at this posh, gorgeous man standing beside you. “You’re so far out of my league I can’t even see you. And I know I’m a catch,” you interject, gesturing at yourself now with amusement. “I’m a snack, I’m a whole meal, I don’t deny it. But I’m more like…Applebees than Wolfgang Puck.” You wave your hands, banishing the jumble away. “I guess I just don’t understand why…me. Here. Tonight.”

Javi’s brow furrows, his mouth tightening into a pout as he casts his gaze down. Waiting is torture, needing to know if this is just a little thank-you or something more.

“One minute!” someone shouts, the excitement in the room ratcheting up another series of degrees as everyone gathers in the center of the restaurant. Javi leads you to the middle, the throng of people parting enough to give you some space inside it. Once your feet stop, he sweeps you into another embrace, this one firmer. His eyes roam your face, searching for something before he speaks.

“As much as I love the old movies, I do not believe in love at first sight. I believe in attraction, and common interests, and support. I believe in two people finding each other in the most unusual way and taking it as a sign. And when the universe gives you another chance and it only makes you want that person more, well…” Javi trails off, one hand coming up to curl around your head, his thumb stroking the hinge of your parted jaw. Your eyes must be hopeful because he barrels on.

“Well, I am not one to overlook lightning striking twice. And you are…you are not an…apple bee?” he asks, confusion twisting the words. You shake your head and pat his chest.

“It’s a, like, chain restaurant. Sorry, doesn’t make a lot of sense if you haven’t heard of it,” you murmur, stroking a finger along his lapel.

“But that’s just it, because I don’t agree with that. You are so much more than I wished. I feel like…not like a puzzle, but like…two rivers meeting. Both strong on their own, but together, mingled, are in harmony.”

“Okay everyone, get ready, on ten!”

“Javi, what are you…”

“Nine!”

“I want more of this, conejita. I want more of you. If you’ll have me too.”

“Eight!”

“I…do, but I just…it…it feels so…complicated.”

“Seven!”

“We do not need all of the answers now. Just one.”

“Six!”

“Which one is that?”

“Five!”

“Will you let me kiss you tomorrow?”

“Four!”

“Three!”

“Two!”

“One!”

“Yes, Javi.”

The restaurant erupts in cheers of “Happy New Year!” as people hug and kiss and celebrate. One of the waiters pulls the crepe paper cord and balloons tumble from the ceiling, packets of foil confetti dumping and exploding over the crowd. If you were paying attention you’d laugh, reach your hands up to the ceiling and try to catch handfuls of the glittering shower, but you’re preoccupied with Javi’s gentle smile before he pulls your lips to his.

If this kiss was a precursor to how your next year would go, magical might be a good descriptor. Or explosive. Swoon-worthy maybe. But perfect might be the best. Javi’s first chaste press is followed by deeper kisses, his full lips covering your own with quiet little pants. When he pulls back enough to see your kiss-drunk face his whole demeanor lights up, lacing his fingers with yours and pulling you through the crowd.

Once tucked away on a bench in the back of the restaurant, he proceeds to kiss you with more fervor, tongue slipping against yours tentatively. He only interrupts the worshipful makeout with touches to your face like he still can’t believe you’re here. Covering his hands with your own, you tilt your head to one side.

“I feel like this is going to be a very good year.”

Javi’s sweet smile turns just a fraction devilish, and your heart flutters with it.

“Better than I could have wished for."

END

Part 3: A Gift of Light and Joy

#javi gutierrez x you #javi gutierrez x reader #javi gutierrez x f!reader #javi g x reader #javi g x f!reader #prolix fics

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mousequill · 4 months

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My thoughts/head cannons on Velvet and Veneer

On Veneer: I personally believe that Veneer’s sympathy stems from his goldfish he used to have. Here’s how I think it went down. Veneer, like any other little kid, probably begged his parents for a pet dog or something but his parents thought that was too much responsibility so they gave him a fish instead. Veneer might have been bitter about this, because c’mon now, that’s a boring fish and Veneer probably wanted his pet to be more entertaining (referring to his pet monkey). So he might have halfheartedly taken care of it and slowly over time he might have even grown a small bond with it but again, Veneer is a little kid and I doubt he did any research on how to properly take care of a fish (the fish probably lived in a small glass bowl with no enrichment) and of course, the fish dies despite Veneer now giving it slightly more attention. This makes Veneer guilty of course but he moves on because in the end of the day, it’s just a fish. Then much later on Floyd comes along, not in a glass bowl but similar, and this time his new ‘pet’ can actually talk to him. I personally see it as Veneer viewing Floyd as something akin to an entertaining talking hamster or something or the sort. So forming a bond with Floyd becomes a lot easier than his fish. And then Floyd begins to lose his color (much like how fish do when close to dying) and that same guilt begins to creep up on him, because internally wether he realizes or not, he sees his goldfish in Floyd, leading to him eventually helping out Floyd.

Tldr: Veneer feels guilty about killing his pet goldfish so he makes up for it by helping Floyd.

On Velvet: People need to stop making her out to be this sadistic abusive monster. She’s literally just a bratty teen diva, and arguably, also suffering from addiction from not only the fame going to her head but also actual addiction lowkey. Like, I can’t be the only one that noticed how agitated and on edge she sounded before giving herself a few doses of essence and her voice immediately going soft and relaxed. Additionally, just because she’s the stronger voice out of the two twins doesn’t mean she’s abusive to Veneer, y’all need to chill with that. Speaking of loud voices, I’m also seeing the theory that Veneer actually has talent but acts like he doesn’t to keep his sister happy, and like, I get it, considering his speaking va and his singing va are the same and he doesn’t dose himself as much as Velvet, but I think that’s simply because he doesn’t NEED his voice to be as strong as Velvet’s, he’s just the backing vocals, so of course he’s not gonna dose himself as much as her. Lastly, Velvet is a good sister to Veneer and I say this on the basis that Velvet was happy to perform with her brother at all times. She could have done a solo career and hogged all the fame and glory for herself but she didn’t. The fact that Veneer actually sassed Velvet back in two scenes (“Our parents were dentists 🙄” “Why do I have to do it 🤨” tells me that he’s not afraid of to talk back to her like some of you are making him seem out to be). Velvet loves her brother obviously, but being famous, being remembered forever, that was her DREAM, not Veneer’s, so of course she went a little aggressive with it towards the end.

Tldr: Velvet is actually a good sister and a normal teen girl acting her age.

#Trolls 3 #trolls band together #velvet and veneer #trolls velvet #trolls veneer #my thoughts #they love each other #but also angst between them is good too #what sister hasn’t called her brother an idiot once in her life 🙄#Let Velvet live a little jeez #At least she wasn’t the one to comment multiple times on how cute the trolls looked while imprisoned #“They’re kinda cute banging on the walls begging to go home - Veneer

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gretahayes · 1 year

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more core four repair shop au thoughts;

the fixing shop gives very much cosy small candy shop vibes despite it being like...two stories tall and a mix of a woodworking station, a metalworking station, a forge, a car mechanic, a tech store, a tailor store, a toy store, a library (tim and bart like to read and go through reading material fast, so they figured they may as well), and a sort of bakery.

(it's only a bakery when kon keeps everyone else out of the kitchen (yes they have a kitchen, keep up) for long enough to bake successfully. if he succeeds, you get whatever new recipe he tried out that day, or the old reliables. the old reliables come out when he's having a busy or rough day and wants something low-effort and comforting.)

