#and alex's stupid little touch to henry's ear

[yrsonpurpose]

We can walk through Austin holding hands, and it won't even matter if anyone sees us. I can take you around to all the places I grew up, and you can get to understand my life a little more. I've never felt this way about anyone. It's like there's a rope attached to my chest and it keeps pulling me towards you. And it feels so right.

#rwrb #rwrbedit #red white and royal blue #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #firstprince #usernuria #usersteen #usermaloune #uservik #userveronika #chrissiewatts #mine* #we lowkey ignore what happens next #but there so much affection in this scene that i never even noticed the first couple of times around #the hands. god. the hands #and alex's stupid little touch to henry's ear

[abraxos-is-toothless]

Ok ok, I have a couple BUT can I pleeeeeease get, andreil snuggles and cuddles + playful fluff Secondly, henry and alex snuggles and cuddles + playful fluff I WILL LOVE YOU EVEN MORE ❤❤❤

AHHH so, I saw this and my mind just went here and so this is set between my Late Nights fic and I love you, I love you, I love you. You’ll see<3 (Your Alex and Henry cuddles are coming Abi, promise!)

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Andrew was trying, so fucking hard, to not let his stomach muscles tense up. He and Neil were on the sofa, Andrew tucked into the arm with Neil pressed up against his other side, the redhead’s fingers underneath his shirt. His partner was currently tracing idle patterns on his stomach, occasionally just letting his whole hand rest over the little bit of chub there and sighing contentedly. Andrew very rarely told Neil ‘no’ to doing it, unless it was one of his really bad days, because although he hated to admit it, he loved feeling the soft and gentle touches. Be that as it may, he still found himself feeling a little unconscious of his stomach sometimes, despite the fact that Neil loved it, always seemed to find a way to get his hand there. Just like now.

Neil kept trying to tuck his head in closer and closer to Andrew’s neck, rubbing his nose against the skin, sending shivers down his spine. Andrew knew what the other man was after; he always knew when it came to Neil. “Is there something you want, sweetheart?” The hand on his stomach froze, only for a second, before flattening out and pushing up to settle on his ribs.

“I’m tired ‘Drew.” Neil mumbled into his skin. Andrew simply rolled his eyes. He’d said it as if Andrew wasn’t already attuned to him in every way. He pushed himself forward, watching Neil’s brows furrow before pushing him to lie down against the back of the sofa, then lay down himself in front of him. Andrew pushed one arm underneath Neil’s waist to wrap around his back, then brought his free hand up to rub his fingers around the curve of his partner's ear, so, so gently. Neil had been restless lately he knew, was always a bit fidgety in the same way he had been when they’d first met, which scared Andrew a little. This was stupid really because his junkie wasn’t going to run anymore, they faced things together, so he was just patiently waiting for Neil to bring up whatever it was that was bothering him. Neil’s hands were now back under his shirt, one on his soft stomach again, the other on his hip, thumb caressing little circles into his skin.

He’d thought he’d finally got Neil to fall asleep from the tickles to his skin, if the way his ankles rubbed together were any indication, but his partner let out a little sigh before he said a little hesitantly, “Andrew?” Well, that certainly worried him. Neil never actually used anything other than ‘Drew’ now, unless he was being serious or telling Andrew off for being mean to the cats. He definitely wasn’t being mean to the little pests right now.

“What is it?” He asked, pushing Neil’s hair off of his forehead, watching them fall back instantly. Neil chewed on his bottom lip for a minute before Andrew pulled it out from between his teeth.

“I was just wondering...”

Andrew said nothing as he trailed off, letting the redhead gather his thoughts.

“I was just wondering, how do you feel about kids?” Now this, this was unexpected.

“Kids?” He whispered it softly, not wanting to say anything else, just in case Neil started to think the worst. The hand that was on Andrew’s hip stopped moving and squeezed gently, just once, as if Neil was steeling himself to carry on.

“Yeah. I’ve thought about it a lot lately, but I didn’t know how to bring it up. I see you with the others’ kids and sometimes, I always find myself imagining what it would be like to have that with you, to have our own.” Neil’s blue eyes dropped down, not looking at him anymore, and he was now playing with an exposed thread on the hem of his shirt. Andrew let his fingers curve around Neil’s chin, tipping his head back up so they were looking at each other once more.

“I’ve thought about it too, Abram.”

“You have?”

“Of course I have, I was a foster kid Neil, my whole life has been dreaming of a family, a thing I never thought I could have.” Neil pulled him in closer, wrapping both arms around his waist and tangling their legs together. Andrew’s arms moved to do the same, pressing their foreheads together and breathing his next words against his partner’s lips. “And then you had the audacity to walk into my life,” a giggle from Neil at that, “and turned everything I believed in upside down. I hated you, I still do sometimes, because you were the one thing, the one thing that had the power to break me if you chose to. And I would have let you, just like now, if you decided that I wasn’t what you wanted anymore. I’d let you go.”

Neil was crying, tears falling onto both his own cheeks and Andrew’s, his hands coming up to hold his face, placing kiss after kiss, all over. “I’m not leaving you Andrew, I could never leave you. I used to believe I was nothing, you’d even agreed to that, but then I realised,” he rubbed their noses together as his fingers threaded through blonde locks, “I realised that I’m nothing without you. You’re everything Andrew. And I would love to start a family with you, if that’s what you want.”

Andrew laughed lightly, eyes roaming Neil’s face as his hands slipped under his shirt, finger tips trailing over scars and soft skin, finding that one freckle he loved so much on Neil’s shoulder. “You are a goddamn idiot. Of course I want that, how could you think I wouldn’t?”

“Because I need things spelled out for me, remember?”

Both of them laughed at that, because yes, sometimes Neil was quite oblivious to things, and there were times where Andrew had to his utter disbelief, explain something out for Neil to actually catch onto what was being discussed. After they ahd calmed down, the two of them settled into one another’s warmth, something that was comforting and just felt so fucking right, Andrew never wanted to be anywhere else.

They spent forever like that, just holding and touching and feeling. There were kisses shared, hands mapping out expanses of skin until Neil’s settled back on the softest part of Andrew, just as he knew they would. Eventually, Andrew went back to running his fingers around the curve of Neil’s ear, listening until his breathing slowed and ankles rubbed together again. Just before Andrew let himself drift, joining Neil in dreams and peace, there were words whispered against the skin of his cheek.

“We’re having a baby.”

There was so much joy in them, so much wonder that he didn’t want Neil to go without hearing Andrew’s reply, the joy he too felt at their latest decision in life.

“Yeah Abram, we’re having a baby.”

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It’s short I know, but I really hope you liked this one<333

Tags: @incorrect-the-foxhole-court @junkiejosten10 @oreosndscones @koholania @skunked-up-kicks @shutuptheooo @hannahoftheinternet @palmettofoxesthings @jostenlovesminyard @fangirl0503 @stop-breathing-its-annoying @incorrect-the-foxhole-court @intoomanyfandomsstuff @imstupidremember @fancyclodpaintercookie​ @heccccccccc @prettyboysareindemand @acetheticbitchass @meatiors @princeofexy​ @emilyfairchild @kmskms123kms  @yourtypicalbookworn @sadboyayeron @b00kworm  @booksandbeanbags @aftghasruinedme​ @nightphans @of-stars-and-moon

#neil josten #andrew minyard #neil x andrew #neil and andrew #andreil #andreil fluff #aftg #all for the game #all for the gay #aftg fic #the foxhole court #the raven king #the kings men #ignoring canon #andrew has a lil bit of chub #andrew minyard deserves to heal #andrew is soft #neil is soft #love my soft boys #fanfic #fanfiction #my fic #my writing #haz writes

[bibliothesoph]

How about a first prince flower shop AU? Alex and Henry own flower shops on the same street and have a competition on whose shop is the best.

the war of the roses

Alex knows that he’s hot––he uses it to his advantage. If there’s a hot guy or girl that walks in, all he has to do is bat his eyes and, like magic, they buy something. Sometimes, if they’re especially beautiful, he gives them a free flower––usually a white camellia if he’s got them in stock. It does wonders for the business, really, so June never says anything about the free flowers. They’ve got a good system going, the two of them. He’s the face of the shop. He greets customers, answers any questions they might have, and checks them out (both literally and metaphorically). June’s the one who usually does the arrangements because she’s better with the whole color thing, but Alex is the one who knows the meaning of each flower like the back of his hand. When they do specials for what they like to call “The Power of the Flower,” he picks out the flowers with the important meanings and June decides which ones actually look good together.

Since it’s the first few weeks of summer, one of their “The Power of the Flower” specials is happening right now as a way to welcome in the new season and the warmth and happiness that comes with it. Usually, in the summertime, most of the arrangements they get are for happier feelings like love or excitement or, on occasion, a proposal. They get a few requests for some really great “fuck you” arrangements that Alex always enjoys because of the irony––why send flowers, even mean ones, to someone you supposedly hate? The idea is ridiculous and he loves it.

Historically, they’ve been the only flower shop in this area. It’s a hipster sort of place and, since all of their flowers are pretty local and sustainably farmed or whatever, people flock here to get succulents and arrangements. They’ve made bank here for the past three years until The Incident, that is.

