#Henry the burned out Hotel manager

[sophie1973]

Wait for me (to come home) 1/9

Happy Friday ! Here is the first chapter of my new fic which will be updated weekly over the next 8 weeks.

Wait for me (to come home) - Chapter 1 - Sophie1973 - Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston [Archive of Our Own

Tagging a few people who asked or showed interest when I posted snippets :

@stellarmeadow @onthewaytosomewhere @tailsbeth-writes

@anvi0905 @thighzp @iboatedhere @suseagull04 @bitbybitwrites

@14carrotghoul @caterpills @thesleepyskipper

[angelofrainfrogs]

Going Back: Ch. 1

~Coauthored by @zeitghest~

Fandom(s): Five Nights At Freddy’s: Security Breach

Description: Things are looking up for Gregory. After putting the soul of a formerly-immortal killer to rest, he and his new family can finally begin their lives anew. Sure, Gregory might have been cursed with mysterious Remnant in exchange for being involved in this mess—not to mention his caretakers consist of sentient robots and ghosts… But there’s no doubt that the bond they share is unbreakable. They love him, and he in turn. 

All in all, life is finally starting to go right for once. 

…Unfortunately, true peace is a hard-won battle. There are other things to contend with besides William’s decrepit soul, and Gregory will learn that his role in the lives of the Aftons and Emilys is far greater than anyone could’ve imagined. 

Rating: T

Read on Ao3

Hello and welcome! :) This is Part 2 of The Wires that Bind Us Series; although you don’t have to read the first part to enjoy this fic, it’s highly recommended to help contextualize the plot of this story and others moving forward. Here’s a quick summary of prior events:

While hiding out in the Pizzaplex, Gregory is discovered by Glamrock Freddy and an old animatronic known as The Puppet. Turns out the robots aren’t all they seem—possessed by children of Fazbear Entertainment’s original founders, Gregory winds up involved in a quest with Charlie Emily and Michael Afton to take down the digitized but still murderous soul of William. Along with some help from other spirits that linger in the burned-up diner down below, they managed to extract William from the Glamrock Bonnie suit he was using as a new body and trap him in a video game, which they subsequently destroyed.

The journey wasn’t easy, though. Along the way Gregory was injected with Remnant, the full ramifications of which are still unknown. What he is sure of however is that through the trauma he’s gained a new family that cares for him better than anyone—including a dad in the form of Glamrock Freddy. You see, human souls are a powerful thing; when bonded to an animatronic they can leave a lasting impression. Thanks to Henry Emily’s fantastic engineering, Charlie, Michael, and Freddy were able to possess lifelike androids to start their lives over anew.

Where we left off in Part 1, the quartet had just left the Pizzaplex to head for a nearby hotel and get some rest after their adventure.

***

It's going back, back, back, back They've been through this before It's going back, back, back, back The final page of the lore The sound of cheer The need for fear The souls of the kids are free Rewind the tears

~Going Back by Kyle Allen Music~

It was a fairly large hotel. It made Charlie wonder how many people visited this town nowadays, what with the Mecca of Fazbear Entertainment standing tall and proud as its most notable landmark. Last she checked, this town had a population of a little over 10,000. Not a whole lot, but not a small number by any means. Sammy's draw of tourists had done wonders for the family businesses.

“We should order room service as soon as we check in. Gregory's going to need to build his strength back with something that isn't a pizza-flavored slushee,” Charlie pointed out, waiting before crossing the street. While she was sure Freddy knew not to linger in the road, Charlie grasped onto his free hand regardless to make sure he and Gregory were still trailing along.

The parking lot looked pretty full, and they approached with only Michael's shopping bag of clothes as their luggage. At the front desk, popping gum in his mouth sat a concierge manager typing things into the computer, digits nimbly pounding away at the keys.

“Be with you in a moment!” the overworked college student called, finishing his email. Getting up from the desk and walking towards the quartet, he put on his best customer service smile. “What can I do for you folks?”

Despite him never having interacted with another human outside the comparatively small bubble of the Pizzaplex, Freddy took it upon himself to respond. Beaming down at the young boy, he announced: “Hello! My family and I require a room to stay in—preferably one with 'room service,' as we are quite hungry.”

Michael bit back a groan. God, he could see it now—he thought catching Charlie up to speed with things would take a while, but it seemed like Freddy was going be the biggest problem. Quickly stepping in, Mike moved in front of the redhead to catch the concierge's attention.

“Sorry, ignore my—uncle. He’s... not from around here,” Michael said, reaching into his pocket to retrieve Sam’s wallet. Offering the boy an apologetic smile, he clarified: “We need a room for four people, at least 5 nights with the possibility of an extended stay. It doesn't have to the biggest; we don't mind sharing beds. Just preferably no smaller than queen-sized—two kings would be great, if you have it.”

“Do you guys have ping-pong or air hockey here?” Charlie asked, officially overloading the poor kid with too many questions.

His eyes flicked between the three of them, blinking. “Uh... Y-Yes! Yep, there's actually one available family vacation suite! That's a bathroom, two king beds with a kitchen and full amenities, too.”

The concierge leaned over and grabbed a pamphlet, handing it over to Charlie who presented it to the rest of the group.

“With room service, plus full spa, gym, and arcade access, that's about $250 a night,” he added, doing his best to answer all of their questions.

Charlie tried to hide her shock at how expensive things were. Sammy did say they could use his credit card on anything after all... And the room looked nice. Gregory deserved a good spot to be in and relax. 

“We'll take it,” Michael said quickly, not in the mood to haggle. He was just happy they'd found something so spacious—he thought with all the cars in the parking lot, they'd have to settle for a simple room with just two beds, and a bathroom, maybe a couch if they were lucky. Though Sammy would probably appreciate a cheaper price, Mike knew he'd understand them wanting to indulge after so long being cooped up and handed over the credit card. “You can put the tab on here.”

Freddy, who'd only been exposed to the exorbitantly hyped-up prices in the Pizzaplex, had no frame of reference for what was considered expensive. He appreciated Michael taking charge, hanging back next to Charlie's side as Mike and the concierge moved to the front desk to get all their information and secure the room. 

“Need anyone to take your luggage, Mr...?” the young man began to ask. Taking the credit card from the brunette, he couldn’t help but notice the distinctive name emblazoned on the metal rectangle.

Samuel Emily.

Anyone who lived in that area of Hurricane knew the Emilys. The boy then felt sort of stupid for not recognizing Mr. Emily's family—even if he couldn't quite recall ever seeing this group before.