(also, he doesn't sell what he bakes. he gives them out. unless you've got three hours to argue over paying, you're getting it for free.)

it's got a big winding staircase leading up to the second storey and just like a hole. smackdab in the middle of the store, so they can lean over the railing and yell to each other

it's also much bigger on the inside than the outside. how? magic. (when the core four says this, locals laugh and take it as a joke. it is not a joke. they now owe zatanna a favor)

new branches are constantly being added, and new stuff. one day they picked up crocheting and suddenly there was crocheted stuff for sale. anita popped by and for a few days, second hand kid toys/clothes were offered.

it's not a cafe but they've got a good coffee machine, a lot of mugs, the Good Coffee™, and all know how to make good drinks. if you've got a few bucks to spare, it's heavenly.

tim fixes cameras sometimes :) he's had a lot of cameras through his lifetime and marvels at antiques, well-loved cameras, and newer models all the same.

cassie fixes weapons! cosplayers and people who just have weapons on hand come to the shop, drop it off, and a day/week later their weapon is fixed.

if you come when cissie's visiting, she'll help you with your bow.

traya visits with flowers and is a very chatty and helpful salesperson for the day until she's got to go back home. she also refuses to "sell" stuff without collecting any money.

bart knows how to do almost everything so he does a lot of the work, but it keeps him busy and there's a lot of different stuff to be fixed so he never gets bored.

when asked by the titans or the jla members they're related to/mentor them how it's going, they usually only tell the hero stuff, which is wild because Small Town Nonsense, so the justice league is like oh my God???? are you guys okay over there?? are you sure you don't need help??

they're like no we're living our peaceful cottagecore dream literally fuck off??

justice league: you got dismembered yesterday??

core four: the demon was just a scared kid, plus they gave us our limbs back, it's literally fine.

justice league: we don't think-

core four: we're about plant a garden. fuck off.

the titans at least visit Sometimes (dick, donna and wally obviously, but they won't object to a visit from kori or vic or gar) so they know the core four are happy and mostly vibing so they don't have many protests.

sometimes they've got baby heroes their shop, jai and irey poking around, damian petting their emotional support dog (her name is buddy. she is not a trained emotional support dog but she is very good at listening. she's part golden retriever and part princess of hell. don't ask.), assorted speedsters and arrowfam teens coming and going.

their town (and shop because they've got an alien, a speedster, and a demigod. it's a cauldron of magic) is sort of at the point where the dimensional barrier is sort of...thin? so sometimes they've got other versions of baby heroes in their shop, just chilling until they can get them back home.

on one notable occasion, they've had a teen mar'i, a toddler jackson hyde, a pre-teen cerdian and robbie, and a six-year-old chris kent all at the same time. that's the most like parents they've ever felt.

tim knew they'd all end up crashing in one bed so he just bought like...an alaskan king size bed in one room then regular beds in the others. he was not going to lie to himself.

#my rambles #tim drake #yj #bart allen #core four #cassie sandsmark #kon el #90s young justice #young just us #core four repair shop au

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tehhyunie · 7 months

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(리노,재윤) lee know & jake.. pet-sitting

...🐶 (재윤) jake!!

dog sitting with jake is already so fun but when you add a crazy ass dog to the mix you're bound to get chaos.

your brother recently asked you to help him dog-sit his dog. you yourself knew you couldn't handle its crazy ass alone so you dragged your boyfie with you!

so here you are, with said crazy dog missing at a beach.

"oh no jake, what do we do?! if that bitchass dog went missing my brother will kill me!" you worriedly said while looking around the beach.

not only did bella, your brother's dog, started a fight with other dogs, tried to take a shit at the beach, now she's even running and harassing other people!

jake also was looking around, attempting to find the dog. "wait, i see her! there there!"

jake immediately sprinted towards the direction where he saw bella with you following behind him.

but bella spotted the both of you first, which made her run away from the both of you. you and jake both screamed bella's name out loud trying to get her to come back.

but allas, after minutes the both of you sadly lost her track and couldn't find even a trace of her.

"oh no babe.. what're we gonna do? bella's nowhere to be seen..." your voice muffled being blocked by your own hand. you were sitting down with your face in your own palms, jake next to you rubbing circles on your back.

suddenly, a bark interrupted your wallowing and surprise surprise. it was none other than bella herself.

safe to say the three of you went home that day with your brother not knowing about the chaos that ensued today.

...🐰(리노) lee know!!

meanwhile, cat-sitting with lee know will be a whole 180 from that.. your day will only be filled with cuddling, purring, and lots of love.

your sister asked you to help cat-sit her cats, mocha and mochi. you knew taking care of the cats would be very easy considering how chill they both were so you decided to drag your boyfie along!

you and minho laughed at each other as you watched mochi jump around trying to catch the toy in your hand.

"babe babe, look at how cute mochi look!" you giggled while waving the toy around, amused by how hard mochi was trying to catch said toys.

minho hummed while petting a sleeping mocha on his lap. mocha's purr was loud, showing how mocha was already comfortable with him.

but minho wasn't looking at the cats, his eyes were solely focused on your face. your cute smile and soft giggles making his ears turn red.

soon enough after all that playing you decided to feed the two cats, making sure to give them treats afterwards. which leads to both of you and the cats being sleepy.

so here you are in your boyfriend's arms, with mocha and mochi in between the two of you. your hand patting the already sleeping and purring mocha, mochi purring and rubbing herself against your leg.

your eyes slowly fluttered closed, you yourself already halfway to dreamland. minho's hand was tangled in your hair, his palm softly rubbing against your head.

the four of you soon woke up to the sound of your sister banging against your door asking where her children were.

moonie thanks 4 requesting <33...

#tehhyunie writes!!#skz x reader #lee know x gn reader #lee know x male reader #lee know x reader #skz x gn reader #skz x male reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen x gn reader #enhypen x male reader #jake x reader #jake x male reader #jake x gn reader #kpop x reader

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scribbleseas · 3 months

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Chapter VII: To Be A Prima Ballerina (Act II)...

Description: After the London’s Royal Ballet company’s prima ballerina goes missing within a string of mysterious disappearances among the ballet’s young ballerinas, you finally get your chance to debut in the leading role, taking on the position’s physical toil and immense social pressure. Although this role was supposed to be your grand jeté into the spotlight, it is quickly complicated when these disappearances catch the eye of Ciel Phantomhive — the Queen’s Guard Dog. He is a captious and shrewd man who also happens to be one of London’s most eligible bachelors.

For enough profit for you to secure your freedom for the first time, Lord Phantomhive double casts you as both his accomplice to solving these dancer disappearances and… his pretend lover. While debuting as London’s new prima ballerina, you must perfect a brand new routine: deceiving all of the nation’s polite society while actively searching for a serial killer — all while being an immigrant from France with a dancer’s reputation.

What could go wrong when you realize this off-stage performance of yours may not be an act at all?’

Story Warnings: detailed description of gore, pain, and violence, detailed death, smut & explicit sexual scenes, allusions to non-consensual sex, objectification, prostitution, allusions to under-aged prostitution, smoking, drinking, eating disorder tendencies (food restriction, frequent references to wanting to maintain a certain weight, over-practicing & exercising), infidelity, fake courtship, swearing

Author’s Note: Hi! I don't know what happened. I sat down thinking I'd add a scene and chill for the night...but I just let everything flow. So now it's done! Please let me know how you feel about this chapter! I'm incredibly proud of it.

Just a quick note before you read: Maman is French for Mom. There is also some explicit content in this chapter! Please make sure to double check the warnings above!

Happy Reading!!

Dan

⇐ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ⇒

MASTERLIST

Early November, 1895

Ciel’s Bedroom

“I’ve needed this,” Ciel mumbled in your ear, planting another impassioned kiss on your lips, caging you in against his bedroom door. “Je ne sais pas combien de temps j'aurais pu attendre,” he said, insinuating that he had a similar lustful desire to yours, his fingers laced in your hair, tenderly keeping your head in place as he kissed you.

Goosebumps speckled your arms, equal parts from the late autumn night and the innate sensuality that came with Ciel purring your first language into your ear. While French used to drag you back to the pain that your birth country carried, now it was an inside joke between lovers...