Alex refuses to actually say the name of it out loud because it makes his blood boil. That fucking blond-haired dude and his friend (well, the friend seems okay) and their fucking flower shop. Like, when someone opens up a business, Alex thinks they should probably scope out the area first to make sure there aren’t any competitors in the area or something. That seems like the smart thing to do. But this bastard with blue eyes and a perfect fucking smile came in and set up shop directly across the street from his own flower shop. And he knows that the Green House has loyal customers like Ted and Ginger and Simon. And he knows that they’ve been here longer and therefore are generally the first place to pop into people’s minds when they want flowers, but since the other store is directly across the street, it steals customers away sometimes.

Like today, for example.

And the worst part is that Alex can see that smug bastard’s pretty face while he’s stabbing Alex in the fucking back. Whenever Alex looks out the window to see how things are going across the street, the blond guy is always there with an evil, smug smile and a sarcastic wave. Like this is all some fucking joke to him.

Well, Alex isn’t having it anymore. Not during The Power of the Flower time.

“June,” he groans from the front desk. The place is empty, save for the two of them.

She pops her head out from the back area where she makes the arrangements. “Please don’t tell me you’re staring at Henry again.”

His face contorts. “Who the fuck is Henry?”

She rolls her eyes and comes over to him, wrapping her arms around him to calm him. “The guy from the V&A. The one you keep staring at.”

Alex huffs. “He started it. Anyway, we need a plan of attack. He’s stealing our customers!”

“He’s not––”

“He’s stealing them, June. Along with my fucking sanity.”

June sighs and looks out the window, waving at Henry. “He seems perfectly nice. I know his partner, Pez, is a nice guy. I walked in a––”

Alex gasps in horror. “You went in? Judas!”

“I just went in to see how they were running things,” June explains. “And they serve tea, you know. They make it themselves.”

Alex growls and slams his fist against the counter. “Unbelievable. Well, that fucking settles it.”

He stomps off and into the backroom to collect his thoughts with June close at his heels.

“What are you doing?”

“Figuring out a plan of attack,” he explains, pulling out a pen and paper. “We need to up our game, Bug. We can’t let them win.”

“It’s not a competition!”

“It is now.”

He decides to bravely and calmly storm across the street to check out the competition, just to see what they have going on. As soon as he opens the door, a bell rings to announce his entrance. When he steps into the place with steam practically coming out of his ears, a guy that is not the blond one––so Pez, probably––greets him with a smile. He’s wearing flowy pants and, more importantly, a fucking V&A shirt that looks hand-stitched. He’s even got little flowers painted on his cheeks and a flower crown on his head.

“Hi,” he beams at Alex. He’s British, it seems. “Welcome to the V&A! My name’s Pez, so just give me a shout if you need anything, okay, darling?”

Alex fights the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m not a customer, actually,” he huffs, folding his arms across his chest.

“Oh? Are you here for me then?” Pez asks, batting his eyes and smiling.

“I’m here to speak to the owner. Blond? Bland?”

Pez raises an eyebrow at him. “Henry?”

Alex rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. Can I talk to him please?”

“If the issue is that he never called you back, I––”

“He’s not a suitor, Pez,” another voice says from behind Alex. Alex turns and sees, in all his fucking glory, Henry. He’s wearing the same shirt Pez is wearing but neatly tucked into a pair of snug jeans. His hair looks fucking perfect somehow, and he’s carrying a tray of what looks like baked goods. “In fact, I think he might think us enemies.”

“No shit,” Alex huffs. “You’re stealing my customers!”

Henry rolls his eyes but he’s smiling like this is all hilarious. “Oh, am I?”

Alex is fucking fuming. “Yeah! You knew we were right across the street. Literally. I can actually fucking see your smug face when I’m working and I hate it.”

Henry sighs and moves past him.

Their shoulders knock together.

Alex follows Henry and watches as he sets the tray down on the old, wooden counter. He starts taking the treats off the tray and carefully moves them to some sort of ornate platter.

“You serve food now, too?” Alex asks.

“Not always,” Henry explains, “only when I bake. I feel that it adds a special something to the experience, you know?”

Alex is practically seething. “Okay, well, I just wanted to come over here to say fuck you, fuck your stupid store, and fuck your fucking pastries.”

Henry raises his fucking perfectly manicured eyebrows in surprise. “I hardly think that seems appropriate. We’re not enemies, Alex. We just both happen to own stores on the same street.”

Alex shakes his head so violently that it hurts a little bit. “No, no, no. You opened this store up directly across the street from mine. And you made it the exact same kind of store. What the fuck is wrong with you? Seriously, man? It’s not cool. Okay, also, how the fuck did you know my name?”

Henry has the fucking audacity to touch Alex’s chest. Alex opens his mouth to say something but Henry beats him to it.

“Nametag,” he says with a smug smile. Alex looks down and sees that, sure enough, Henry is poking the name tag on his apron.

Alex slaps Henry’s hand away. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? Coming here, doing your fucking––whatever the fuck you’re doing––and messing with my business? I’ll make you regret you ever touched a flower, okay?”

Before Henry has the chance to respond, Alex stomps out of the shop. In his rage, he fumbles to get the door open. Pez helps him out and opens it for him so he can continue to rage-stomp out of the stupid fucking shop and away from Henry’s stupid fucking face.

So Alex does what he does best: he makes a list.

Things the V&A does that we don’t do:

1. Tea (fucking homemade tea. Those fuckers)

2. Flowers based on your personality

3. Free baked goods for some fucking reason

4. Terrariums

He wonders, vacantly, if they’re even a real fucking flower shop. With the amount of random drinks and foods that seem to float through their shop, Alex thinks they might be more of a fucking general store or café. But, since he’s determined to beat them, he’ll play along. He can’t bake for shit, but he gets the fixings for coffee––including fucking organic flavor syrup. June helps him set up some little spiritual packages––little kits including crystals and special plants for different purposes. He’ll be damned if he lets the people from across the street steal their customers.

A day after they implement the little spiritual kits, he finds a package outside the door as he’s coming in for the day. Curious, he picks it up and takes it inside. They never get packages here––only deliveries from farmers who come in and make the drop off in person. He takes it inside and places it on the desk, staring at it for a moment before he decides that, even though the only thing written on it is his name, he’s going to open it.

Inside is a collection of assorted items. There are some pink scones, some packages of loose leaf tea, and a bundle of chamomiles. The chamomiles are really what set Alex off and make him know exactly who fucking gave this to him.

Chamomiles. Patience in adversity.

Alex is going to kill him.

He stomps into the V&A for the second time and marches right up to Henry who’s behind the desk, seemingly setting the register up for the day.

Henry looks surprised to see him which only makes Alex even more pissed off. “We’re not open yet,” Henry tells him, sounding bored. “But we’ll be open in thirty minutes if you’d like to come back then.”

Alex slams his fist onto the counter. In his hand is a bouquet of assorted flowers––crab blossoms, petunias, red dahlias, and rhododendrons. The bouquet is, most simply, an “I hate you” and “go fuck yourself” arrangement. The colors might not work well together, but Alex is so beyond caring at this point.

Henry eyes the flowers for a moment, probably trying to recognize and place them each in his mind. For some reason, the angry flowers make him smile. “Are these for me?”

“Obviously,” Alex huffs, releasing his hold of them and taking a step back.

Henry picks them up and looks at them for a moment. “And you made this?”

Alex nods, not really sure what’s going on here.

Henry sighs. “Well, if you’d ever like lessons on how to make a proper arrangement, please let me know.”

Alex glares at him. His heart feels like it’s thumping in his fucking ears. “What.”

“We offer workshops, you know. We get some nice wine and teach people how to put flowers together properly. Given what I see here, you lack the proper eye for this sort of thing. While I understand the intent, I have to say that I’m a bit disappointed with the execution of it. Since you own your own shop, I would have expected something…better, I suppose. It’s no wonder you think we’re stealing your customers––they must just be appalled by your work.”

Alex grits his teeth and gets close to Henry, staring him down. “Go fuck yourself,” he seethes.

He rushes out again, furious. He needs a better plan––something that will make this all go away. He needs a plan that will make Henry run for the fucking hills.

June helps him make it, though she seems hesitant. It takes about a day of looking through flower meanings and consulting with June to get it done, but when it’s done, it’s fucking perfect. It’s a large, obnoxious arrangement filled with hate flowers and plants that he hopes will make Henry really get the message. It’s beautiful but vile and Alex has never been more satisfied with his work. He leaves the arrangement outside the doors of the V&A before he goes home for the day, excited to see what Henry’s reaction will be the next morning.

When he’s on his way to work the next morning––running a bit late––he gets a call from June. He picks up, hoping it’s not something bad. He might slap himself if he forgot to lock up again.

“You took it too far,” she tells him.

He stops walking. “What?”

It sounds almost like she’s crying. Or, at least, someone’s crying. “The thing with Henry,” she explains. “I get the arrangement, okay? It’s all in good fun. But doing that to his store…”

“I literally have no idea what you’re talking about,” Alex says truthfully.