“Nope! We don't have much,” Charlie responded, reassuring him with a grin. With that succinct answer,  after charging the card the manager would put their names in as Emily for the time being.

“Uh—okay then, you’re all set! Here are your room keys, guys, and your recreational passes,” he explained, pointing to the number on the keycard. “Room service will call after 20 minutes; give you some time to get settled. Have a nice day, and enjoy your stay!”

“You have a wonderful day as well!” Freddy called over his shoulder as Michael firmly took his free hand and urged him towards the elevators.

Mike couldn't help but roll his eyes, a smile lifting his mouth at Freddy's endearing friendliness. At least that hadn't changed.

Before long they'd ridden the elevator up to the 7th floor and found themselves in front of room 717. The door opened with nothing more than a delicate press of the keycard against its sensor lock, and Michael led the way into the suite.

“Oh, hell yeah!” he exclaimed, staring around the room in wonder. True to the concierge's word, there was a little kitchen and sitting area at the end of the short entrance hallway they stood in.

Michael wasted no time kicking his shoes off, dropping the bag of clothes, and walking into the space, taking note of the two doors coming off of the sitting area that led to the bedroom and bathroom. The bathroom itself was shaped like an L and also had two doors so it could be accessed from either the bedroom or the main area, per whatever suited the guests' fancy. Michael spun in a slow circle, his arms spread out wide. “I can definitely get used to this place.”

Charlie had noticed on their way through the halls that things looked notably different from the last hotel she remembered staying in nearly fifty years ago. The style of interior design had changed from those homey patterns to something more minimalistic over the decades. Gone were the days of strange patterns and bright colored dishes, replaced by a more neutral palate. If asked, Charlie would argue and say that it seemed a lot more boring to look at.

But how could she really complain when their room had a flat television?

She was awestruck, and looked around Michael and Freddy at their temporary living space. It wasn't long before she found the bedroom and flung herself onto the nearest mattress. She sunk in almost immediately and stretched her arms out to the ceiling.

“It's like laying on a pile of angel hugs...,” Charlie groaned, feeling the stress she didn't know was in her back melt away the longer she reposed on the top of her bed's comforter. “Come on, Freddy! Put Gregory to bed and take a load off!”

While Michael went to explore the kitchenette and bathroom, Freddy followed after Charlie. At first Gregory didn't want to move, frowning as his father's warmth was suddenly taken away when Freddy detached the limp grip around his neck... Although this stopped as soon as Gregory felt the plush mattress underneath him. If they'd thought he was in deep sleep before, it was nothing compared to what the exhausted kid was about to experience as he instantly passed out again.

Freddy had set Gregory on the second bed, so in order not to disturb him he went over to where Charlie lay. He made sure to take his shoes off as he'd seen Michael do at the door, choosing not to comment on the fact that Charlie hadn't done so herself. She was clearly overwhelmed, and Freddy had to admit he was a bit stunned himself—not at the technology or the way anything looked, but simply for the fact that it was such a foreign environment to anything he was used to.

No longer would he have to enter “sleep mode” in a charging pod. Severely underestimating the cushiness of the comforter underneath him, Freddy promptly fell back onto the mattress with a surprised gasp, landing with his head on the pillow right next to Charlie's.

“Oh... this is very comfortable!” he commented with a laugh, turning his face towards her as he rested his hands on his stomach. 

Charlie opened an eye, glancing over to Freddy as his weight shifted where she laid on the bed and rolled into her friend slightly. There, she would proceed to ask Freddy a question. “Have you ever actually slept before?”

Surely, sleep mode was similar, Charlie thought. But could Freddy dream? That was the important question.

Gregory certainly dreamt. Looking over at the tiny kid curled in the middle of the mattress would tell you that instantly. He twitched every now and then, having an active dream—maybe one where he was running...

“It's really easy. You just close your eyes and stop thinking of anything,” Charlie guided. Though she always slept better with music, Charlie wouldn't be needing it tonight. The excitement and terror of one action-packed weekend was enough for Charlie's mind to cringe at the thought of staying awake any longer. While Charlie was a side sleeper, choosing to roll and face Freddy as she shut her eyes, Gregory was in a tightly wound ball, laying on his right side and holding himself as he dreamed.

“I have never truly slept as you have,” Freddy replied, then listened to Charlie's instructions. He soon shut his eyes as well, staring at nothing but blackness.

And then he waited.

And waited.

He tried to think of nothing, but in doing so he was thinking about not thinking, which put Freddy in a catch-22. Still keeping his eyes closed, his brow furrowed slightly as he asked: “How do you... think of nothing?”

“You just don't,” Michael piped up unhelpfully, appearing in the doorway. Their one bag of clothes was slung over his shoulder again as he leaned casually against the frame, observing his family either passed out or on the verge of doing so. He too needed a rest, but first he really wanted to take a nice, hot shower and wash off all the gunk and grime from the past few days.

“Here, I found the room service menu on the coffee table,” he said, throwing the laminated booklet towards the bed where it landed next to Charlie's back. “I'm going to take a shower—you guys can handle it if they call, right?”

It was a simple task, answering the phone and giving them an order Gregory might like to eat, but Freddy and Charlie's unfamiliarity with everything made Michael a bit nervous—especially since the only one besides him who could help looked like she’d already drifted off. 

To Mike’s surprise, Charlie opened her eyes to look at him standing across the room. With a grin, she reclined her arms behind her head. With the sheer technological advances of these androids’ existence, she was sure her father designed them to be waterproof. Even so, she was glad Michael seemed more than ready to test it out first.

“Sure,” Charlie replied with a shrug. “Don't worry so much; we'll be fine. We'll order Gregory something simple and a few other things for the room. By the way, if you happen to figure out if these android bodies need to use the bathroom, could you give me a heads-up?”

Charlie was half-joking. She hadn't exactly had the urge to go, but she couldn't help thinking about all that food she ate. It must go somewhere, right? Or maybe it just gets burned to make fuel inside her?

Charlie felt like the only thing these robotic forms were missing was an instruction manual...

“Will do,” Michael replied with a roll of his eyes. He fished around in the bag for a new set of dark wash jeans and tank top, this one black with a simple neon logo for The Fazbear Band emblazoned on the front. New outfit obtained, Mike dropped the bag on the floor and headed to the bathroom.