The Next Morning

You woke before Ciel did, peering at the sunlight that streamed in through the drapes. In your sleep, your naked bodies were tangled with one another, giving you more than a sufficient reminder of last night’s…celebration.

Not that you would ever admit it to the shrewd man, but it was the experience you had with a man until that point in your life. Ciel didn’t treat you like a plaything who was there to enrich his experience; he spoiled you— delightfully so. You had a constellation made of contusions sucked into your skin to prove it, some running down your breasts, your back, and even your backside. Ciel impressed you— especially for a man who told you to cover more skin upon your first meeting. He was too flustered to speak to you candidly at the time.

Ciel broke the kiss to start unbuttoning your nightshirt, waiting for your approval before truly continuing. You nodded your consent, more than confident in your body, and more importantly, more than willing to proceed with Ciel. The chemistry residing between the two of you was thick enough to cut with a knife.

The Earl sighed, enraptured with the look of your bare breasts on display. His thumb caressed one of your nipples as he returned his attention back to your lips.

Now, Ciel was asleep next to you, his chest rising and falling. From the way the side of your head lay on his chest, you could hear his heartbeat. A glance upwards told you his regal features were relaxed— seldom for a man who tended to sneer and scowl. You felt his idle hand rest on your lower back, keeping your body close to his, even in slumber.

Your fingertips traced up his sternum, between his firm pecs and above his loosely etched abdominal muscles. He was a noble— his body wasn’t trained to be durable, and yet, it was strong and lean under your touch. Just as it performed last night.

You felt his biceps flex as he picked you up once more, only to dispense you on his bed. He pulled your drawers down and spread your legs, unwilling to allow you to focus on his pleasure. He kneeled on the ground, leveling his face with your core.

It was the first time a man’s desire to plunge you into euphoria outweighed his need for you to pleasure him.

“Ciel!” you gasped at the shock of his lips lapping at your slickness. You were wet with tipsy anticipation and desire, surprised that a nobleman of his stature was willing to be so crude in his ministrations. His tongue lapped between your folds, the tip gently stopping at your clit to lick at it slowly. Your fingers wove into his raven hair as if you needed to encourage him further.

The amusement in your voice was palpable as you coaxed the Earl out of his sleep. He wasn’t a heavy sleeper so it only took your ascending touch up his chest to rouse him. His left eye fluttered open, the right remaining closed by instinct, you imagined.

“Good morning,” you flashed a knowing smile as he rubbed at his eye, yawning to shake off the rest of his drowsiness. If you didn’t have a strict morning regime to tend to in moments, you might have opted to retreat under the sheets and wake him a different way.

“Y/n,” Ciel mumbled, hesitating to say more. He squinted at you, equal parts confusion and surprise. He looked at your hand, realizing that one of his own sat squarely on your ass. As if your skin was burning, he moved his hand.

“What…. Wait. We…?” The Earl started to ask, his eyebrows drawing together in uncertainty. He knew the answer. He didn’t like it.

Your stomach sank.

You knew this expression. Mild regret, disbelief— all of your patrons regarded you similarly after sleeping with you. It was always at the moment they remembered their real lives. Their responsibilities. Their wives. Their statures.

You were a fantasy, drawn out in the dead of night under the sweet influence of wine. They preyed on your beauty and your charm only to retreat after realizing that their greed cost them. And yet, they still returned. Night, after night, after night.

Ciel was supposed to be different.

Even after playing a pivotal role in solving the case, you were a temporary celebration. A reward. A trophy. He didn’t want you beyond the night, and now that the case was solved, he was musing the best way to rid himself of you. After all, your courtship was merely an investigative ploy. A strategy.

There was simply no evolving. No change. Conditional desire.

“Yes,” you answered, your smile melting. “We did. You remember,” you declared. He didn’t drink enough to forget. You knew he didn’t. Your wine bottle sat a little less than half full on the table to your side.

“I do,” he confirmed. There was a beat of silence.

Observing your growing hurt, he cleared his throat and spoke again, “I… enjoyed last night.” It was an ironic sentiment, given that he was in the midst of sitting up and ensuring the bed sheets covered his waist and down. He was creating distance between you, purposeful and methodical.

Why?

As Ciel’s hips sunk into yours, he pressed a long kiss against your lips. “Vous êtes une tentatrice. Je ne sais pas combien de temps j'aurais pu attendre. J'ai besoin de toi. Maintenant,” he experimented by thrusting his hips, forcing you to gasp.

“As did I,” you replied cautiously. “Though do you—” love me? wish for this to happen again? want to legitimize our courtship?

“— We should discuss how we mean to proceed with the public,” Ciel interrupted, “I think allowing our courtship to slowly burn out over the next month should suffice.”

You felt no different than him slapping you across the face. You winced.“What do you mean?”

“If we sever our public relationship immediately after William’s arrest, it would be suspicious,” Ciel explained, rolling his shoulders back in a morning stretch. He pulled the bedsheet around his waist as he stood.

“Sever our public relationship?” You repeated as if you didn’t understand his English.

“Certainly. I don’t mean to inconvenience you further, and naturally, I must resume my search for a Countess… as fruitless as it may be,” Ciel explained, blind to your hurt.

Resume his search?

You couldn’t help but recall Ciel’s words to Alexander Huntington: “That is quite enough,” he replied, as cold as a glacier. “You will not speak of her in such a manner. She may very well be the next Countess of Phantomhive.”

You also recalled Alexander’s response; it seemed to grow truer by the second: “Just because you’ve dressed her pretty, doesn’t mean she’s worth anything more than a common prostitute.”

You used a blanket for your modesty as you stepped out of the bed. You couldn’t be a countess. You were a commoner from France who grew up in a ballet school because you were an illegitimate love child between a maid and a duke. Maman did her best to raise you and your father had no desire to associate himself with you.

You were an embarrassment to Ciel, too.

You were not a Countess. You danced on a stage and entertained men in order to feed and house yourself. There was no value in you beyond celebration.

“For your assistance with this case, you will always have Phantomhive support. You’ve brought my attention to a foul practice within the theater industry. I will ensure Her Majesty abolishes it, and if there is ever anything else I can do for you, don’t hesitate to contact me.” Ciel affirmed. It was a kind offer. A fair one, even. He was severing your only social protection from seeing selfish patrons nightly but committed himself to end the very practice itself. Not to mention, he gave you more than a generous salary--- you could likely afford your own townhouse now without having to rely on pleasing a patron.

He cared for you. That had been his duty from the start of his investigation, after all. This wasn’t a storybook; it wasn’t Ciel’s duty to fall for you.

Your mouth was cotton dry, the rest of your face warm with embarrassment. You had never felt your heart strain in such a painful, deliberate way. It was heavy in your chest, threatening to implode right along with your pride and vulnerability.

“Thank you,” you managed to reply, gritting your teeth into an appreciative smile. It was the vacant stage smile you used during the performances that required the most technical focus. “I told you that you cared for me,” your joke was wry in your mouth, and there wasn’t enough humor in it for Ciel to engage.

Instead, he searched between your tired gaze and your false smile, hesitating because he was unsure of how he needed to reply. Ciel didn’t want to upset you; he didn’t think he was. He must have thought these encounters were meaningless to you because they were merely another facet of your career. It must have been meaningless to him because he was a high-powered man who likely had numerous sexual partners.

He was the Earl of Phantomhive. He could have anyone for his Countess. When would there ever be merit in choosing a prima ballerina?

You had to remain amicable. Your responsibilities with Lord Phantomhive were not complete— you still had to facilitate this slow end to your courtship (the one that had never been real in the first place) and lead it to a very passive and public breakup.