He rounds the corner onto the street where his shop is and sees it almost immediately. Out front is his arrangement, right where he left it, but it’s surrounded by broken glass. The sign for Henry’s shop has been painted over in slurs. What looks like a rock or a brick has been thrown through the window. He can’t stop staring at it––staring at the terrible words that someone’s written about Henry on the sign. He hangs up on June and rushes inside the Green House, finding Henry and Pez there, too. It looks like June has given them both blankets and some of that tea they sent over a few days ago. And they do not look happy to see Alex.

“Alex,” June says, pulling him aside as soon as he enters, “why would you do that?”

“Bug, I swear,” he says, “it wasn’t me, okay? I––I would never write that kind of stuff, you know that. I didn’t even know he was gay.”

She sighs and rubs her eyes. “Look, they think you’re the one that did it. You shouldn’t be here, okay? Even if it’s not your fault, I don’t think it’s a good idea. Just…go home, okay?”

The look she shoots him seems final so Alex leaves. He doesn’t want to make this any worse for Henry but…he feels terrible. Even though he’s not the one that did it, he still feels like shit about it. So he doesn’t sleep that night, instead, he's trying to figure out what he can do to help.

He doesn’t know why he’s so worried about Henry. It makes no sense for him to be this upset about Henry because, as he’s told Henry to his face, he hates him. He hates Henry’s stupid face and his hair and his fucking cute shop. Maybe what he hates most, though, is that he can’t stop fucking thinking about him. It’s ridiculous how much Henry has filled his mind lately. Henry, even as an enemy, is all he’s been able to think about since this whole thing started. And it’s driving him insane and he feels like he’s drowning because Henry’s upset and there’s not a single fucking thing he can do about it.

But he can try.

When he comes in the next morning, Henry is still there. He’s sitting in the backroom and looking blankly at the wall like there’s something really interesting there. Alex sighs and sits down next to him. Henry visibly stiffens.

“Hey,” Alex says.

Henry scoffs. “‘Hey?’ Is that all you have to say to me?”

Nervous, Alex fiddles with his fingers. “No. I mean…I don’t even know what to say."

“I think you’ve said enough,” Henry says. “I wasn’t trying to steal your customers and, even if I was and even if you hated me for it, that’s no reason for you to…you wrote awful things. Vile things, Alex. Things that no one should ever have to hear.”

“I didn’t do that to your shop,” Alex explains. “I swear. But I’m still sorry. And I…for what it’s worth, I don’t hate you at all.”

This makes Henry look over at him, obviously confused. “I thought––”

“Yeah,” Alex chuckles. “Me too, honestly. But I––you can hate me forever if you want. And I’m really fucking sorry that happened to your store because you don’t deserve it, but I want to help.”

He pulls an envelope out of his pocket. Henry takes it with shaking hands and opens it to reveal, first, a white tulip, then a wad of cash. “Alex…”

“The white tulip means new beginnings,” Alex explains, just in case Henry doesn’t already know. “And the money is for whatever you want. Awning, a window, whatever.”

“Love,” Henry whispers.

Alex raises an eyebrow. “What?”

Henry looks over at him with big red eyes. “The white tulip,” he says, swallowing a lump in his throat, “also means love. It’s…it’s romantic.”

Alex feels his face turn bright red. He rubs the back of his neck. “Like I said,” he whispers, staring into Henry’s eyes. “I don’t hate you.”

Henry’s lips tug up in the corners for a moment before he moves forward, closing the distance between them. Henry’s lips are soft on his own and Alex can’t help but melt into it. His hands instantly find their way to Henry’s hair which is softer than he imagined it to be. Henry’s free hand wraps around Alex’s waist, pulling him closer as he deepens the kiss. The whole thing is making Alex feel like he’s being set on fire in the best way possible.

They pull back for a moment, staring at each other. Alex takes Henry’s face in his hands, rubbing his jaw with the pad of his thumb. “I’m sorry about your store.”

“It’s alright. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know but…we’ll fix it, okay? Together.”

Henry stares at him for a moment, those blue eyes making Alex’s body tingle. “You mean that?”

Alex nods and kisses him quickly again. “‘Course I do. I know we made good enemies but I’ve got a feeling that we’ll make even better partners.”

A week later, Henry’s store is fixed and in full swing again. On his way to work, Alex stops by just to see how Henry’s doing. When he walks in, Henry puts down the arrangement he’s working on and rushes over, wrapping his arms around Alex and kissing him.

“Good morning, love,” Henry beams in the small space between their lips.

Alex smiles and kisses him again. “Morning, handsome. How goes the store?”

“Fantastic, actually. We’re getting more customers than ever, thanks to you.”

Alex rolls his eyes and shoves him playfully. “It’s not all because of me,” he argues. “I think you underestimate the power of your pretty face.”

Henry smiles again and kisses him once more.

The two stores may still be across the street from each other, but you’d have no idea they were once owned by two sets of different people. Marking the space between them is a road of chalk-drawn flowers, inviting you to step inside either one. If you go into the Green House, you’ll find flowers for every occasion and a variety of healing crystals and succulents. If you go into the V&A, you’ll find sweet treats, delicious beverages, and, their newest edition, little dogs made of wire and covered in flowers available for purchase.

Even though two of the owners, the blond one and the short one with a mess of curls, work in different shops, you can see the way they look at each other through the glass––lovesick smiles on both of their faces.

Yeah, Alex thinks he might ask June if he can switch with Pez soon.

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #prince henry of wales #henry fox mountchristen windsor #flower shop au #au #fan fic #cute

[tulipsandtesseracts]

Day 9: Storm (Carry On Series, Snowbaz)

Dec 1: Cozy (Carry On Series, Snowbaz) Dec 2: Ribbon (Carry On Series, Snowbaz) Dec 3: Red (Red White & Royal Blue, Alex x Henry) Dec 4: Light (Frozen, Elsa and Anna) Dec 5: Mistletoe (Carry On Series, Snowbaz) Dec 6: Icicle (Red White & Royal Blue, Alex x Henry) Dec 7: Warmth (Carry On Series, Snowbaz) Day 8: Comfort (Stargate SG-1, Cassie and Teal’c)

I am a bit behind. Just pretend it is still December 9. (Also, 100%: I posted a tiny Stargate ficlet and had to go freak out a little bit.) This is not the fic I meant to write, but Baz would not cooperate when I just wanted him to magic up a stupid snowstorm? So instead there is this which is more post-Wayward Son found family stuffs.

Day 9: Storm (Carry On Series, Snowbaz)

I’d planned to have a peaceful afternoon catching up on some reading before Simon got home from his shift at his new job. And it had started that way, before Fiona called, and Mordelia texted, and Bunce needed to verbally process her plans for the rest of her life prior to leaving the flat for the evening.

Simon should be home any minute now. He’ll be tired after handling customers all day, though, so I probably have another hour or so to read while he watches some show or other to decompress.

I continue to labor under this illusion right up until Snow bursts through the door of the flat, storms across the living room, and throws himself onto the couch with such force that I can feel the bounce of it from the opposite end. I glance up from my book and make note of his red face and his disordered hair, which is pointing in several different directions at once in a way it only does when someone’s been tugging their hands through the curls.

Since I’ve been sitting here reading for the last hour, I can only assume Simon’s turned his hair into a bird’s nest himself.

From the far end of the couch, he cocks an eyebrow in an aggressive way that I often regret teaching him. I shrug in response and return to my book. “Lovely day at work, I take it,” I say, keeping his voice level. Casual. Bored.

Simon snorts. “The shop was fine,” he says.

“Hmm,” I reply, turning to the next page. “Holiday rush?”

“Not much yet.”

I nod. “Bunce said to tell you she’ll be at the library this evening, and you’re to do the dishes.”

Simon lets out a sound that falls somewhere between a groan and a shout.

“It’s just the dishes, Snow.”

“Cut it out, Baz. You don’t have to coddle me.”

Direct questions rarely yield useful information when Snow’s in a mood like this. I know it. Simon knows it. Simon knows I know it. There’s a great deal of knowing it’s true and very little to be done about it. Usually the roundabout path is the better one, but it seems Simon’s not in the mood for it tonight.

“All right, then.” This was definitely not the evening I expected, but then again, things rarely are when Snow’s involved. I set my book down on the coffee table. “What’s got into you, exactly? If we were back at Watford, you’d have smoke coming out of your ears, and I’d be worried you were about to burn the tower down.”

“Lady Salisbury stopped in at the shop.”

Ah. That would explain the mood - the long-lost and newly-devoted grandmother. (And hadn’t that been a shock to everyone concerned when it had come to light this fall?) “She probably came in person because you never answer your phone. Which, as your boyfriend, I can assure you is quite annoying.”

Simon kicks the table leg. “You’re quite annoying.”

“My life-long goal.” I pause, then try again. “I assume she wasn’t just calling in to say hello.”

Snow drags his fingers through his hair, and yes, that’s definitely why it looks the way it does right now. “She wants me to come visit on Saturday,” he says at last. “Said she’s ‘having a few friends in for dinner.’ And my uncle.”

“And?”

“And what?” He kicks at the table leg again, but it’s softer this time. “I couldn’t very well tell her no to her face, could I?”

To be honest, I’m surprised he didn’t. “Not without becoming the main gossip at the club,” I say, considering. “Magickal society loves a good family rift.”