Like Charlie, he had a suspicion that their bodies were converting things they ate into fuel. How, he had no idea—that was another question for Henry the next time they met up.

After locking the bathroom doors, Michael was quick to throw off his dirty clothes, cringing at the messy pile on the floor they made. The group would definitely need to do a shop outside the Pizzaplex to invest in other items besides shirts and pants…

Michael wanted to take the hottest shower he could physically stand, letting the burning water eat away at his years of tightly-wound anxiety. However, he also didn’t want to damage any internal systems in this robotic body, so he opted for a temperature best described as “pleasantly warm.” As he scrubbed the dried blood out of his hair, he could feel his stress going down the drain right along with the crimson water.

While Michael commandeered the bathroom, Freddy and Charlie perused the room service menu.

“What do you think Gregory will like?” Freddy asked, curious of her opinion. “I would prefer it to be somewhat healthy, if possible…”

“Healthy... Hm...” Charlie looked over the kids menu. It was recommended for children 12 and under, so that seemed appropriate for him. It couldn't hurt to get Gregory more than one thing, considering how fast that kid ate. She wondered if a growth spurt was right around the corner. “Okay, hear me out. We get him this peanut butter and jelly smoothie, plus the broccoli mac and cheese. And a pulled pork sandwich?”

Charlie was initially going to get him the chicken nuggets, but she was afraid it wouldn't be enough to hold him over until dinner. She figured it was also about time to get him back on a healthy eating schedule. Just then the phone rang, prompting Charlie to jump up and answer it before the incessant noise woke up Gregory.

“Think about something you want to eat, okay, Freddy?” she said, answering the phone in a sing-song tone before reciting their order so far. She was glad to see Gregory was still asleep, out like a light and dead to the world in the middle of his bed.

“Me?” Freddy blinked down at the menu. Right; in this body he should be able to consume food as well. He roamed over all the options, not afraid to admit with a small laugh: “It is a bit overwhelming, if I am honest!”

Still, Charlie was expecting an answer. Freddy would like to just try a bit of Gregory’s food—and he was sure the boy wouldn’t mind sharing with him—but he knew Gregory needed all of it to make up for the nutrition deficit he’d been suffering for far too long. He really was a tiny kid for 12 years old…

“I suppose I will try a cheeseburger?” Freddy said it as more of a question. Burgers were quite popular at the Pizzaplex and Freddy had always wondered what the fuss was about. 

Charlie nodded, holding her hand over the receiver as she listened to Freddy's request. “One cheeseburger with all the fixin’s, please—uh, medium rare!”

She figured that was a safe bet. That’d been her dad’s usual order if she remembered correctly, so perhaps Freddy would like it, too.

“Could I also get a 24 piece basket of the hot wings, bone-in?” Charlie curled the phone cord around her fingers, walking back towards the living space as to not disturb Gregory. She thought for a moment of ordering champagne, then decided against it. It would be nice to celebrate, but knowing Gregory, he'd try to get into the bottle and drink some for himself. “20 minutes? Solid, thank you... Yep, you have a good day, too.”

Oh man, she was adjusting to talking to people again. After hanging up the receiver, Charlie quickly jumped back onto her side of the bed before reaching over and hugging Freddy.

“Dude—you're gonna love burgers,” she assured him, almost excited to watch Freddy take a bite from his first meal.

“I am eager to try one!” Freddy replied with a grin, maneuvering his arm from underneath Charlie to wrap it around her back. He held her loosely as she hugged onto his torso, thinking back on how far they’d come from their initial, confused meeting in the ball pit.

Despite the strange circumstances, even back then they’d gotten along perfectly, becoming fast friends in a matter of hours. Perhaps, subconsciously, they knew they were destined to stick together for a long time.

About five minutes after Charlie ended the phone call, Mike emerged from the bathroom. He looked fresh and clean, hair a wet, slightly wavy mess as he’d decided to give it a brief towel dry and let the air do the rest. He was quick to jump on the bed next to Charlie, smushing her into a sandwich between himself and Freddy.

“So, what are we talking about?” he asked cheerfully, completely inserting himself into whatever bonding time the others were having.

Freddy could only chuckle at this, understanding Michael’s want to be close to them even if he had an interesting way of showing it. After all he’d been through, it was refreshing—and relieving—for Freddy to see the man's true personality peek through without constant anxiety pushing it down.

“Oh, you know,” Charlie began, playfully nudging her old friend as he scooted in closer. “Just talking about how much you smell. Yikes, dude; you sure you actually stood under the water in there?”

She shot a grimace at Freddy, which lasted around half a second before Charlie burst into twinkling laughter. Ignoring Michael’s offended scoff, she told him: “I ordered both of us hot wings, by the way; hope you don't mind.” 

It was a strange dynamic they all shared. From Charlie's almost reserved demeanor when they first met to her now openly involving Freddy when she clowned on her friend, the three of them had certainly come far. The days of hiding in backrooms and away from the light were over.

“Oh my god… hot wings?!” Michael draped himself over her shoulders with a dramatic gasp. “Charlie Emily, you know me so well.”

“I take it you are a fan of that dish?” Freddy laughed, watching as Charlie tried in vain to push away Michael’s dead weight as he practically rag-dolled on her, grinning all the while.

“That and a good old-fashioned burger; those were some of my favorites,” Michael replied, and Freddy’s eyes widened in pleasant surprise.

“Well, what a coincidence! Charlie ordered me a burger as well—you are more than welcome to have a bite.”

“I’m taking you up on that for sure.” Mike gave Freddy a rather lackluster thumbs, attention now focused on bothering Charlie. He had a lot of years to make up for, after all.

Charlie effectively had her arms pinned as Michael rolled over her, essentially using her as a pillow. He totally ignored her as she attempted to wiggle from beneath him while he had his conversation with Freddy, but without the use of her arms there was no throwing him off easily.

“Are you comfy yet?” she asked sarcastically. Squished lightly between her two friends, she managed to screw one arm out from under Mike and poke his ribs with a bony finger.

Gregory was beginning to stir at the sound of fun. It was the oddest thing, he felt as though he'd gotten a full night’s sleep—though he was sure it still couldn’t be that late in the day. He almost felt jealous as he watched his family interact without him, but there wasn’t anything to stay mad at. Gregory would get up slowly, hoping to get a drop on them and ambush his family where they all hung out casually on the bed.