“As for the art gallery reveal gala tonight?” You asked. Ciel was invited to the renowned painter, Terrence Stannard’s, annual party to show off his newest body of work. He’d invited several prosperous businessmen and aristocracts known for philanthropy in the arts because he was an “avarice-infected bastard that used most art investments he receives to fill his pocket and buy lavish luxuries rather put it towards the production of any canvas of value,” according to the Earl.

Stannard was influential enough for The British Museum to readily host these galleries, but Ciel wanted to put Stannard in his place by subtly flaunting Phantomhive prosperity. You doubted he would skip the appearance, even if he was on the heels of closing a case for the Queen. There were too many high-profile guests invited— nobility, celebrities, businessmen, government officials. It was too crucial for the Lord of Phantomhive to miss.

“We will be in attendance. Natasha already canceled your rehearsal tonight to manage her husband’s affairs— we can leave ahead of schedule,” Ciel said, stepping towards his washroom meaningfully. He wanted you to leave, and he was blissfully (or purposely, knowing him) unaware of the pain he caused you.

“Fine. I should start rehearsing if we are leaving earlier this evening. Do not interrupt me for breakfast, please. I can send for Mey-Rin when I am ready,” you declared, allowing your face to fall back into somber neutrality. You fully pulled the blanket around you, tucking a corner under your arm to keep the makeshift robe fastened around your body. You didn’t meet Ciel’s gaze as you started towards his bedroom door, your eyes painfully catching the wall directly next to it.

That was the very spot he had you pinned not eight hours prior. You couldn’t stand to be in his quarters much longer, ripe with silent mortification. You twisted the doorknob —

“Y/n?” Ciel started, confusion rising in his tone. “Are—”

— and shut the door behind you.

What made you think this man would be any different?

They all wanted the same thing. Maman was right-- your father, the duke, wanted her for her body and cast her aside like trash after she told him she was with child. With you.

Later

The Rehearsal Room

The only place you could regain your control was on pointe shoes. You immediately slipped into a practice leotard, stretched on the barre, and started warming up.

You were Y/n Y//l/n, one of London’s foremost prima ballerinas. Not only that, you solved a series of murder cases and didn’t hesitate to engage in a plot to rightfully arrest the owner of your opera house.

Your skill was so prominent and breathtaking that you transformed yourself every day through practiced steps and expressions.

No one had the right to demean you so.

You weren’t Y/n Y/l/n when you danced in front of a mirror. You were The Sugar Plum Fairy, Odette, Odie… the character you were pouring your body and soul into encompassing. You were a regal fairy queen, an innocent girl trapped in a curse, a spoiled and deceptive daughter… All you needed was the choreography, the music, and a pair of pointe shoes. You could be anyone.

No one’s validation meant nearly as much as your own, and you were beautiful. A well of talent.

Your breathing came in strained exhales, your hands resting on your kneecaps to support your upper body. You didn’t notice how much time passed — as the autumn grew deeper, nights came sooner. The sun was already beginning to retreat starting the earliest stages of dusk. The sky from the small window looked orange.

Sweat rolled down your back, tracing your spine. You could feel your heart pound in your ears, thumping like a drum. White and black spots danced in your eyes, your head swimming as you leaned against the wall in an attempt to stay upright.

This was the result of practicing coupé jetés for hours without sufficient breaks and fuel. You knew this nauseous, dizzy feeling quite well. You were old acquaintances, by now.

“Miss Y/l/n, I apologize for interrupting, but I must begin preparing you for the gallery— oh dear,” Sebastian’s approaching voice sounded distant, even though his lanky figure appeared to be much closer as he stabilized you. “Mey-Rin!” he called out, taking you in your arms like a pathetic rag doll, “get water and two slices of banana bread!”

“Sebastian,” you grumbled in protest.

“You have absolutely no say in the matter,” the butler insisted, crisply admonishing you as he brought you back to your room and sat you upright on the bed. Mey-Rin came rushing in after several short moments, Sebastian thanking her for her efforts while you accepted the water like a woman deprived for years.

The cold stung your throat and cleared your head.

“The banana bread,” Sebastian reminded you.

You looked at it, tempted, but not convinced. Upon glancing back at the butler, he offered you an insistent glare, communicating that if you didn’t take a bite of the thick slice yourself, he would find a way to force you to do so. This very same attitude had to be how he forced his master to be so perfect— at everything.

You had to admit, your body settled much more once you finished the slice of bread (and swallowed down another from Mey-Rin). Of course, it was delicious, and it started to soothe the complaining in your stomach. You were so accustomed to the sharp pain of starvation, that it settled in the back of your mind.

You even accepted a cooked cut of salmon cooked in lemon juice and garlic, paired with a side of rice. Baldroy was putting his finishing touches on his master’s supper, and Sebastian ordered him to bring a plate to you. Ciel never liked to go to events on an empty stomach, as heavily grazing on a host’s offerings too much made him feel much too in their debt. (“I can afford my own meals, I’m Ciel Phantomhive.”)

Sebastian returned to your room after ensuring Ciel had everything he needed to enjoy his dinner. “I told my Lord that you are taking your meal in your quarters to save time, given how late into the day you practiced. We still must prepare you for the gala tonight. You seem up to it,” he gauged your color, given how you must have been shades paler from your previous state. It wasn’t the first time, and it certainly wasn’t the last.

“I am,” you started to confirm, only for Sebastian to interrupt.

“Miss, you are a professional. You should understand that your body requires energy to perform,” Sebastian chastised. “Eating less than an ascetic monk will only degrade those muscles you need so much.”

“Do not tell Ciel,” you grumbled, unwilling to hear this lecture from both the Earl and his head butler.

“Surely you are aware that I am not permitted to lie to my master,” he replied placidly, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Lying and failing to mention something are two different things,” you argued, finishing off the last of the fourth refill of water you guzzled down in the last half hour. You knew Sebastian was correct— you couldn’t push yourself to your limits without properly eating, but sometimes, it was impossible to bring yourself to do so. Ballet demanded particular physiques, and patrons favored the same. Maintaining your appearance was more than a career investment; it was part of your occupation.

“Touché, Miss,” Sebastian conceded, the corners of his mouth pulling into an affirmative smirk. You could never figure out where you stood with the enigmatic man, but to you, this treatment was a suitable show of kindness. It was uncharacteristic of Sebastian’s strict countenance, but you appreciated the gesture. He could have left you panting on the dance floor and pried you to your feet when it was time to prepare for the fundraiser “I will begin to draw your bath, now,” he turned to your washroom, only pausing when you stopped him.

“Sebastian. Do you know that Ciel and I…” you started, letting the question die on your tongue. You regretted the question the second you asked.

“It is my duty to be aware of everything that transpires in my master’s life, private or not,” Sebastian admitted. “Why do you ask?” he maintained his typically perky intonation, though he seemed to be searching your face.

“…No reason,” you looked away, your cheeks burning. There was nothing to be accomplished in that line of thought. Even if Ciel made you feel seen for anything beyond your looks and dancing prowess, that was never an indication that he felt anything more than physical attraction towards you. In the end, he wanted to sleep with you and maintain the same lukewarm relationship you had prior because it was most convenient for him given your lack of noble rank, or he simply didn’t share the same connection you had so vividly succumbed to.

And you didn’t need him to. You never needed anyone in your life; there was no need to start now.

“As you wish, Miss,” Sebastian proceeded to prepare your bath.

The long process of preparing you for these events was somehow expedited between the combined and coordinated efforts of Mey-Rin and Sebastian. In half the time it might have taken you to achieve a similar loose updo, soft makeup, and flawless, shimmering accessorization, you once again resembled a Countess’ dignity.

However, you refused to allow yourself to feel that superficial. In the floor-length mirror, you regarded your reflection.

Again, your reflected visage was never Y/n Y/l/n. Instead, you channeled the Sugar Plum Fairy — her effortless confidence, whimsy, and unfailing charisma that commanded the fairy court and the audience alike.