“The club,” he scoffs. “Last summer they’d all but forgotten I exist. Except your parents, who we both know wish they could. But I’m a Salisbury now, so suddenly everybody cares?”

I don’t say anything to that. He’s not wrong, but we’ve been round and round this track before. It doesn’t go anywhere.

“And how is it a rift when I was never really family in the first place?” he goes on, still properly worked up.

“Don’t coddle you?” I ask. “Are you sure about that?”

He makes a face and then shrugs. “That’s what I said.”

I sigh, then I scoot down the couch to sit closer to him. “Simon, you avoid her, you don’t take her calls, and when Dr. Wellbelove first introduced you, you ran out of the room like you had goblins to slay.”

“Slaying goblins was easier. I don’t even know how to have a family.”

He’s still grumpy. But when he moves, it’s to close the rest of the gap between us, pressing his shoulder up against mine.

It’s a miracle we are having this conversation, I remind myself. That he’s not just in his bedroom lying down with the curtains drawn, or sitting here next to me, not touching, not talking, not living. The fact that he’s not yet noticed he’s been here with Bunce and myself these last few years, having the best approximation of a functioning family we can give him, is best left for another day.

“You smile at the ones you hate,” I say instead, “and make fun of the ones you like. It’s not that difficult.”

“I don’t think normal people do family like you and your aunt.”

I wave a hand. “Well, you can run around tripping over each other and trying to steal the best books for yourself, if you want to use the Bunce model.”

“Not for books,” he says. “Maybe if it were scones instead.”

“I’ll fight Bunce for the books, then.” I tap my foot against his. “If she were here, she’d say something optimistic. That Lady Salisbury means well, or some rot like that.”

“Except she’d say it while telling me what to wear and which fork to eat with.”

I can’t help myself. “See, you do know what it’s like to have a family.”

He smiles, just a bit. “Penny’s not here. What do you say?”

“Lady Salisbury means well.”

“Baz.”

“It’s a nice house,” I offer. “No wraiths, so it’s better than visiting my parents.”

“Also, she actually wants me there.”

“Also that.” I lay my hand on his leg, palm up, and wait for him to take it. “Go see your grandmother,” I say when he does. “If it’s miserable we’ll go to the pub when you get home. If it’s not, you can take me for baked goods in the morning. You win either way.”

He nods, then leans sideways to look out the window. “Maybe we’ll get snowed in.” He frowns as though he can manifest snowflakes himself. He turns back to me. “Can we get snowed in?”

“The forecast is clear as a bell through next week, sadly.”

He squeezes my hand. “You have a magic wand!”

“Weather magic’s dangerous, Simon,” I say in my best Penelope Bunce voice.

He cracks up laughing, his morose mood gone just like that.

I’ll never completely understand, but I don’t really care. I’m just glad to see his smile.

“I’m hungry,” he says, when he’s calmed down again.

“You’re always hungry.”

“It’s your fault for talking about pastries. Did Penny really say the thing about the dishes?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, Snow.”

“Will you help?”

I shove his leg with my foot before sliding back to the other end of the couch and retrieving my book. “Go do your chores, Chosen One. Then we’ll find you dinner.”

“All right.” He gets up and heads for the kitchen. “I like that plan.”

So do I.

#carry on #carry on fic #snowbaz #snowbaz fic #simon snow #baz pitch #found family #advent calendar #ficlet #my fic #posts by me

[ghcsthouse]

afraid. (firstprince)

word count: 1,326

It’s a hot night in Kensington.

Henry has the fan blasting, oscillating around the room, a soft buzz flowing through. He’s always loved the sound of the fan. It sounds like the ocean. Happy. 

His back burns against the sheets, silently praying for them to magically turn to ice. 

Henry’s bedroom is dark, the only light flooding in from his open windows  and the new notification projecting bright light onto his ceiling. He curses at the loud buzz cutting off the lullaby of the fan. 

He rolls onto his stomach, groaning as the pressure shifts onto his bruised ribs. (He’d fallen off his horse that morning. Bea told him to see the doctor on staff, but he refused.)

Message:

Shaan

Mr. Claremont is here. Told him you were sleeping but he ran past. Calling security now

Henry curses, rubbing his eyes. What the fuck is Alex Claremont-Diaz doing in London at 3am? Shouldn’t he be back in DC, kissing some random girl in front of the paparazzi?

Message:

To Shaan

It’s all right. You can call off security.

He closes his phone, flipping onto his back and sighing, staring up at the black ceiling, waiting for Alex to crash into his room. He should probably put on some pants. 

When Alex throws open Henry’s door, he’s just finished putting on a pair of questionably clean fleece pants he’s found on the floor. 

Alex turns on the lights, slamming the heavy oak door behind him. Henry winces at the crash, knowing it probably echoed throughout the palace. 

“We need to talk,” Alex says, breathing hard as the tension between them thickens. 

“Have you just run up the stairs?” Henry asks, looking Alex up and down. 

“Shut up.” Alex steps closer to Henry. “We have to talk.”

Henry searches Alex’s face for any sense of emotion. He’s close enough to touch at this point, and Henry wants to kick himself. He’s so stupid for letting himself fall in love with someone who hates him so much. He finally tears his eyes away from Alex’s soft features.

“Right. Sit down then,” Henry sighs, clutching his ribs as he sits back down on his bed, trying to drown out whatever the hell it is that he’s feeling by focusing on the sound of the fan again. 

“I’ll stand.”

“Why’ve you come, Alex?” Henry asks, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. 

“We need to-“

“Yeah, we need to talk. About what?” 

“Us.” Alex says, and Henry snaps up to look at him. His heart is beating nearly out of his chest, and he can’t seem to calm it down. “Our contract.” Oh. Well... he should’ve known not to get his hopes up. 

“What about it, then?” Henry spits, cursing himself out on the inside for letting his feelings for Alex get in the way. 

“You need to do some work, too,” Alex seethes. “Post something, respond to my messages, act like you give a shit about this deal.”

Henry holds eye contact, staring into chocolate brown eyes. He wishes he could stare into them all the time. He wishes he could grab Alex by the back of the neck, pull him close and not have to listen to whatever aggression the first son fires at him. 

“Have you come here just to yell at me?” Henry asks. 

“No! I’ve come here to get you to do shit, to work for once in your life.” Alex hisses. “This isn’t just about you. This is about me, my mom, and your whole family. Pretend you care. If you’re gonna work for anything in life, make it this.”

“You’re saying I’ve never worked for anything?” Henry raises his voice, standing up and walking towards Alex.

“Yes!” Alex yells, and Henry doesn’t even worry about him waking other people up. His blood is boiling as he stares down at the shorter boy. “All you do, all day, is sit around in a fancy ass castle, ride horses, and eat gourmet food! You don’t do shit, Henry!”

“You’re not fucking worth it,” Henry spits. “We can just cancel the whole God forsaken thing. I don’t wanna be near you anymore. You can show yourself out, Alex.” Henry starts to walk back to his bed.

“What the fuck, Henry!” Alex shouts, grabbing Henry by the shoulder and spinning him around to face him. “You need to get your shit together. There’s no reason to not do this, you God damn coward!” He pushes Henry back once they’re close again. 

Henry stumbles and clutches his ribs. 

“Get. Out.” Henry seethes. “Get the fuck out!”

“No! Why can’t you do this? What the hell are you so scared of, Henry? Answer me!” Alex yells, shaking Henry from where he’s staggered backwards.

“You!” Henry shouts back, letting his legs collapse as he sits back down on the side of bed, not even daring to look at Alex. 

His ribs ache and he just wants to go back to sleep. But he can’t. 

“I’m afraid of you, Alex.” Henry’s voice lowers to a whisper, and muted footsteps against blood red carpet trail towards him, until Alex is sitting by his side. He can barely get the words out. “We... we had a moment... in the hospital, when we just had a nice conversation. For a moment we weren’t rivals... we weren’t anything except for two dumb millennials hiding in a storage cupboard.”

He finally glances to the side where Alex sits, his hair blocking the way partially. But from what he does see, Alex is staring at him, wide eyed and dumbfounded. 

“And when we got out you just...” Henry whispers, so faint that he’s not sure Alex can hear him anymore. He jams the heels of his hands into his eyes to prevent himself from crying. 

“You looked at me like you could love me. And- and I didn’t even want to let myself think that it was possible. Loving you was the worst choice I’ve ever made, and it scared the hell out of me. You scare the hell out of me, Alex. You really do.” Henry’s voice shakes. 

He feels a strand of hair get tucked behind his ear, and he looks over at Alex, and he is a sight to see.

Alex’s hair is messed up, and Henry knows it’s because Alex dragged his hands through it. He does that when he gets nervous. 

But most of all, there's a small, knowing smile resting on his face. Henry loves that smile. It’s not the one from the magazines or the paparazzi, it’s real. It’s Alex. 

“Henry...” Alex whispers, holding the princes jaw. “You shouldn’t be afraid of me.” 

Their eyes meet, blue and brown swirling together in perfect harmony. Alex brushes his thumb along Henry’s cheek, wiping away stray tears that managed to escape.  

Henry swears he must be crazy, because it seems like Alex is leaning in. 