“I was, until my pillow stabbed me in the ribs…,” Michael grumbled, finally rolling off Charlie to lay on his back. He scrunched one leg up, hooking the other over his knee as he locked his hands behind his head. He could definitely still use a legit rest, but the shower seemed to give him a small burst of energy—enough to have trouble sitting still for a little while longer, at least.

Michael may not have noticed Gregory sneaking towards them, but Freddy had a second sense when it came to his son. As Charlie and Mike playfully bickered, Freddy’s ears perked up at the muted padding of little shoes against carpet. For a moment he ignored this, acting like he was completely unaware of Gregory’s approach as he laughed softly along with the others. However, just as Gregory reached Freddy’s bedside in preparation to strike the redhead acted fast.

Whipping around, Freddy was quick to snatch him under the arms and hoist him into his lap, hugging him close. “Hello, superstar! I am glad you could join us! How are you feeling?” 

Gregory squawked as he was lifted, unable to mask the smile on his lips. Other than his pale eyes, there didn’t appear to be anything different about him—no major change in health from before the nap. Thank goodness.

“Better! I feel great, actually,” he laughed out, content despite his plan not exactly working. He leaned in, hugging Freddy around the chest as he took in his surroundings. “This hotel room’s pretty sweet!”

When he’d left that horrendous foster home a while ago, Gregory knew one of the things he’d miss most was sleeping in a real bed. Though he’d had some respite in Freddy’s room this past weekend, the itchy carpets of the Pizzaplex and hard flooring could only be comfortable for all of three minutes.

“I got you a big lunch to get your strength back, kiddo,” Charlie said, turned on her side again now that Michael quit using her like a backrest.

“We are staying in a family vacation suite,” Freddy added, gesturing towards the doorway leading to the main area. “As well as these extremely comfortable beds, we have our own kitchen and sitting area, and full spa, gym, and arcade access.”

He was quoting the concierge now, understanding the concept of an arcade perfectly but curious as to what the gym and spa entailed. He could make educated guesses of course, which weren’t too far off—he knew gyms were meant for humans to work out in and spas were meant to relax.

“Arcade?!” Gregory asked, surprised to know there was something he’d enjoy at this hotel. Well—besides from the free meals and beds.

“After you eat,” Charlie reminded him gently. Someone had to disappoint him a little, and she knew Freddy didn't enjoy telling his son no. Though as his big sister, Charlie could burst his bubble all she liked to a certain degree.

“We’re going to max out your poor brother’s credit card at the end of this, Charlie,” Michael mused, turning on his side to face the others and resting his head on his palm. He grinned up at Gregory, happy to see that he did in fact look chipper than earlier. “But yeah, we’ve got a bunch of food on the way—apparently your dad’s going to try a burger.”

Gregory's eyes widened at that, and he eagerly patted Freddy’s shoulders. “Oh man—you're gonna love it!”

All this talk of food made Gregory's stomach growl loudly. The lack of a proper diet was beginning to take its toll. If only he still had that blue ice cream cake, he thought. He could fill up on that right away. 

As if on cue, there was a hard knock at the door as an unseen staff member called out: “Room service!”

“I’ve got it,” Michael assured, launching himself off the bed and heading for the front door. Opening it revealed a huge tray piled high with food, which he immediately brought inside with a careful balancing act. Charlie really had gone all out with Gregory’s lunch…

The others made their way over as Michael set the food on the kitchen counter. When Gregory tried to peer up and see their spread, Mike told him: “Looks like you’ve got a sandwich, some Mac and cheese, and… a smoothie?” Eyebrows furrowed curiously, he picked up the drink and read the label on the side. “PB&J flavored… huh. Mind if I take a sip? Thanks.”

Without waiting for an answer Mike took a loud slurp of the drink, his face shifting through an array of emotions as he processed the weirdness of it.

“Michael…,” Freddy chided gently, though he couldn’t fault him for being intrigued. Admittedly, now that he could eat Freddy wanted to try everything on the counter too.

Gregory laughed at his reaction. The smoothie was a mix of grapes, strawberry yogurt, and peanut butter. It tasted too sweet to be good for you. Yet it must have some nutritional value if it had fruit, right?

“Oh man, is it like the pizza slushee?” Gregory leaned over, snatching his smoothie out of his big brother's grasp. Immediately, Gregory went through similar stages of grief to Michael after taking a sip. It had an odd texture with the various seeds—he was almost positive this yogurt was just mixed with strawberry preserves to make it even sweeter. After processing what’d just assaulted his taste buds, he held the smoothie up to Freddy.

“Try this—” Gregory suggested without giving his verbal opinion. He didn't want to influence his dad’s decision to drink the odd smoothie more than his face already had.

Freddy took the smoothie, visually analyzing it before hesitantly putting the straw to his lips. He took the smallest of sips, more so trying to get used to the sensation of drinking before he could focus on the flavor itself. He swirled the smoothie in his mouth, giving the flavors and textures a moment to process before swallowing it down. The corners of his lips quirked up and down of their own accord, his expressive face unable to settle on how he felt. Meeting Gregory’s inquisitive gaze, all he could say was: “It is… odd.”

Meanwhile, Charlie popped open the large container of hot wings, its spicy aroma wafting over the table. Luckily they’d been given an array of dipping sauces along with a few vegetables. Charlie figured she’d end up sharing those veggies with Gregory, as her and Michael were likely just going to pig out on the platter of chicken wings. “I could cry, these look so good...”

Michael joined Charlie at the table, enticed by the mouthwatering scent of chicken. They each picked up a wing, clinking them together as if they were glasses before taking a bite.

“Oh my fu—reaking god…,” Michael groaned, curbing his swear at the last second when Freddy’s eyes snapped to him. It seemed like the former bear’s patience for cursing was at its end, now that he had time to worry about that sort of thing. Mike immediately scarfed down the rest of the chicken wing and deposited the bone on the empty side of the container. “I missed food so much…”

“Right?!” Charlie said, discarding a wayward bone. This hotel’s kitchen didn’t mess around with the wings. Satisfied for the moment, Charlie wiped her fingers off—now more attentive towards getting Gregory his sandwich and side dish. After she set Gregory’s plate at the table, Charlie retrieved and set Freddy’s burger down as well.

“I can’t believe I was fine with not eating for like forty years—never doing that again, that’s for sure,” Charlie scoffed, going in for a second spicy morsel.