Your gown was a statement purple, an homage to Natasha’s surprising decision to make one of your Sugar Plum leotards a vivid lavender with darker purple and gold detailing. This gown reflected the same palette; your skirts fell in ruffled waves, intricate with golden and floral patterns down the sides. Your sleeves were long and merged with purple gloves that ended just before your elbow.

You were flawless, and you would see this role to its very end. No matter how you felt about Ciel, you had a job to complete, and you would do just that. A prima ballerina never abandoned her role, and she never allowed her personal theatrics to distract from her professional. Ever.

That Night

The British Museum

“Remember: no one knows about William’s arrest,” Ciel mumbled into your ear, causing your smile to drop for a fraction of a second. It was as brief as a flickering light, irritated by the Earl’s frequent need to remind you of aspects of your performance that you were more than cognizant of.

You were arm in arm as he led you into Stannard’s gallery, ignoring the nosy journalists snapping photographs of your backs. The displays seemed to show off a particular brand of oil paint, a brand that paid the artist to create such blunt advertisements for the company. Still, they were lovely works from your perspective, displaying different ethereal scenes in nature.

You merely hummed in response, discomfort stiffening your body. As he had for Huntington’s ball, Ciel’s tie matched your purple gown, making you both appear as a matching set. The rest of his suit was black, causing his blue eye to appear somehow more vibrant, and his pale complexion to glow. You wanted to kiss him almost as much as you wanted to kick him.

“Stannard is making his rounds. We’ll let him approach us later on,” Ciel said, gesturing to a man around his age with his chin. While there wasn’t anything particularly notable about the tall painter, you recognized the young woman at his side. Her name was… Maisie?--- She was a talented dancer, cast as The Snow Queen in your Nutcracker production. After all, she was second in the running for prima ballerina behind you. You defeated her.

Maisie’s honey blonde hair paired with her emerald gown flawlessly as she smiled boredly. Her eyes searched the room for something more gripping than her patron’s conversation. You could’ve sworn Ciel said Stannard was married--- or was it previously married?

Right. Stannard left his wife for Maisie. A proud young woman, she loved to show off her new husband. After all, it used to be the only aspect of her life that was better than yours. Before you and Ciel started this ruse, at least.

Stannard was now Maisie’s husband. No one knew where Stannard’s former wife was after she went missing.

“I know her,” you started to whisper, only for the words to die on your tongue. There was no need to point out your work acquaintance-- it was only a gala. You only needed to play the part of an adoring young woman, polite and thankful. Gracious.

Instead, you took the opportunity to observe the rest of the gala. Light dancing music played for those who danced in the greater atrium below. The gallery was situated on a balcony that ran around the perimeter.

Everyone was dressed in their best ensembles, the finest materials, their finest jewels. You wondered how much all of these accessories were worth-- how much of a difference even one of these necklaces would make to a factory worker. Even the dusty purple choker around your neck had diamond and amethyst pendants falling from it in the shapes of teardrops--- it had to be worth thousands.

The movement below made the participating women’s gowns appear like blotted paint on a distant canvas.

“Yes, thank you,” Ciel accepted two glasses of champagne from a server and offered one to you, leisurely investigating the painting closest to you both. He peered at Stannard’s signature in the lower right corner of the canvas, appearing stoic to the common acquaintance but askance to you.

“You do not believe Stannard is the artist behind these,” you claimed, turning your back to the rest of the party. Like Ciel, you faced the painting. You took a smug drink of your champagne.

“What?” he asked, pulled out of his train of thought.

You took a drink from your champagne to settle your irritation with the Earl. “You think he is lying about his talent,” you reiterated as if he didn’t understand you the first time.

Your lips pulled into a poisonous half-smile at his silence. You were right, and the realization made you chuckle to yourself.

“Don’t say such things so loud,” Ciel admonished with no real force behind it. If anything, he seemed amused, casting a barely-there grin at you. You had to make a clear effort to kill the flying butterflies in your stomach.

There was nothing between you.

But even so, the familiar exchange helped unravel a great deal of tension in your shoulders. There could be normalcy…at least for the last few days he was at your side for. Without the butterflies, there was a melancholic guilt to fill the space in your abdomen, not unlike the pain of starvation. You could push it to the back of your mind all the same. You would.

“Lord Phantomhive? Is that you?” An aged, motherly voice greeted. You both turned to meet its source.

You didn’t recognize the woman, nor the young woman at her side. They hardly resembled one another, the young woman’s fiery red hair a stark contrast to the mature woman’s graying brown hair.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” Ciel bowed, the gesture causing you to lower yourself into a curtsey. Of course, their rank was higher than his; no one dared approach Lord Phantomhive without a looming stature. “And to you, Lady Caroline,” he addressed the young woman. Her black gown made her red hair and deep brown eyes all the more soulful. She blushed at him.

“Hello, Lord Phantomhive,” Caroline smiled, chuckling as if he did more than greet her properly.

“You know how I feel about Your Grace,” the elder woman joked but it was far from reaching her eyes, despite the smile lines that creased next to them. It was a quip that was intended to make her seem humble and approachable, but it was a mere reminder of her status. “I want you to call me Gwen,” she said airily, lying through her teeth. Ciel was smart enough to know that.

“I could never do such a thing, ma’am,” Ciel replied, mirroring her fake smile. His was much more convincing. Painfully so. The fact you couldn’t introduce yourself to another human being was horrifically demeaning. At least Lord Tiverton addressed you at the last ball--- Gwen and Caroline couldn’t seem to care less about your presence. In fact, they had yet to spare you a glance.

To your relief, Ciel started to introduce you. “I’m here with---”

“This is a lovely gala tonight, wouldn’t you say? I heard they had this orchestra sail from Germany,” Gwen cut in with her dazzling smile. “I wish we could have found you an accompaniment tonight, my dear.” she fixed her attention on Caroline for a moment, only to resettle her expectant gaze on Ciel. “It’s such a once-in-a-lifetime waltz.”

There was a distressing lack of courting suitor at Caroline’s side. Your mouth was dry, your eyes stinging. You didn’t want to be right. You prayed you weren’t.

“It wouldn’t be too much to ask you to go with her for a number or two, would it?” Gwen ordered. She spoke as if she was simply asking Ciel to fetch her her own flute of champagne.

Your stomach plummeted to the gates of hell.

There was a beat of silence, Caroline’s big eyes pleaded, and Gwen’s cold gaze demanded.

You were being suffocated--- socially executed. They may as well have pulled out a gun and aimed.

He wouldn’t, would he? Could he? Honestly?

“Of course,” he answered after a second too long.

Ciel pulled the trigger.

“I will only be a moment,” Ciel finally addressed you, dropping his unfinished champagne on a server’s tray. Before you could reply, Caroline was leading him down the stairs and to the bottom level. You remained at the top, an unfamiliar rage igniting in the front of your head. You could feel the stinging of lingering eyes on you, the soft hum of hushed chatter around you --- about you.

Your mind raced between unmitigated rage and desperately wondering what Sebastian might tell you to do. He never prepared you for an incredibly acerbic duchess and her entitled daughter, or a situation where you would be left adrift at one of these events without Ciel.

Do not engage in argument, do not interrupt anyone when they are speaking, do not lose temper or speak excitedly, do not speak of personal matters, you remembered Sebastian say. But there was nothing of substance there. Nothing to train you for watching the man you had butterflies for and kissed and touched simply… walk away from you and dance with a woman you’d never heard about.

From the balcony, you watched Ciel bow in front of Caroline, her black gown pooling on the floor as she curtsied. They looked striking next to one another, stately and striking. Caroline knew the etiquette expected of a young woman, she was a noble. She didn’t need hurried lessons, and she never had to lay her dignity bare for a man.