“I don’t want to get my hopes up,” Henry whispers back. “I don’t want to trick myself into believing you could love me too.” His eyes fall to Alex’s lips. 

“Then don’t.”

His brain catches up to his body a second later, realizing that, yes, he is indeed kissing the FSOTUS. 

‘I’ve died.’ Henry thinks. ‘I’ve died and this is my final gift before leaving Earth. My Grandmother would be horrified.’

When they pull back, Henry’s heart is beating through his chest again. Alex puts his hand on Henry’s rib, trailing a finger down the bright purple mark. Henry’s body jolts on impulse a little. 

He presses their foreheads together. 

“What happened?” Alex finally asks. He hadn’t wanted to before. He didn’t want emotions to get in the way of what he had to say.

“Fell off a horse,” Henry laughs, bringing his hand up to trail down Alex’s jaw and to the back of the neck.

He’s been wanting to pull him close and kiss him since he walked in. 

So he does. 

Visit me on AO3!

 pxstelhansen

#red white and royal blue #rwarb #rwrb #alex claremont diaz #prince henry of wales #henry fox mountchristen windsor #firstprince #fanfiction #writing #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fanfic

[kingofdirtandnothing]

wemultitudinous asked: Return of the kiss meme

Kiss Meme: (Accepting) 3.  A kiss due to Spin the bottle/Truth or Dare

When John told his dad that he had a party to go to on Friday night, his dad had just patted him on the shoulder and told him to take an Uber instead of driving. And two hours later, John found condoms on his desk in his bedroom. 

Leave it to Henry Laurens to have the staff do the dirty work. 

Though John is pretty sure that his dad wouldn’t feel the same way if he knew that John wasn’t going to a party with the baseball team. Or even cute girls from the mall. He was going to a party that he was somehow invited to in the middle of a wall of words from the cute exchange student who he’d maybe, possibly been sneaking into the debate club to see on Friday afternoons. 

How could he say no to Alex? The guy was literally the best arguer that John had ever seen. He could be a professional debater. And John was just a dumb jock. A hell of a pitcher, but no one was going to get him a full ride into Yale on his academic merits. Thank fuck for a ninety six mile an hour fastball. 

So he’s here. Surrounded by a bunch of kids he’s never known more than passing at his private school. They were the scholarship kids, the inner city kids, the foreign exchange students. And honestly? Some of them were eyeing John like this was a set up. 

Not that he could blame them. But before he can get in his own head about it and bail, Alex is there. Bright and bouncing on his toes when he sees John. He slips a red plastic cup into John’s hand and takes him by the sleeve and pulls him into his conversation with the French exchange student. 

It’s kind of nice to pretend he doesn’t know what they’re rattling back and forth at each other, though he does have to listen a little harder around Alex’s accent and his mile-a-minute speech to get what he’s saying. 

John’s gotten good at playing dumb. 

It doesn’t hurt that it’s easy to be in Alex’s wake. To follow him while he talks and laughs and argues, to let himself get pulled into conversations at random. Alex was A Lot, but he was A Lot in the best way. The easiest way, because he’d say something and look back at John, hopeful and it’s the easiest thing in the world just to nod along. 

He actually does agree, most of the time. But it’s no skin off of his back to hum and nod and toss in the occasional ‘man, fuck that guy’ when Alex gets riled up about some of his teammates, or his teachers. 

And John’s pretty sure that’s how he ends up sitting in a circle with a bunch of kids he barely knows, with a beer bottle in the middle. Because he’s been too busy watching Alex and nodding along. Fuck, he had to start paying attention before he agrees to shit. 

It’s his turn, and John is doing everything he can to not look at the people in his peripheral. He’s not sure what’s worse, the thought that some of these people might want to kiss him, or the thought that they wouldn’t. 

He holds his breath as brown glass spins, praying to God that it doesn’t stop on any of the Schuyler sisters where they bracket Alex. John is so busy worrying about coming out of kissing Angelica with his balls intact that he doesn’t realize where the neck of the bottle has stopped until Alex is hopping up to his feet. 

“What?” Not his most brilliant moment. Eliza points over her shoulder at the closet and Peggy is loading up the timer on her phone. Wow, okay. They were doing this. Full 90’s movie highschool style. 

And just like every single second that led to him getting here, Alex says come on, Laurens and John gets up and follows him. 

The closet is kinda musty, and John is pretty sure that no one has used these towels in years. He reaches out to touch one as Alex shuts the door behind him, the air stirring enough to make the naked bulb swing on it’s cord. 

“You ever kissed somebody before? I mean look at you, of course you’ve kissed somebody. Have you ever kissed a guy before?” That’s a torrent of words straight from Alex’s lips, and John’s whole body goes cold then hot when he realizes what he’s in here to do. 

The same thing he’s wanted to do since the first time he stumbled on Alex, ranting at one of the upperclassmen. The guy said something, and Alex’s voice had tipped downwards, low and honey-thick and full of sarcasm. It was the hottest thing John had ever seen. 

So he started going to debate. Because he got to hear it a lot there. 

“No.” God, that’s stupid breathy and John kind of sounds like a girl, but it’s hard to care because there’s less than a foot between them, and when John takes a step forward, Alex steps backwards and his shoulders connect with the shelving on the wall as he reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. 

John’s brain pretty much whites out at that point. 

He brushes his thumbs against either sides of Alex’s jaw, pressing just behind the hinge of it to tip his head back, to give himself the room to press in close to him. John kisses him gently at first, just dry pressure of lips against lips, and it’s a thousand times more electric than kissing Martha ever was. 

And then. And then, Alex flicks his tongue against the seam of John’s lips and he falls apart right then, a groan rattling through his chest and down into his toes as he opens up, eager and wanting. 

The kiss is eager, and a little desperate. Teeth knock together and they laugh before they get situated. John’s hands drop from Alex’s cheeks to his shoulders, down to his hips where he can wrap them tight around his slender hips and pull him up tight against him. 

That gets him an answering groan, and John reacts on animal instinct, nerve endings lighting up as he takes Alex’s tongue into his mouth, and sucks on it gently.

No way was he stopping when seven minutes were up.

#ch: laurens #wemultitudinous | alexander #wemultitudinous #v: hs #queued

[lifeasitis21]

Come Back To Me [4]

Henry Cavill x Reader

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

He really had no right to ask. Whether you had done something, which he didn’t think, or not, which he really hoped.

You didn’t bring it up on the walk home and he was okay with that. He watched you walk inside, toss your jacket over the couch and head for your office. He was okay with that.

In a daunting silence he went upstairs to the bedroom, took a seat on the side of the bed and let his eyes fall on the painting hung up on the wall. He rubbed the nape of his neck, only seconds before standing and crossing the room to the painting. He reached behind it and pulled out the folded white note. This time he noticed the outside of the card had your name on it. He had written your name. He wasn’t okay with that.

He read the words over and over again, he had the voice now to play in his head and hearing it made him sick. It was familiar, that’s what killed him. It was lighthearted, he joked with you. He hit you with his car and then somehow got to sending flowers and joking with you? 

His mind was working double-time trying to find a reason to not let this get to him. The flowers were in the trash. She threw them out. But they were dead in the trash, dead when she threw them away, which meant they were sitting on the kitchen counter while they were alive. And the chair. He didn’t need the chair, he needed an excuse to talk to you. Henry used excuses to talk to you. 

None of it was working. The note, the flowers, how did he know where you lived? Why had you kept them so long? 

He closed his eyes shut, held a fist to his head but nothing, nothing kept it out.

Suddenly then, he took hold of the painting and slung it across the room, sending it crashing into the wall, glass shattering to the floor below. 

Motionless in the center of the room, he heard your voice from a distance. His heart was beating uncontrollably but at the very same time he felt that he couldn’t breathe. Mindlessly he moved to pick up the pieces, but as he reached down it sliced open his hand.

“Henry, what--” you walked into the room to find him staring down at his hand, not talking, not moving.

“Henry! Hey,” you said, placing your hands on either side of him, “Hey, come here, leave it. Just leave it I’ll get it later.”

His hand was dripping blood but that wasn’t the kind of pain you saw in his eyes. They were swollen and brimming with tears, and as he stared at you he could barely even speak.

Moving from his arms, up to his cheek you whispered reassurance, it wasn’t enough.

“I’m not--” he tried, voice weak and low. “I’m--”

“What? You’re what.”

“I’m not enough for you.” A fact, he thought. “I’m not enough for you.”

“Just a little ways more.” He encouraged from below you.

You hated ladders, and every other minute you cursed yourself for ending up here, halfway up in the sky, hard ground below you.

“It’s just a few more steps..but uh--take your time.” 

You could hear the smile in his voice, and that moment reminded you why this would be worth it.

“If I didn’t know better--I would think you planned this, just to look at my ass.” You finally reached the edge of the building and climbed over, then made space for Henry to do the same.

As he did he looked down at you with what you interpreted as a shitty attempt at looking offended.

“Oh Y/n,” he said, bringing his hand to his chest, “I would never.” 

You smiled and took his hand as he leaned over and placed a kiss to your forehead.

He held the flashlight to the ground as he lead the way towards the edge.

“Well...what do you think?”