Gregory wasted no time. Like a feral beast, he dug into his bowl of gooey homemade macaroni and cheese. The dish had been baked over with spiced bread crumbs, its broccoli snapping with roasted flavor as he munched on his pasta. It felt good to eat a dish with some vegetables in it. While Gregory's deathly pallor hadn't changed from the meal, he seemed more lively and aware with each bite. 

Satisfied that Gregory was enjoying his food, Freddy picked up his burger. Again, he conducted a visual examination before digging in, taking note of “all the fixin’s” that Charlie ordered. Then he took a tentative bite, placing the rest of the burger back in its container while he chewed experimentally. His bright eyes widened as the satisfyingly greasy flavor washed over his tongue, and instead of giving a verbal opinion he simply picked the food right back up and took another bite.

“Good news: Freddy likes burgers, everyone!” Michael announced, though his words were muffled as he spoke through a mouthful of chicken wings.

Freddy nodded in agreement, swallowing down another few bites before offering Mike a bite. “I am sorry… Did you want some, Michael?”

“No—you’re good, big guy!” Mike laughed, shaking his head and grabbing another wing. “Enjoy your first official meal!” 

Charlie snorted, covering her mouth as she dug out a napkin from their meals and tossed it Michael's way. The sauce on his face was making her mouth burn just by looking at it. If she remembered correctly, Michael had been far better with spices than her. She was always dipping her wings into the blue cheese sauce provided and powered through despite the pain it took to clean the spicy meat from the bones.

“Yeah! It's your first time eating, so take a wing—” Charlie offered, pushing hers and Michael's platters towards Freddy a little.

While Gregory wanted to part with some food to share with Freddy, he found himself on autopilot when eating. He wasn't paying attention at all, and had quickly finished off his pasta before starting on the pulled pork sandwich Charlie so graciously chose for him. It felt nice to eat real food.

When he heard his name being called, he finally looked up. The corners of his mouth were stuck with cheese and barbecue sauce as he listened.

“Gregory—is your food really good, little man?” Charlie asked, subtly pointing out how he hadn't spoken since they began their meal.

“Mhm—” was all Gregory could answer. Both cheeks were full and he foresaw himself spitting anywhere should he actually try to talk.

Freddy quickly realized that he wasn’t a fan of messy food. The burger was bad enough, falling apart towards the end and dripping a trail of grease down his hand that he quickly stopped before it reached his sweater. Learning quickly, he pushed his sleeves up before attempting to eat a wing, although the texture of the sauce coating his fingers made him grimace slightly. It reminded Freddy of children slapping their sticky hands onto every part of his suit they could reach, covering him with unknown substances and prompting a thorough wash at the end of each day. Still, he managed a surprisingly demure bite of the chicken wing that left little residue on his mouth and had to consent it was also delicious.

Having wiped off his own face, Michael grabbed a handful of clean napkins and threw them to Gregory. Honestly, now that he’d been fed the kid probably needed a shower more than anything—it would certainly make him feel even better to put a clean outfit on over a body not already caked in grime

Gregory read Michael's mind. He was a little surprised no one had commented on the sheer unhygienic state he was in. All of his bandages, once fun and brightly saturated colors, were coated in a generous layer of filth. He was sure were he to peel back the protective plastic, the healing skin beneath would be clean and lily white.

There would be a paradox with cleaning himself off. People would see how pale he'd become, and may worry and nag his dad about the matter if they were super nosy... Then again, people were going to complain if he smelled bad, too.

With his sandwich finished, Gregory pushed his emptied containers away, asking Freddy: “Can I be excused? I need to shower or I'll catch the plague or something...”

“Of course,” Freddy replied with a nod, already starting to gather the empty containers together.

“The bag of new clothes is in the bedroom,” Michael reminded as Gregory rushed off. 

After Michael and Charlie scarfed down the rest of their wings, they helped Freddy collect the trash. Upon Freddy’s confused question of where to put things, Mike laughed and informed him that they could just return the tray to the hallway and staff would pick it up. It was interesting to figure out the little things Freddy didn’t know—Michael had to remind himself that what was common knowledge to him wasn’t necessarily as obvious to the former animatronic.

When Freddy bent to place the tray on the hallway floor, he felt Sammy’s business card crinkle in his pocket. Locking the door and returning to the living room area, he told the others: “We should call Sammy and let him know we successfully acquired a room.”

“Do you want to do the honors, Charlie?” Michael asked, watching Freddy pull the little card out of his pocket.

Charlie leaned back, the sensation of being full unusual and new all over again. While eating had given her a sort of tired demeanor, she could always talk to her brother. “Sure! Sam's probably already worried we haven't called already.”

Charlie didn't want to tell the others, but Sam had begged Charlie to stay. While she wanted to catch up with her twin, it was very clear that he wouldn't get anything done with her around to distract him. She'd return tomorrow, and the three friends could catch up—maybe reintroduce Sammy with Liz and Evan, if he was up for it.

And Sam still had to meet with his dad…

After taking the card from Freddy, Charlie wandered into the living area and dialed up his number. He voice grew dimmer as she walked, with Sammy picking up immediately.

“Hey! It's Charlie—” she started, unaware that he knew the hotel was calling him from the caller ID. Their conversation consisted of what room they were staying in, and how nice it was to be out and about again after so long.

Inside the bathroom, after Gregory dressed himself he took a good look in the mirror. Wiping away the fog from the reflective glass, he sighed deeply.

He was happy to be out of the Pizzaplex—even happier to be alive and with people who cared about him. Still, this ghastly appearance he had now just made him feel strange. It’s like he was looking at another person's face in every reflection he saw of himself. The shower didn't help with that; it couldn't wash away the effects of the Remnant on his body.

Feeling his mind grow foggy, Gregory decided to lean against the sink and stare dejectedly until his face looked normal again.

Of course, it didn’t take Freddy long to sense something amiss. After the water had been cut off for some time and the boy still hadn’t emerged from the bathroom, Freddy glanced towards the closed door with a pinched expression.

“Hey, we’re supposed to be relaxing, remember?” Michael commented, placing a hand on Freddy’s back. Despite his playful words, Mike also felt a nagging tug in the back of his mind as he remembered the last time he’d left Gregory alone in a bathroom… although he was quick to remind himself that William and his tricks were gone. Plus, Michael was in there last and hadn’t seen anything that might inject an unsuspecting child with immortality juice.

“���I should check on him,” Freddy murmured, and Mike knew not to fight him on the matter. He gave Freddy’s back a pat, then went to lounge on the couch and check out the TV, curious to see what sort of trashy shows were on nowadays. Knocking on the bathroom door, Freddy called out softly: “Gregory? It is Freddy; are you alright?” 