“Beautiful, aren’t they? It makes perfect sense,” Gwen’s voice returned at your side.

Your head jerked to look at her, startled. “Oh--- hello,” you couldn’t recall her title quick enough, it seemed.

“Your Grace,” Gwen prompted. All kindness aimed at Ciel was now absent from her face.

Do not lose temper. Do not argue, Sebastian reminded you.

“...Your Grace,” you finished pathetically.

“Do you know who Caroline and I are, Y/n?” Gwen asked, showing that she did know who you were.

“No,” you replied breathlessly, keeping your gaze steady on Ciel and Caroline as they moved with one another.

“I am the Duchess of Norfolk. Caroline’s father is the Duke of Norfolk, Henry Fitzaland-Howard. The new Postmaster General--- he was just appointed this year, isn’t that amazing?” She over pronounced her words for you, making a joke out of your first language being foreign. The same one Ciel whispered in your ear and kissed into your lips just last night. You hated the language, once again. “Caroline is our only child. We need a Duke of Norfolk. You understand.”

You wished you didn’t understand. Unfortunately, you recalled hearing of the Howard line, carelessly skimming an article that traced their lineage back to 1425. Your line traced back to a beautiful maid and an enamored--- yet embarrassed--- Duke. You were his secret shame.

Caroline was her father’s pride.

You felt hollow.

“We cannot have Ciel distracted with you any longer,” Gwen said, regaining some of the sick kindness she spoke with, now that individuals were passing behind you. By now, most of the gala attendees were dancing below you. “And it’s clear that he no longer wishes to be distracted.”

Despite your silence, Gwen continued. “But perhaps we might see you on your way out of the estate; Lord Phantomhive invited us for tea next week,” she added pleasantly. “Be sure to start packing. I’m not sure he’ll allow you to keep all of this.”

“I need to go to the washroom. Excuse me,” you snapped, finishing off your champagne. You shoved the glass into the duchess’s hand, storming down the staircase and through the onlookers as they watched couples dance. Tears blurred in your eyes, threatening to fall, but not quite doing so.

You pushed past attendees, walking as quickly as you could in the heels Sebastian put you in. They were short, but your feet ached from your vehement rehearsing. They were probably bleeding.

“Y/n!” You heard someone call. You continued.

You had no obligation to let yourself fall to the back of Ciel’s agenda. You solved his murder case. You thought you could love him. You thought he could love you. That wasn’t something he could simply erase by scheduling afternoon tea with Her Highness. No matter how much he wanted to. No matter how much you embarrassed him.

You could exit his life on your own. You didn’t need help. You weren’t Maman--- you had more to offer than wiping windows and dusting bookshelves. Maman made sure of that. She put you in a ballet academy so you were assured to have a career. To ensure that you would never have to sweep after the wealthy or beg for their scraps on the street. You were her kindness, her smile, her patience. You were the best of her, and she used her final breath to tell you just that.

You owed it to her to stand with pride as Y/n Y/l/n, prima ballerina. To stand as a star; a brilliant supernova on stage and en pointe.

And now, you had the financial freedom to rebuff any man who tried to change that.

“Y/n! Stop!”

You took to a run, pushing past the security guards near the museum’s entrance, ignoring their confused shouts. Surely you were moving too fast for them to recognize you, but that wasn’t what informed them of your identity. You held up your gown the best you could as you navigated the front stairway. The front of the museum was barren, reporters bored with being on the wrong side of the armed guard, and all gala attendees successfully captured in the throes of revelry and opulence.

“Y/n!” Ciel shouted, catching your hand in yours.

“What?” you demanded, the tears welling in your eyes finally falling down your cheeks. “What is it, Ciel?”

“Just let go of me,” your voice broke with a sob, your tears warm against your cold cheeks. “Please, just let me go.”

Ciel was never at a loss for words. His grip was still iron around your hand as he regarded you, panting from the exertion you put him through. His exhales came out in puffs of condensation from the frigid evening.

“I know what this was,” you continued. “I know what it was supposed to be, but what was here between us was real. And you- all you want to do is…throw it away. And why? Because I’m not h-her! Maybe I’ve never met my father, and I only have a small closet of a townhouse --- that you had no desire to even sit in! --- to my name, but I---.... we…were---” you were at a loss for words.

There was no putting this into words.

Not the stolen touches last night, not your intuitive knowledge of one another, and certainly not the euphoria of waking up entangled with one another.

You wiped your eyes and pulled your hostage hand from his. Swallowing deeply, you put all of your emotion into six words: “You are a coward, Lord Phantomhive.” You turned to continue on your way. You didn’t know where. All you needed was away.

“That’s not! Y/n, stop!” This was the most frenzied you’d heard the Earl’s posh accent get. You didn’t care.

“Stop!” He followed. “You don’t understand!”

“What is there to understand?” You turned on your heel.

Before Ciel could reply, a distant gunshot rang out, accompanied by a choir of shrill, terrified screams from the far side of the street. The back of the museum. The security that had been at the museum doors --- now a sizable distance from you --- ran towards the source.

In an instant, Sebastian was poised both in front of you and Ciel. Ciel brandished himself in front of you, as instinctive as his butler’s desire to protect him. You hadn’t even seen Sebastian nearby at all--- but then again, you were more than a little distracted.

“Call the Yard! She’s bleeding! Fast!” A man called out.

“Come, Y/n. Sebastian, watch for gunfire. Let no one within an arm’s length from us,” Ciel ordered, separating his personal distress with ease. He was trained for this. The man guiding you to the source of the calamity wasn’t the man you were berating across the street from the museum. This was The Queen’s Guard Dog, and he needed his partner.

Someone was shot. Not even you were selfish enough to continue your tirade. “Fine,” you mumbled, drying the last of your tears. You let Ciel guide you, Sebastian trailing behind your back.

Within moments, you were staring at the dead body of Maisie Stannard.

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questforgalas · 5 months

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Now that I've played the MW campaign and am even more unhinged about the MW3 campaign, here are my completely unasked for thoughts on how Activision should've mapped out the games for an at least 6 game story arc

Absolutely no changes. Kyle is a precious muffin. Price is a precious muffin. Alex is a precious muffin. Farah is a queen.

Interesting campaign. Diverse levels. Dynamic and well thought out storyline.

MW2

My baby. The love of my life. My most precious muffin. That campaign? That storyline? Chef's kiss. Ale and Rudy? The best additions. Valeria?? Fucking wonderful. That plot twist?? Grasping my pearls

No changes

MW3

More 141 levels, make the intro levels 141 as a well oiled machine, digging up the intel telling about the prison break. Give more background to what Farah is in the middle of instead of dropping right in especially with fucking Graves suddenly chilling on the comms, bridging that gap between MW2 and here. Take out a good chunk of the Makarov cut scenes and give more levels chasing intel, letting the player put together the pieces with every cold trail Makarov leaves behind, getting frustrated along with the team. Keep the flashback once the team reaches boiling point, but make Ghost less inclined towards Johnny to keep more inline with their reluctant start in MW2.

Shepherd and Graves go off the grid after they give their intel, they disappear. Makarov is making moves in Urzikstan so 141 goes to help ULF (did I mention more 141?). It was a distraction, they uncover Makarov's plans for London, scramble back, it plays out, Price ends up dead (it's a military game, people are going to die, and Price dying had the most potential impact. Come along, I'll explain), Makarov gets away.

Final cut scene is a funeral send off Price deserves, montage of the boys back on base dealing with the aftermath, and Laswell finding Ghost, explaining how he's the Lieutenant, he's the obvious next choice to take up the mantle and Ghost simply says "I'm not the obvious choice" and the final scene pans on Gaz, the Robin to Price's Batman.