Out across the ocean, the city lights twinkled like the stars in a pitch black sky. The icy air bit at your cheeks, it turned them a dusty crimson, he swore he’d never forget that look.

His smile matched the one on your face as you turned to him.

“See, it was worth the heights, you know I’ve got you.”

It was like every part of you was screaming at you to say it. Those three words, but you looked at him, and felt safe, and felt...okay, and then you realized as he looked back at you, that he already knew. You turned back to the water and he did the same, but moments later he leaned in close, placed a kiss to your cheek and whispered, “Just so we’re clear...I love you.”

His eyes hand begun to drift, your hands were wet with his blood, and he needed you.

You pulled the blanket from the bed and held it down on his hand as you lead him into the bathroom. The only sound in the room was your breathing.

You shuffled through your cabinets, throwing things behind you until you found the first aid kit. 

“Give me your hand.” 

The blood had stopped enough to see the gash wasn’t deep enough for stitches. Still, you cleaned him up and began to wrap his hand tight with gauze.

Henry let his head rest back against the wall. He ran his free hand down his face, wiping away his tears but in their place leaving a smear of crimson blood.

You glanced up at him, eyes closed, teeth clenched like he would when he was hiding. It hurt to speak, you knew better than anyone, but even more than that it hurt to not know.

“..He took me to the hospital. He was nice. And one night, he called. I invited him over for drinks. We watched tv, he sat next to me, leaned into me, and I told him I was married.” You looked up at Henry then, “And then he left. I hadn’t seen him again, until today.”

You both knew you were making a point. But something was digging at you, reminding you that you had liked the way Alex looked at you, liked the way he spoke your name, the way he kept coming back.

“Y/n, there are no words, f--for how sorry I am. How stupid and terrible I was, but I--”

“Henry I know. I know that you’re sorry. I hear you and I know what you mean, but there’s a part of me.. that looks at you and--” you tried as your voice began to break, “feels..sick.”

His eyes bled into yours, begging you to tell him how to fix it, to reassure him that it could be fixed, but he got nothing. You stood then and left him in the bathroom, closing the door behind you after telling him to clean himself up.

It had been two weeks since the painting. And the two of you had talked, not near as much as you should have, but it wasn’t nothing. 

He had never had any issues when it came to making you fall for him. It was the falling for him again that was hard for you. Like you almost wouldn’t let yourself. Like you were the only person really thinking about your own self-preservation.

It didn’t take long for real life to start catching up to you. New clients emerged, just the same as Henry’s agent came to him with new contracts. It was like you were running out of time to finish a puzzle you’d barely started. And you hated that this one was so hard.

Things changed when he got back. He communicated more. It had never really been an issue before but now he told you every time he moved. There were some long talks about his agent. After the first night of really digging into things he decided to let go of Sarah. You didn’t tell him to, but you had also never told him that a part of you got a bad feeling at the idea of them spending more time together than you did with him.

Letting go of her meant his manager, Liam, was now in charge of his full schedule. It was a lot of work for two people, but one meant Henry would need to take smaller roles for awhile. But small roles meant less time away, which you both really needed right now.

“Liam wants me to go for this one, he just emailed me the script,” Henry shouted from the living room.

You walked in and sat back down next to him and he handed you his phone. As you read you leaned into his side.You were close enough for him to smell the caramel in your perfume, he had just closed his eyes into it when you nudged him and looked up.

“Is this based off that book!” you beamed.

He smiled, “Which book?”

“You know, the one that’s about the guy writing a book?”

His head tilted to the side as that playful grin spread across his lips.

This forced you into a sort of standoff where you just stared at him trying not to laugh.

“You know what I mean,” you said, rolling your eyes and turning back to his phone.

He leaned in close to your ear, “Yes..it’s based off that book.”

The warmth of his breath sent a chill down your arms. You turned to him, your faces inches apart.

“I think you should do it.” You said low.

Then you surprised yourself as you moved your lips to his and kissed him. It was short, but moments after you pulled away you kissed him again, this time letting him kiss you back. He rested his fingertips against your jaw, encouraging you closer anytime he felt you were starting to pull away. You placed your hand on his chest, felt his heart quicken beneath you and you wanted more. 

You swung your leg over his lap, and allowed you both a second to see the want in each others eyes, but you could only spare a second.

Those dark eyes staring up at you, lusting after you, waiting to follow your lead, they pushed you over the edge every time. From timid hands to desperate, he painted the curves of your body with his fingers. Slowly you began to grind down on him, listening for his moan every time you moved. He was hard beneath you, silently begging for more.

He could feel you in his mind and on his lap, running your fingers through his hair, catching your breath every time his mouth found your breast. 

From that, to helping one another out of your clothes, you were here, present and..alive for the first time in a long time. 

You melted into his touch, were prisoner to the pressure when he held himself inside of you. Every move, every breath, it was added to his list.

Your bodies damp and clinging to one another, you let him hold you, cheek resting against his head.

“I remember, everything, Henry.” You spoke quietly, breathlessly into his hair. “You were--always, enough.”

After, he lied you down onto the couch in front of him and covered you both with a blanket, you drifted off to sleep seconds after your head hit the couch. But he stayed awake, gently running his hand over your head, listening to you breathe, feeling you inadvertently curl into his chest. 

Just as he was about to fall asleep, you stirred beside him and opened your eyes. He hoped desperately that you wouldn't pull away, he knew it was these moments that mattered.

When you looked at him he knew you had something to say, he was just waiting.

“..Henry I--” you stopped yourself though.

“I have to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

He nodded with a tired smile as you got up and wrapped the blanket around yourself.

On your way through the kitchen you grabbed your phone and brought it with you.

You locked the door behind you and sat on the edge of the tub with your phone clutched in your hands. It was only the third time you’d read it through, but you couldn’t find anything off. Maybe the truth was that part of you knew what you didn’t want to see.

: Y/n! How have you been? I wanted to apologize for any, awkwardness I may have caused at the coffee shop. I hope I’m just blowing this out of proportion, but I would hate to be on wrong terms. 

I’d like to say after an extensive search for an interior designer, you happened to be the best choice, but that would be a lie. The truth is I have a few rooms I was hoping to redo, and you were the first and only person I thought of. I’d also like to say I’ve seen some of your work and think we’d be a good fit, that would also be a lie. I think we’re a good fit because I enjoy your company.

I apologize in advance for the overwhelming honesty. 

I hope to hear from you,

Alex :

As you walked back into the kitchen you watched Henry from the doorway. His chest rose slowly his back was flat against the couch, leaving room for you.

You hated that he would wake up and notice you gone, but it didn’t stop you from walking quietly towards him, covering him with the blanket and heading upstairs to bed.

It was around 3:00 when you went upstairs, you were just about to drift off when you heard the door open and saw Henry walk in.

You looked over at him, but when you noticed he was standing up straight, standing beside the bed you sat up.

“Hey, you okay?”

He watched you, saw the look of confusion on your face.

“You said you’d come back. You didn’t I understand that. But please, help me understand this.” He clicked on the lamp by the bed, before crossing his arms back across his chest.

“If you hate me, I get it. But it’s like you’re testing the waters. You sit by me and laugh and fuck me but then you’re done like it’s all you needed--”

“Jesus Henry. What the fuck are you talking about.” You didn’t want to go here. You had hoped you would never have to. But there was no lull in his eyes. They were fixed on you, expecting a reply. But as you spoke, the anger in your chest continued to build. “Help Me understand this! Sometimes I’m with you and I hear your voice and I recognize it. And sometimes I look at you and I see your hands on another person. I see you drunk and pathetic!” you screamed. 

You’d thrown off the covers and were across the bed from him tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Help me understand how your overwhelming love for me drove you to someone else! Or why it was so, fucking easy for you--to fuck me over.”

Henry didn’t say a word. He could barely move.

“Explain it. Please Henry,” you said, desperately now, clutching your stomach tight. “Please, just tell me. Tell me why.”

There was a long pause before he spoke, but as he did he started taking measured steps around the bed.

“I had this dream, and in the dream I ruined, everything. Lost everything. You were so beautiful, and it was so real. Like when we fight in a dream, and I wake up mad, but it only takes a second to realize its not real. Well this dream, I saw it everywhere I went. I could barely tell the difference.” 

You were having trouble getting it, you were angry, but still he kept inching towards you.

“I thought it would be Sarah. So I avoided her, constantly. But I felt, like I was alone,” he willed himself to keep his voice steady, to let you have the tears, to let you feel the pain the way you needed to. “I felt like I was stuck. And you’re right. I was pathetic..and I was drunk, and I broke us..but I was also numb.” He was in front of you now, but he didn’t touch you. “And I was scared. Y/n I’m nothing like you. You are--outstanding. You are whole. And when I met you..it was like every day from then on was borrowed. I knew, the moment I saw you--the moment I saw you that you were the privilege of a lifetime.” 

The tears hadn’t stopped, but you met his eyes then, and when you did he held your gaze.

“I was--barely there..when I met you. There were pieces of me,” he said as he shook his head, “but I was barely treading water. I knew when I saw you, that I’d do anything, to be better. And I did. I was better, I didn’t need anything, there was no void to fill. There was me, and there was you, and there was love and that’s it.” He put his hands on your arms and moved closer then. “Then my time started to run out. It’s natural for you to just, keep going. But I started falling behind, and I was too--afraid to tell you. To tell you that I wasn’t always like this.”