Gregory was stirred from this odd depersonalizing episode. Blinking out of it and looking to the door, he called beyond the sturdy wooden barrier between them.

“Combing my hair!” he lied, quickly brushing his fingers through his bangs. Gregory held it out before dropping the still wet locks of hair, in desperate need of a cut soon. “Be out in a second!”

The last thing he wanted was to worry Freddy of all people. After making himself a little more presentable, halfway tucking his tank top and not caring if it was uneven, Gregory strode from the bathroom. Charlie had since taken her call out on the balcony, the cord to the hotel phone pinched between sliding glass doors. Between Michael's flicking through endless channels, you could hear the light chime of her laughter.

Gregory smiled up at Freddy. “What's up?”

There wasn't anything wrong. He was fine.

…Well. Fine enough.

Surely the strange apprehension he felt when entering bathrooms now would go away eventually. One day he'd forget the whole fiasco with that plushie even happened, Gregory told himself.

“I was just checking in on you,” Freddy said, returning the smile. Clearly the boy had been stressing about something—Freddy could see it in his pale face and shining silver eyes. “Follow me a moment, would you?”

He led Gregory into the bedroom and closed the door, just in case he didn’t want his siblings to overhear their conversation. Freddy hoped he'd open up and tell him what was bothering him, but if not he at least wanted to assure Gregory he was always there if he wanted to talk. The poor boy had been through so many traumatic events over the past weekend, it was honestly a wonder he could still be in such high spirits. Freddy half-expected some residual shock to hit at any moment—possibly even for Michael and Charlie, too, though they had years to deal with the situation compared to Gregory’s three days.

“Sit next to me,” Freddy instructed gently as he perched on one of the beds, patting the empty spot at his side. When Gregory clambered up and got settled, Freddy ran a hand through his wet hair, pushing it out of his face. “I just wanted to let you know that you can always talk to me about anything. You have been through a lot this weekend—more so than anyone should ever have to, let alone someone so young. If there is ever something bothering you, I will listen and do my best to help in whatever way I can.”

Freddy’s words and kind expression were backed with nothing but the utmost sincerity. Of course he could talk to Freddy about anything; Gregory knew this.

But what good was talking about how he felt going to do?

Maybe this mindset—this way of approaching things—wasn't good. But Gregory felt as though it was merely his self-esteem being affected. Or... perhaps it was a side effect of the Remnant.

There was a while where Gregory thought on this. That is until he realized his father was looking at him with increasing worry. He had to say something—whether it was a cover up or the truth it didn’t matter.

“It's my face... I just don't look like me anymore. I'm still getting used to it,” Gregory admitted, unsure how important it was that his mind left his body while staring at his own reflection. He would omit this little detail for now.

“Ah.” Freddy’s expression shifted to one of understanding. “Well, I can certainly empathize to a degree—it seems like it may take us both a while to get used to our appearances.”

At this point, Freddy still hadn’t gotten a chance to really look at this new android form of him—not while he inhabited it, that is. So distracted with the rest of the world, he’d been content to catch the occasional faint glimpse of himself in a passing glass window. However, he knew Gregory’s concern came from an entirely different and darker place.

“If it is any consolation,” Freddy continued with that eye-crinkling smile of his, gently cupping one of Gregory’s cheeks in his hand. “I still think you look just like my superstar, regardless of what you might see in the mirror.”

At least they weren't going through this alone. Gregory never thought he'd ever get to feel the familial closeness and pride of being loved unconditionally. But Freddy remained his papa bear; now he just happened to look less ursine than ever.

“That helps...” Gregory replied, leaning into his touch. “I'll get over it eventually. Like you said... I just have to get used to it.” He sighed in a resigned fashion.

And hey—maybe it would help him hide better from... them.

“It's probably for the best I don't look like myself, anyway.” Gregory reached up and grasped Freddy's hand where it rested on his face, glancing away momentarily. “Then my foster parents can't find me...”

Almost imperceptibly, Freddy’s fingertips tightened against Gregory’s cheek. This was a topic he hadn’t wanted to think of just yet, but knew this was a real threat on the horizon. For all intents and purposes, Freddy had kidnapped a child. Despite the well-meaning behind his actions, he knew there was a whole slew of issues regarding that he hadn’t the first idea how to go about dealing with.

“No matter what happens, I am staying with you,” Freddy reassured, wholly confident of at least that fact. He finally moved his hand, only to pull Gregory into a tight hug. “Now, how about we get the others and check out that arcade? I am curious to see how it compares to the Pizzaplex!”

Gregory had never seen such a collection of attractions than those at the Pizzaplex. He doubted the little hotel arcade could hold a candle to the might of the gaming library Freddy’s had. Still, it was totally worth it to go and see the looks on Michael’s face when Gregory beat him at fighting games again. It was a fun distraction.

And that’s what he really needed right now. Anything to get his mind off the silver eyes in his head, and those terrifying faces of people who only loved him for the paycheck he brought with him.

***

There were a few reruns of popular shows playing on some TV channels. The 90’s hit The Immortal and the Restless was having an anniversary marathon—all twelve seasons aired two times and followed by the dramatic movie conclusion. When Charlie was done with her phone call, she couldn’t help but notice the familiar theme song playing on the high definition television.

“Oh no, what season is this?” she asked, hurrying to hang up the phone so she could scamper back towards the couch. She didn’t want to miss anymore of the show than she already had.

“Season five,” Michael replied, shifting to make room. His eyes never left the TV, even as he felt Charlie sink in next to him. “You’ve missed so much… meanwhile I’ve seen this entire show way too many times.”

Mike couldn’t even begin to count the amount of hours he’d laid motionless in front of the TV, watching crappy soap operas with reckless abandon. It’d become somewhat of a guilty pleasure over the years, especially as time went on and it became more difficult for him to actually leave his apartment. What better way to get away from the troubles of his own life than to become invested in those of fictional characters?

As Charlie settled next to Michael, Freddy and Gregory emerged from the bedroom. Noticing the pair on the couch, Freddy walked over to their side and announced: “Gregory and I are going to visit the arcade and would love for you to join us!”

“Huh?” Mike was fully invested in the vampire drama, and it took a monumental effort—and well-timed commercial break—to tear his gaze away and look up at Freddy. Once he processed what the man said though, he was quick to brighten up with an eager nod. “Oh, sure! We can definitely explore the hotel a bit.”