The levels will be meatier, longer, and at least 5 more added to deepen the story. Diversity of the play style will be more than just standard campaign and online-layout. The Makarov plot will be discovered by the player, not told to them, adding more intrigue to the character. The final level will be multi tiered, hopping between the two pairs. Actually 8 hours of gameplay instead of the measly 3 they gave us (yes, the MW3 campaign is 3 hours of gameplay compared to MW and MW2s 8 hours each)

MW4

Open to 141 arriving on mission, Soap tapping Gaz on the shoulder and says "Ready when you are, Captain" with that cheeky smile. Makarov's gone dark, eerily quiet the past couple months, but they have a lead on Shepherd and Graves so they're going in. It all points back to Mexico, Graves accepting his military career is fucked after Las Almas and turning Shadow Company into full mercs instead of PMCs now, specializing in weapons dealings. He recognized the advantage a deal with Valeria could have and they've been working together.

CUT TO LOS VAQUEROS/141 REUNION. More Alejandro and Rudy background (just let Alain Mesa, the BAFTA Game Award Nominee for this freaking role, fucking shine). Dive into the Valeria background, make the raid mentioned during her interrogation a flashback level in Valeria's POV. The team has to go undercover to get close to the intel, Rudy gets picked, gathers the intel, but gets compromised. Now its a race to rescue Rudy. Ale and Gaz go after Rudy while Soap and Ghost follow the lead Rudy got them. Ale and Gaz raid a cartel base/prison, let Ale take Gaz under his wing recognizing the young captain's feeling the pressure, some banter, some advice, wholesome Ale and Gaz bonding.

Soap, on the other hand, is barely being contained by Ghost. He's in full attack dog mode with Graves scent nearby and Ghost has half a mind to let the demolition expert go completely feral, but the lieutenant part of him keeps his sergeant in check. Further their dynamic, more banter balancing right on the edge. They clear out the compound, find a gold mine of intel around the dealings, and Johnny gets to put the bullet right between Graves' eyes.

One line in the intel catches their eyes - Makarov

MW5/6

Make the Makrov storyline a 3 game storyline - MW3 intro and back-to-back MW 5 and 6. Now with ties in Mexico and ULF, all established teams and beloved characters can be brought in in some aspect throughout both games to take him down.

Ale and Rudy are cleaning up El Sin Nombre's ties in Las Almas, cutting each line of Valeria's arms dealings, trying to cut off the courier of Makarov's destruction.

Farah continues to lead ULF to free Urzikstan, Makarov taking advantage of the dissent and chaos and placing a foothold there, ultimately dividing forces and efforts from his background machinations.

With Makarov's trail warm again, the 141 are out for blood. Could take the plunge and make GhostSoap canon through subtle dialogue options or touch gestures in cut scenes. The end is possibly near, they're all allowing themselves to think about the future, why not take the plunge Activision? Or they stay vague/platonic and the dynamic is further developed. Dialogue options and cut scenes show further bond with Gaz as well who's stepped into being Captain a little more, easing into the shoes.

MW5 is cat and mouse. Makarov leaves little treats and traps and the team is chasing after their tails, always 3 steps behind him. Give Makarov more scenes, not telling the player his plan but let his character development fly. Let the unhingedness flourish.

Finally, they catch a break at the end of the game and MW6 is the final chase. 8 hours of them hunting down Makarov. Ale and Rudy cleaned up Las Almas and can join them, bringing the whole gang together internationally (bonus points to make one a cold weather mission and the two Mexicans are just bitching the whole time just for Soap and Ghost to tease them back about payback for having to deal with the Mexican desert for a whole week). Two characters would die (not in one game, over the course of the two) - Farah (she's been a fighter her whole life, it would be a full circle for her to heroically go out with a gun in her hand) and either Ghost or Soap.

Soap dying here would be so much more impactful. He'd be more established as a character, have deeper relationships with all members of the game, and it's highly possible to have a situation where a charge isn't going so he's the only one who can pull it off (reminiscent of Hevy in TCW). Going out in a blaze just like he's always imagined.

Ghost dying would be another full circle option with his canon (it would be a sacrificial choice, dying on his own terms as his own choice) and with his long career, it would be heartbreaking but understandable. This also leaves the 141 in the hands of the two youngest, the Captain and the new Lieutenant, tasked with bringing in the next generation of the best soldiers.

And if there just happens to be a cut scene where Johnny has an extra pair of dog tags and a modest ring dangling from his chain? Then you know I infiltrated the Activision writers' room.

Oh what happened to Shepherd you ask? End credits role on MW6 and another cut scene begins. A lone cabin in the middle of nowhere in the woods, smoke trailing out of the chimney. Cut interior, a haggard Shepherd bent over a desk, mumbling to himself, scribbling on something. He tacks the paper on the board in front of him, revealing Gaz and Soap's pictures amidst a mess of strings and maps and notes saying "Traitors". Then it cuts black

Boom, there you go Activision. Enjoy all of your awards and record breaking sales. It could've been that easy

#call of duty #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #alejandro vargas #rodolfo parra #farah karim #alex keller #ghostsoap

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henqtic · 1 year

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My Only Girl⋆｡*✩

pairing: xavier thorpe x black!reader . word count: 2.1k ( 2180 ).

⊹ summary: xavier finally shows her his makeshift art studio, filled up with what had been consuming him lately and it leads to more.

i love a good clueless best friends to lovers they only have eyes for each other thing so I tweaked the story a little bit also love confessions and sort of miscommunication but not the annoying kind, it get’s resolved quickly — more like momentary confusion :)

·:*₊‧ masterlist . taglist form . request works . ·:*₊‧✩

part two: fluttery.

Maybe I should’ve chosen something a tad more practical for a walk through the woods? She thought. Something that would protect from the harsh end-of-fall winds, and not just the cutest thing that popped out of the closet. Her cardigan had holes all about it, the loose crochet pattern being a little less desirable now.

But, Xavier had finally taken his eye off of that sketchbook and directed them onto her. He carried two, one that he let her have nearly endless access to – bringing to life little birdies and stick fingers that would dance around each other when you were down.

Or he’d even let her give the ‘artist friend’ role of their pair a try and they’d end up with a rather . . . diabolical dog rabbit deer thing running around his dorm in the middle of the night.

Once. It was once. He hadn’t brought to life anything she’d put on a paper since. He, along with Rowan who woke up to a tickling on his feet, claimed it was a safety hazard.

The other sketchbook that is, he’d only bring out when his mind ran particularly quick. So quick that he’d forget to have a good breakfast and she’d have to bring him one of those weird jam packed bagels that he argued were so much better than a normal breakfast burrito.

Tomato, onion, cream cheese, and avocado. Lightly toasted bread. The lady behind the counter in the cafeteria didn’t even have to ask anymore.

Those moments more often than not, also included times where he couldn’t tell her everything right then and there. Preoccupied with whatever it was troubling him.

But she lived with it. Even if that meant talking to her best friend and the guy she had been in love with since she was thirteen like he was half way there. And feeling inadequate for the periods of time it lasted.

It’s not good for her, she knew that.

But it’s him. She knew him. Behind all of that brooding and mystique, he was just as much of a person with personal problems as everyone else. So, she could live with it. However long it took until he was comfortable with opening up – with as much enthusiasm her attention loving heart could pump through her veins.

“Here, take my hoodie,” Xavier offered, shaking the thick cotton off of his shoulders as he closed the door to the shed behind them, “I didn't notice how much you were shivering until now.”

“Then won’t you be cold?”

“I’m used to the chill. Take it, I need to look for something really quick.”

“What is it? Maybe I can help,” she smiled as she took the jacket out of his hands, taking a step to turn around and replace her jumbo sized cardigan for it instead.

It smelled comforting, like vanilla and shea, the vanilla she knew for a fact came from his shampoo and the shea probably from her own hair product.