“Henry it’s not natural for me. You act like nothings hard for me, like I handle everything, but the only truth there is, is that I’m not perfect. I never will be. I will fail, and you will see it and you’ll love me anyway. Henry I--see you.” You placed your hand to his cheek and let him in. “I’ve always seen you. I see the anger, the doubt, how hard you try to be good. And I want all of it. I’ve always wanted all of it.”

He moved to pull you into his arms but you stopped him with your hand to his chest. “But I can’t just make these feelings go away. I know the man I love is here some where, but all I can see is the one who hurt me. I’m trying to fall in love when I see the first, but it’s going to take time.” 

He took a step back, eyes soft.

He understood, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t hurt. It didn’t mean that he didn’t still see a very real and very terrifying reality that there was someone else that looked at you the way he did, that saw your eyes the way he did.

The feeling he had as he lied beside you was so much like the one he had had before he left. It was the fear that crippled him, made his mind blurry. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. 

In the month following that night he had made it his only privilege in life to be what he had promised you. To be the person you fell in love with. 

And every moment he felt you weren’t looking he would remind himself that one day you would.

But he should have known by now that you were always looking. You saw everything he was. And as you had said on that night, you wanted every single piece of it. 

You were patient with yourself. You knew that was important. You let him love you as much as either of you could bare, and then some. But you hadn’t invested yourself in him to just let him do everything on his own.

It had slipped your mind for a few days, but after checking your email when you returned to work, you responded without hesitation. 

: Alex! It was great to see you. Please don’t worry about any “awkwardness,” there wasn’t any. I apologize for my late reply, but dinner or drinks sounds like a nice idea, Henry and I would love that. 

As for your search for a designer, I appreciate your asking, but I will have to decline. It’s important you know that I understand the way in which you enjoy my company. If I can also be completely honest, you seem like a fairly easy man to fall for, which is why I think it’s best we keep our distance until we are both in a better place to move forward as friends.

I hope this finds you well :

It became simple the moment you sent it. Like opening your eyes in the early morning as your eyes focused on Henry’s. You were in this because he was the only person in your world since the day you met him. To have that feeling reciprocated was beautifully rare.

To fall in love again.

It was what you needed, it had always been your favorite part. 

Since you were young you were always afraid of the part after. After the wooing and flirting and persistence, you never really knew if you would like what was next. But with Henry. Well with him, the first part never ended. He saw you, really saw you. He knew that nothing would ever just stay the same. Stay perfect. He made it perfect. He moved heaven and earth to make it perfect every day. And it was that part of him, that passion and desire to see the light of life and chase it until his legs gave out. It was that that made it easy, to love again. 

It never mattered how long it took. Never mattered how many days you could go being in love, he was always ready for the days everything hurt again. Hurt a little bit more, or a little differently. He was present when you needed him, gone when you needed space to breathe, but just as the promise you had made to each other all those years ago, he would always come back. Always.

Tag List:  @tacohead13 @curlyhairedblueeyedangel @thisismysecrethappyplace @jaderbugz @a-girl-who-loves-disney @chillnadia @posiemax @samdean-67 @smexy-bucky-waifu @maragaretcarter @supersleepyfangirlthings @shortstoryimagines @omg-fuck-i-love-you @peachlar @thebutterflyxx @tomhollambucky @loviee143-blog @ign-is @studyauthoress @maxtothemoff  @princess-of-the-fandoms @marvelouslyme96 @witchywrter   @manofsteel7712  @d0ntjudgemy50shades @henrycavillstalkingmustache @shynara51 @dj-lowkey  @amanda-tallmadge @malikahayoub @hamianderson

#henry cavill #come back to me #part 4 #henry cavill imagine #@lifeasitis21 #ending #final chapter

[swan-archive]

@me would you perhaps like to stop being obnoxious?? would you like to shut up for one SECOND of your life????

[listens intently for several seconds]

she said no, have some stupid-ass modern au wereham tropey fluff

John’s not here.

Alex thinks maybe at some point he’ll get used to the way he wakes up now, all at once and with instinct screaming at him before his higher brain functions kick in. Not tonight, though, and he jerks awake and sits up in bed staring stupidly around at the empty room before he catches the sound of a chair scraping against the kitchen floor and notices the light shining through the slightly-ajar door. Chill, Alex, he tells himself, take it easy, he’s just getting a glass of water, he’s allowed, and curls back up on the bed.

John persists in his absence, though, and after several minutes Alex gets tired of waiting. He glances at the clock on the bedside table. 2:48 AM. Not like John to be up and about at this hour. Boy likes his sleep. And now Alex is wide awake, so he pushes himself out of bed with a groan and shuffles into the kitchen on his bandy legs.

John’s there, sitting at the table, scrolling through his phone with that blank look on his face that means he’s genuinely upset. Doesn’t hear Alex as he comes into the room and leans against the doorframe.

“So, bad dream, or…?” John jumps and slaps his phone down on the table.

“Shit! Alex, don’t sneak up on me like that!” says John.

“I literally walked right through the door in front of your face, but sure, let’s go with sneaked up on you.”

“You’re quiet on your paws,” John grouses. “And not all of us have your hearing.” His fingers flutter nervously over his phone. Alex cocks his head.

“You waiting for a call or something? At three in the morning?”

“No, no, uh, it’s just…” John looks at his feet. “I couldn’t sleep, that’s all, and I didn’t wanna wake you up tossing and turning. Brought the phone out with me so I could at least catch some Pokemon while I sat here. Really, that’s it.”

“Okay, first of all, you’re a worse liar than I am, second of all, I know for a fact you haven’t touched Pokemon Go since, like, November, and even if you did this apartment complex only spawns Pidgeys.”

John grimaces. “Am I that transparent?”

“An open book, Mr. Laurens.” Alex taps the phone with a claw. “Can I?”

John presses his lips together. “Nothing to see,” he says.

“Gotta be something.” Alex picks up the phone, unlocks it (with some difficulty; touchscreens tend not to like his paw pads). Blinks down at the screen. Text backlog, “Dad” at the top. The most recent text from Henry is something about John’s sister Marta. Apparently her soccer team is doing really well this season.

“Yeah,” says John dully, as if that explains everything.

“No, not ‘yeah,’ I don’t get it. Your sister plays soccer, and that’s…bad, somehow?”

“Check the date stamp.” Alex does. A bit more than two weeks ago.

“Two weeks ago, that was…oh. Oh.”

“Yeah. Just before he found out about. Um.”

“About me, right.”

“And he hasn’t, he hasn’t—not that I’m, I shouldn’t complain, it’s not like we were ever on the best of terms anyway—maybe it’s better like this, he always gets up my ass for not responding to his six million texts a day, but…”

“But. Oh. But he hasn’t been talking to you.”

John nods. Feeling sick at heart, Alex scrolls down to the bottom of the text log. A series of texts from John, over the past two weeks, ranging from a multi-paragraph explanation starting with Dad, I’m sorry we scared you the other night, but I just wanted to let you know what the deal is with Alex, it’s really not as bad as you think… down to a sad little one-line i’m sorry. please call me.

No expression on John’s face. “It’s, I think he’d been looking for an excuse, you know? Like, it looks bad if he cuts his gay son off entirely, so he has to pretend he’s cool with me being the way I am, but the second he has a convenient excuse—”

“Like me?”

“—he can just go ahead and call me sick and disgusting with impunity and drop me without feeling bad…” John catches sight of the look on Alex’s face. Cuts himself off. “Shit, Alex, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s. I just figure I’d be a pretty convenient excuse, if that’s the case.” Alex scratches at his own furry chin with what he hopes is a nonchalant air. He’s more or less where he’d been when Henry last came a-calling, which is to say, objectively hideous. Not exactly not even a little human, but human enough to turn one’s stomach. No wonder Henry had lost his shit. Alex probably would too, if he found out his child was dating the love child of Chewbacca and were-Michael Jackson from the “Thriller” video.

John’s starting to get an expression back, and that expression looks an awful lot like guilt, so Alex decides to head it off. “Look, I know I’m—ugly, don’t argue with that, it’s true, but you didn’t do anything wrong here. And your dad’s not stupid—”

“His political views beg to differ.”

“…Okay, he has some wrong ideas, but he loves you, John, I know he does.” Alex sets down the phone, takes John’s hand in his. “He has to figure it out. He has to know that he’s the one being awful to you for something that is not your fault. And once he’s done throwing this, I don’t know, this tantrum, he’ll get over himself. And it’ll be fine. And if that means I have to make myself scarce for a while, that’s fine too.”

“That is not fine. I’m not breaking up with you because of something this stupid.”

“Did I say that you should?” And, okay, Alex had heavily implied it, but hearing John say that, even to deny that it would ever happen, makes his heart start racing with panic. He covers his tracks. “All I meant was, I stay away from him except for new moon, let him get used to the idea of me. He’ll come around. People do. Eliza did, right?”

“Eliza had a crush on you. Not the best sample size.”

“R-right.” Alex’s ears droop. “Uh. Still. He’s your dad. My point stands.”