Good thing they were playing the marathon twice, Charlie thought, grinning as she lifted herself energetically from the couch. That way they could start at the beginning tomorrow.

“I almost forgot about the arcade!” Charlie was going to enjoy being able to play a video game without the oppressive atmosphere of the Pizzaplex ruining all their fun. Remembering the bag stashed away inside her jacket pocket, she mused: “I wonder if this prize counter will accept three rolls of game tickets from Freddy's…”

“Great question,” Gregory said, already trying to get out of the door. He reached for the knob and opened up the hallway and holding it. “We'll find out when we get there!”

***

PREVIOUS INSTALLMENT: Spend the Night ~~ Next Chapter

Looking for more? Check out the Chapter Masterlist on Tumblr!

Or check out the entire Wires that Bind Us Series on ao3!

[anniebaxterthefuture]

Contrary to how most of the world seemed to view her, Annabelle didn’t consider herself stupid. Hot headed at times, absolutely. Selfish, entitled, and a little insensitive? Confirmative. But she wasn’t some naive child that needed to be sheltered and protected, despite what her father thought. Annie knew her dad loved her, and she completely understood how lucky she was to have somebody looking out for her in the ways that he did, but she had come to a point in her life where she was feeling altogether, completely and utterly alone. 

By no means did Annie think she didn’t have friends. She did, and she was so lucky to be surrounded by so many amazing people, but with her father’s constant watchful eye, and a security detail over her shoulder almost every hour of every day, she was rarely allowed the opportunity to just go out and have fun. Coffee dates with Rae were dampened by the presence of Kenny – her lanky and loveable, but ultimately overbearing glorified babysitter. Days out with Henry and Chess usually required an extra pair of eyes – generally in the form of Kenny’s broody boyfriend Harvey – as her father dreaded the unwanted attention that ‘cavorting with rockstars’ might bring her. She’d once clapped back that if he thought cat cafés and trips to the park with Hazel classified as cavorting, that he’d hate to hear about what she and Henry used to get up to as teens in Monaco – a retort that had landed her a month-long ban on seeing him at all. 

Truthfully, there was a grand total of three people that her father seemed to trust her around, the only three people in the world that she seemed allowed to spend time with sans a chaperone; Elias Hewitt, Dante Lee, and Jackson Otto. Fortunately, the three of them just so happened to be her favourite people in the whole, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed to Annie what they all appeared to have in common with her father. She’d pondered for years over the possibility that her friendship with the boys might merely be an act, that the three of them only spent time with her under her father’s orders, presumably hating every last minute of listening to her loud-mouth remarks and playful flirting. Whatever their intentions, and whatever the truth was behind their friendship, it didn’t stop Annie from missing the three of them while they were gone. 

Tentative as he often was to land her in the spotlight, Michael Baxter had agreed that Annie could accompany him to Florida ahead of the Miami Grand Prix. His ground rules – much like Australia – had been firm and strict, leaving Annie little-to-no time to explore on her own, nor touch base with Jax or Dante as she’d been dying to do for so long now. She knew she’d bump into Elias one way or another – the handsome boy so often acting as her father’s shorter, paler shadow – but she’d fought hard to even step foot on Miami soil, and she wanted to make the most of it. 

Despite direct orders to not leave the hotel without her father – as well as to check in with him if she even so much as wanted to leave their suite – Annie had managed to slip past his lackies, and was now enjoying the comfort of the hot, Floridian sun against her skin.  

Of course, she didn’t want to completely piss her father off, with every intention of keeping her head low and staying out of sight of anybody who might recognise her. Donning a McLaren baseball cap in a hideous orange that she was certain Jax would burn if he saw it, and a pair of shorts that had the Mercedes logo printed on each ass-cheek, she was fairly positive nobody would suspect she had any affiliation with Ferrari. And, if they did, then she figured it would make one hell of a headline. 

Anxiety coursed through her veins as she walked the City, thinking absently of her friends. Some days, Annie wondered if enough time and distance meant they forgot about her, that men like Jackson and Dante simply went about their days feeling lighter without her constant presence. It didn’t do well for her to get caught up in her own insecurities, but it was often hard to keep them at bay. 

With a sigh, she pressed the heel of her palm to her eyes, rubbing gently to will away both the building migraine and the unwanted thoughts nagging in the back of her mind. Just as she withdrew her hand, some jackass on a skateboard sped past her, his shoulder colliding with Annie’s own. Immediately she felt her legs buckle beneath her, the speed of the impact knocking her off her feet, causing her to hurtle onto the concrete beneath her. Her knees harshly collided with the ground, a hiss of pain whistling between her teeth, and Annie’s head immediately shot up to glare after the moron who, of course, had come away entirely unscathed and was now careening around the corner without a care in the world. 

“You asshole,” Annie called out, momentarily forgetting that she was meant to be keeping a low profile. 

Groaning, she stared down at the blood now mapping her knees, both grazed and looking a little worse for wear. Daddy would not be happy with her once he realised she’d not only disobeyed his orders but had potentially hurt herself in the process. 

“Stupid, bitchass, low-rent Floridian Tony Hawk motherfucker,” she mumbled under her breath. 

[beardedmrbean]

In Port-au-Prince you cannot see the boundaries, but you must know where they are. Your life may depend on it. Competing gangs are carving up the Haitian capital, kidnapping, raping, and killing at will. They demarcate their territory in blood. Cross from one gang's turf to another, and you may not make it back.

Those who live here carry a mental map, dividing this teeming city into green, yellow, and red zones. Green means gang free, yellow can be safe today and deadly tomorrow, and red is a no-go area. The green area is shrinking as heavily armed gangs tighten their grip.

Armed groups control - and terrorise - at least 60% of the capital and its surroundings, according to Haitian human rights groups. They encircle the city, controlling roads in and out. And the UN says the gangs killed almost 1,000 people here between January and June of this year.

This report contains content which some readers may find upsetting, including sexual violence

Port-au-Prince is nestled between green hillsides and the blue waters of the Caribbean. It is blanketed by heat and neglect. The rubbish is knee-deep in places - a putrid monument to a crumbling state. There is no head of state (the last one was killed in office), no functioning parliament (gangs control the area around it) and the US-backed prime minister, Ariel Henry, is unelected and deeply unpopular.