“No, you can’t,” he rushed, averting his eyes as she quickly turned around, the sweater just half way on, “Um, it’s a gift. . . sort of, just look around and I’ll tell you when to close your eyes.”

“Okay,” she sang, a little unsure with his tone, pulling the rest of it down as he walked to a pile of papers on the counters lining the left wall.

She took just a second to watch him walk away, the muscles of his back moving together so nicely as he searched for whatever he was searching for. He could hunt forever for whatever, honestly. Maybe even get a canvas to capture his own back profile if that was possible. She knew she’d pay a commission.

Taking a deep breath, she shook her head, snapping out of whatever trance he had unknowingly put her in.

It looked just like his dorm, his side of it at least.

From ceiling to floor, he had pieces scattered all over. They were all so beautiful, she hadn’t realized he’d made things outside of black and white. They all stood out against the dark wood of the shed, pink, greens, reds, yellows, all shining bright from the artworks.

Faceless people reaching out to each other, hearts molding together, beautiful depiction of nighttime from a view that seemed familiar, peonies, cornations, and orchids all in the same bouquet. Dozens of swans in a pond under the stars, but only two stood out amongst them. Everything was of the same genre, as though it was. . . love that had been troubling him.

She scanned the room five more times, from the paint brushes, and the smocks, the mason jars of water, and the canvases uncompleted. Up and down, left to right, three-dimensionally if that was even possible. It was a wonder how a mere shed could somehow contain all of Xavier Thorpe’s life, heart, and soul.

She made sure to shy away from the whole romance thing, or at least she made the conversation never lead there. To keep your feelings in tact. But this, this was different. This wasn’t just him calling Bianca pretty in ninth grade, this was —

Had he fallen in love with someone else? She couldn’t even accuse him of that, it wasn’t like she was ever in the running of someone he was in love with. But was she the reason he’d been so preoccupied? Because his best friend wouldn’t let him talk about the person who was taking up his mind?

She focused on one in particular, a canvas bigger than all the others and some paint still wet.

Moonlight was painted from the sky, the moon was more of a rose if you looked at the highlights, a white rose. And her head was turned to it, she had the type of beauty where you didn’t even need to see her face — the essence of her was just enough.

Just like all the other things she was featured in.

Who even was she?

“Do you like it?” He asked from behind her with a grin, a box wrapped with a pretty ribbon held in his hands, “I’ve been working on it for a little bit but it was too hard to get the face completely right. . . I guess I needed to see it up close again.”

“So is this where you bring all of your girls?” She asked shortly, a little shake in her voice as she didn’t bother to look up at his green eyes she could feel staring a hole into her.

“All of my girls?” He questioned, a slight offense in his voice, “Come on, [ your name ].”

“I mean, just look at all of this, obviously there’s some girl who provoked all of this and you haven’t felt comfortable telling me about her.”

Some girl, was an understatement. For weeks since they’d gone to the dance together, it became harder and harder for him to keep his feelings about her just tucked to the bottom of his heart. But it was something about moonlight, the way it bounced off of the white crystals of her dress and reflected right to her eyes.

Beauty was an understatement for [ your name ], and to attempt to get it all out had presented itself as more difficult than he thought. She’d been the subject of his drawings before but drawing it, dreaming of her was something different this time.

Like he could feel something clawing its way out the heart valve he’d pushed it down into.

Day in and day out, he sketched sharp and soft, attempting to get all that was on his mind out of his head and onto some paper. Push back the thoughts of his friend, his dearest, loveliest, most enchanting friend.

Was she even interested in him? Was he mistaking a healthy friendship with someone who made him happier than ever, for something romantic? Was he one of those guys who did that? Had he been ignoring her for the last month?

He figured he had, judging by the sad puppy dog eyes that would settle on her soft features when he’d finally look up at her. So, he finally took Rowan’s words of encouragement and manned up about it. He even used an extra amount of the shea butter lotion she gifted him after he complained about how dry his skin was.

He never knew how her skin was so soft but apparently, lotioning straight out of the shower was a part of a lot of people’s normal routine.

A walk through the woods surrounding Nevermore, just when the sun started to rest. A note he left by her room door. So, they met with music and some snacks tucked away in her tote bag.

It made for an easy way to get out of actually doing it if he inevitably chickened out, and a way to make it up to her nonetheless.

And now, somehow, with everything surrounding them, she was just as clueless as he was.

“You don’t have to lie Xavier. There’s literally fifteen, probably more actually, drawings here that have her as the center of attention. You shouldn’t have to feel like you in order to protect my feelings you have to hide yours.”

He stayed quiet, confused. But then he smiled.

“Protect your feelings?”

She sighed, feeling a little defeated, “I’m so sorry,” she groaned, hiding her face in her hands.

“You just brought me to this beautiful makeshift art shed, like literally with neon letters saying how much you love whatever girl this is — and I’m telling you that I love you.”

“I brought you here, because I wanted to apologize for how I’ve been acting. And share this place with you because you mean a lot to me. Not to, rub yourself in your face,” he clarified, letting go of a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“What?” Her voice was small as her eyebrows furrowed beneath the cracks of her fingers.

“I’m really, really sorry that I’ve been ignoring you these past few weeks [ your name ].”

He sat down the gift and wiggled her wrists until she gave up resistance. Slowly, he lifted her head back up to look her in the eyes.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you and me deciding if I wanted to show you all of this doesn’t excuse me being a dick. I treated you like a second thought. And I’m sorry. And this isn’t the first time I’ve done this, yeah?”

She hummed.

“Well, this is me promising to not close you off about things anymore. If I can’t tell you right then and there, I’ll let you know — I won’t just leave you in the dark.”

“So what are you saying Xavier?” She asked with a small smirk, voice leveling out.

“Well I’m confessing my love to you for one, and also saying that doing that shouldn’t start with you feeling like I’m ever gonna treat you like that — ever. And it’s not fair that I’ve been doing that.”

He redirected their attention to the painting that had started it all.

“This painting was after the rave’n when you needed to take a break outside. You said that it was too bright, and took off your corsage to hold it up to the moon. It’s been on my mind for weeks,” he breathed, a weight on his chest lifting as her smile grew and grew at his explanation.

He took both of her soft hands in his, not sure which of theirs was responsible for the clamminess.

“I’m telling you that ‘this girl’ is you. You’re my only girl [ your name ].”

“Oh. Wow. Oh my gosh,” she laughed, her face warm and burning as she hid it in his chest, “I’ve never been so jealous of myself before.”

“I think you were on the verge of crying.”

“A little, yeah.”

“But apology accepted. As long as you can acknowledge your acting like a dick and work on not being so dickish, it makes me happy and means a lot that you’re working to do better.”

He bit the inside of his check nervously, giving her a look of ‘what’s next’?

“I’m gonna need you to actually ask me Xavier,” she whisper teased, stepping so close that their heartbeats could sync together.

“Will you. Let me be your boyfriend. [ first name ] [ last name ]?”

His face dropped as she grimaced, “Oh I don’t know Thorpe, I’d have to check with the others. I’m a very popular lady this year, busy schedule, full happy planner— ”

He cut her off with an abrupt kiss, just wanting to close that painful space. But slow, and innocent in nature — hesitant as he chose where he wanted to go.

With such tenderness, he enveloped her top lip, consuming the crisp taste of a strawberry wafer in her mouth and from his, the three cuties he'd just stressed eaten on the way. They waited there for a moment or three, before breathing into each other's mouths.

They shared light smiles on each other's lips before she leaned in for a second.

“Are you free now?”

a continuation is being written ( headcanon form ) where he gives her the gift :)

thank you for reading, every like and reblog is appreciated 🌷 !

#— xavier thorpe.#xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe x y/n #xavier thorpe x you #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe oneshot #xavier thorpe blurb #xavier thorpe x fem!reader #xavier thorpe angst

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