“He’s stubborn.”

“So are you. I seem to recall the two of you got into a fight over whether you were going to vet school or to study poli sci. Which of you won that one, again…?”

“Okay, okay, I get it.”

“And, by the way, I’m stubborn too. The two of us can outlast him. Yeah? We can, John.” John picks at his phone case and declines to agree. Stubborn, right. Close the subject before John can get an argument together. “Anyway, staying up and worrying about it isn’t gonna fix anything.”

“The irony of you trying to tell me that is kind of incredible.” Alex decides to let that pass without comment. It’s a good sign that John has brightened up enough to be sarcastic.

“How about I make us some tea? Help you relax. You know, I was so pissed when you threw out the coffee, but after our, uh, our little adventure with it I’m really starting to warm up to the idea of some nice herbal brews. And it’s nice for when you can’t sleep, right?” Alex walks over and opens the spice cupboard, peering at their selection. “What’ll you have? We’ve got chamomile, mint, lemon balm, rooibos, um…since when have we had nettle tea?”

“Oh, yeah. The lady at the co-op talked me into it when she saw me looking at non-caffeinated tea. I tried to tell her no thanks, but she was really excited about it, and I kind of felt bad, and apparently nettle’s okay for dogs…”

“Huh. Nettle, like stinging nettle?” Alex pulls the lid off the tin and snuffles at it. “I honestly would not have thought you could make tea out of that stuff. Wouldn’t it hurt your throat to drink it?”

“Yeah, uh. I think I’ll stick with chamomile for tonight.”

“Probably a good move. Save the culinary adventures for another day.” Alex putters around the kitchen, filling the electric kettle and fetching mugs and carefully picking two teabags out of the box. Keeps watch on John out of the corner of his eye. John’s phased back into obsessively checking his phone. Call logs—text logs—call logs—text logs. Alex knows he’s just offered to keep a low profile around Henry, but at the moment the idea of, not tearing his throat out necessarily, but shaking him up at least a little bit, is sounding pretty good. He stops himself when he feels a growl starting to rumble in his chest.

Not useful, Alex. Not human, Alex. He glares at the kettle and takes deep breaths until the water boils, pours out two mugs and dunks the teabags. John looks up from his phone for a moment when Alex sets his mug down on the table in front of him, but gets wrapped up again, this time in what looks like the archive of Facebook Messenger messages between him and Henry. The likelihood of there being anything useful in there is vanishingly small, but Alex doesn’t have the heart to scold just now, not when John looks the way he does.

Alex laps at his mug of tea, burns his tongue. Decides to let it sit for a while. He brushes his knuckles against John’s, and John sighs and at least switches his phone to his other hand so he can run his fingers over Alex’s paw pads. Alex chuckles a little.

“Well, isn’t this disgusting.”

“What?”

“Look at us. Sitting here, holding hands, drinking tea in the kitchen at—” Alex glances over at the microwave display, “—at 3:05 AM. We’re like a stereotype of a couple. I’m gonna throw up.”

That teases a flicker of smile out of John. “It’s pretty bad,” he allows.

“Well, as long as we’re being gross and couple-y—” Alex reaches out and snags the phone out of John’s hand.

“Hey!”

“No, no, I’m doing a thing,” says Alex, holding the phone away from John at arm’s length. He finds Spotify, taps in a quick search, selects. Soft brass starts playing out the phone speakers. John raises an eyebrow.

“Really, Alex?”

“Yeah, come on.” Alex stands up and executes a little sashay around the kitchen, his tail swishing back and forth. “Frank Sinatra’s a national treasure. Up, John. We’re dancing now.” He holds out his hand, pulls a meaningful face. John rolls his eyes, but allows Alex to pull him out of his chair and into a clumsy spin.

“You’re an awful dancer.”

“Shut up, I’m amazing. Yes, you’re loooooooove-ly, with your smile so warm,” croons Alex, hooking an arm around John’s waist and waltzing him around. “No, I’m leading now, let me—hm, hm, nothing for me but to loooooooooove you…”

The smile in question lights up John’s face properly, and Alex trails off, his heart suddenly feeling far too big for his chest. Three in the morning, John’s hair is a horrible bird’s nest, he’s wearing a shirt that Alex can smell he grabbed off the top of his hamper, and he’s beautiful. Beautiful. And Alex is—slightly more than half a wolf. He ducks his head, careful to fold his ears back so they don’t hit John in the nose.

“What is it?”

“It’s a joke, see,” says Alex, striving to keep his tone light, “because the way I look tonight is, uh, really fucking bad.”

“Alex.” John tilts Alex’s head back. Alex expects him to go off on one of his you are beautiful just the way you are speeches, but all he does is kiss Alex, just where the cool leathery skin of his nose meets velvety fur. Alex sniffs a little, shakes his head.

“Um. You wanna, you wanna lead for a little bit?”

“Sure.” There’s a moment of shuffling hands around, and then John steers Alex into a much more graceful two-step. His hand drifts down to Alex’s hip, and he strokes his thumb against the fur poking out where Alex’s t-shirt has ridden up. Alex feels his tail start to wag, and wills it (unsuccessfully) to get ahold of itself.

The song slows to its dreamy finish, and John actually dips Alex, looking at him through his eyelashes and smiling oh so tenderly. It’s quite romantic, until Alex’s paws lose purchase on the linoleum and he scrabbles for balance, clinging to John to keep from falling over. John rights him, and they both burst into laughter.

“Sorry, Fred Astaire,” Alex says, grinning. “Get yourself a better Ginger Rogers if you’re trying to do the fancy stuff.” He moves to disentangle himself from John’s arms.

“Hey, wait a second, don’t run off just yet. You chose the first dance, so it’s my turn to pick, isn’t it?” Alex shrugs and gestures, go ahead. John grabs his phone and queues up another song. It starts up, all echoey guitars and whispery alt-pop vocals.

“This doesn’t sound like a jazz standard to me,” Alex complains.

“Oh, shush. You never said there were rules to this. Now come here.” John reaches out and pulls Alex close, wraps his arms around Alex’s shoulders and buries his face in Alex’s fur. Alex sighs and relaxes against John’s chest. He’s so warm, and he smells so good, smells like home and smells like mate and smells, above all, like John.

“When you say I love you…” John sings softly into Alex’s ear. He’s a much better singer than Alex. He lays his hand on the back of Alex’s head, strokes at the thick not-quite-fur not-quite-hair there. Alex grips him a little tighter. Yes, Alex loves him. Alex loves him, and Alex needs him, and Alex would let him go in a heartbeat if John wanted something more than dancing barefoot in his kitchen with a mangy werewolf.

Would let him go, even though Alex knows to do so would surely kill him.

“I love you,” Alex whispers against John’s neck. He should say more, I’m sorry about your dad, I’m sorry I’m like this, I’m sorry you’re saddled with me, but he can’t quite manage to choke it out. “I love you.”

“Yeah, that’s the song,” John teases. He toys with Alex’s ear, and Alex whines and melts a little more. “But I love you too.”

Alex pulls back just enough to tilt his chin up and kiss John. Proper kiss, not a doggy lick or a nuzzle. Ever so careful to keep his teeth out of the way. John says mm and leans into it and holds Alex, holds him, holds him, and for a while it doesn’t matter what Alex is. He’s loved. That’s all he needs right now.

The song has a long outro, but Alex doesn’t care, and John doesn’t seem to either. By the time it fades into silence, they’re not dancing so much as swaying together, not to any particular rhythm, just enjoying being close. They stand there for a long moment in each others’ arms.

Then, John yawns so hard Alex hears his jaw creak.

“Tired?”

“Hmm,” says John. He swipes at his eyes. “Yeah. Finally. Come to bed with me?”

“Our tea, John.”

“Oh. Yeah. ’S fine. We can spare two bags. We’ve got more.” John pulls at Alex’s hand, and Alex lets himself lean forward and lick John’s cheek.

“Okay, bossy. Bedtime.”

They switch off the kitchen light and Alex, with his superior night vision, leads John back into the bedroom. John hums under his breath as they climb into bed.

“Lovely,” he sings, almost sighs, pulling the covers up. “With your smile so warm...” He traces a thumb over Alex’s lower lip. “And your cheeks so soft...”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Alex grumbles, before John can start mussing the fur on his face. He rolls over so John can spoon up behind him—makes him feel safe to have something at his back. “Go to sleep, Sinatra.”

“Alex?”

“Hmm.”

“I do think you’re beautiful. I really mean that.”

“You’re right. I’m pretty sexy at new moon.”

“No, I—you’re beautiful. You are. Doesn’t matter when. Just wanted you to know.”

“Oh.” There’s a joke in there, somewhere, something about furries and DeviantArt accounts, but Alex can’t bring himself to make it. A protest in there too, I’m not I’m not how can you say that please don’t lie to me just tell me I’m hideous. Can’t put that one out there either. “Good night, John,” is all he says, around the tightness in his chest. Squeezes John’s hand in his, runs his other hand over his own face, the fur there already finer than it had been when he’d gone to bed. Breathes slow.

Drifts off, warm arms around him and soft music in his ears.

#swan talks #hamilton for ts #wereham au #don't.....look.....at this........please