In effect the state is missing in action, as the people suffer overlapping crises. Almost half the population - 4.7 million Haitians - are facing acute hunger. In the capital around 20,000 people are facing famine-like conditions, according to the UN. This is a first for the Americas. Cholera has made a deadly comeback. But armed gangs are the greatest plague.

They set the clock here. Morning rush hour - between 06:00 and 09:00 - is peak kidnapping time. Many are snatched from the streets on their way to work. Others are targeted in the evening rush hour - from 15:00 to 18:00.

About 50 of the staff at our downtown hotel live in because it's too dangerous for them to go home. Few here go out after dark. The manager says he never leaves the building.

Kidnapping is a growth industry. There were 1,107 reported cases between January and October of this year, according to the UN. For some gangs it's a major income stream. Ransoms can run from $200 (£164) to $1m (£819,740). Most victims come back alive - if the ransom is paid - but they are made to suffer.

"Men are beaten and burned with materials like melted plastic," says Gedeon Jean, of Haiti's Centre for Analysis and Research in Human Rights. "Women and girls are subject to gang rape. This situation spurs relatives to find money to pay the ransom. Sometimes kidnappers call the relatives so they can hear the rape being carried out on the phone."

Morning in Delmas

We travel around by armoured car. Normally that's reserved for frontlines in warzones like Ukraine, but it's necessary in Port-au-Prince to ward off kidnappers. It is a protection that many here can't afford. It's the poorest country in the Western hemisphere, prone to both natural and political disasters.

Kidnappers belong to competing gangs - which are mainly grouped into two large coalitions - G9 and G-Pep.

Keep Reading

[nos7evin]

SLEVIN + TIMELINE.

1970 - 1979. henry is born to max and laura benedetto in a hole in the wall in brooklyn, new york. childhood passes quickly. as a child, he doesn’t realize what living paycheck to paycheck looks like. he only knows his mother always has breakfast ready when he wakes in the morning and that his father promises they could get a dog when they move to the suburbs.

early 1979. henry is almost nine years old when his parents are murdered by local mob bosses after max bet on a fixed horse race. henry is spared by a contracted assassin called goodkat. they leave new york with henry now considered missing and presumed dead by both the authorities and the mob. he won’t see new york again for twenty years.

1979. henry is nine and has spent the last few days living from hotel room to hotel room until goodkat tells him they’re in the clear. they finally settle in a ranch house thirty miles outside kansas city, MO. goodkat is around most of the time; henry doesn’t realize he appreciates the company until he takes his first job since new york. the quiet is haunting. he starts school under a false name that autumn.

1980. henry is ten when he starts asking questions. goodkat doesn’t tell him who’s responsible for his parents deaths, says it’s not time for him to know just yet, but he does start teaching him about different kinds of ammunition. after a few months, he trades the lectures for a .38 revolver and teaches him how to shoot.

1983. henry is thirteen when goodkat allows him to join him on a contract. it’s a sniper job. impersonal. henry acts as the spotter, calling out goodkat’s shots. he fires twice and doesn’t miss. henry can see the target’s mouth moving as if calling for help or saying a prayer; he knows it wont do him any good. his lungs are punctured, already filling with blood and he’ll drown within the minute. goodkat buys him ice cream after. he now lets him join on most jobs.

1987. henry is seventeen when he takes his first job. it’s a handoff from goodkat, too simple for a man of his name but perfect for a beginner. it’s a lawyer with a bad habit that’s outlived his usefulness, and an overdose that won’t raise any questions. goodkat tells him it gets easier. he believes him. when he’s tasked with taking care of an embezzling business manager, he shoots twice and watches as the back seat runs red.

1991. henry is twenty-one when he finally learns the names of the men responsible for his parents deaths: the boss, the rabbi and one other. goodkat says nobody can reach them; they’ve been in hiding since ‘84 after one tried to kill the other. he’s determined to prove him wrong. he will spend the next seven years planning their downfall.

1999. under the alias slevin kelevra, the boss and the rabbi are executed by the ghost of a boy they thought dead. they are suffocated using a plastic bag and left to die in the same manner as max benedetto twenty years earlier. the same night, detective brikowski is later found with a hole in the back of the head and his brains painting the front window of his town car; a violent ending brought about by a violent beginning, a debt consecrated in the blood of laura benedetto.

1999 - ????. the boy named henry benedetto is dead. the alias slevin kelevra is burned. the bad dog survives to fight another day. this time, however, he isn’t alone. the goodkat and the coroner are the only ones who know he exists and he keeps them close, even when they aren't.

[teenageread]

Review: People We Meet on Vacation

Initial Thoughts:

This is a classic summertime read! Emily Henry held nothing back as this novel contained romance, adventure, traveling trips, and a lot of sun. What I loved most about this book was all the summer adventures Henry put on characters through, and how we actually got chapters dedicated to the previous summer. Alex and Poppy, friends from freshman year of university, had twelve beautiful summer adventures with each other, in which Henry starts the novel off with them not talking due to what happened two summers ago. This was the best part, and especially how these trips were realistic based on their age and what was happening in their life. There was no jetting off to Mexico fresh out of college, but a realistic mid-America adventure with cheap hotels and even cheaper meals. Henry wrote this novel moving between the present-day Palm Spring trips, past summer vacations marked by their year number, and slowly getting closer from summer 12 to summer 2 which is what ended our dynamic duo before the present day. This added suspense to this novel, as while you were having fun learning about the previous trips and current adventures, you were itching to know what happened during that summer, which made this novel fly through your hands.

Characters:

Henry wrote Poppy and Alex to be complete opposites in style and manner, yet kindred spirits in their hearts. When told from Poppy’s perspective, Henry gave us insight into our loud and colorful girl, who was looking for love in all the wrong places. Her cheery personality made the story shine, and you wanted what was best for Poppy, and supported her as she tried to make this disaster of a trip into the “good old days” despite being too old to go without A/C in July. Unfortunately Poppy is too stuck in the past to see what is happening in front of her, as she tries to make something that is clearly not working work, to hold onto Alex and get their friendship - or relationship - back on track. As we explore previous summers Poppy admits to herself when she first fell in love with Alex, and you can tell he was in love with her from the beginning. After all, how could Alex, our dressed coded, agenda planned, ruler follower of a human, agree to go on a trip that they definitely cannot afford, yet through the sketchy deals and Facebook groups, managed to get there on the cheap. Alex, despite his strictness to life and routines, is someone you can also easily fall for, and I loved that throughout the novel he is consistently nice and gentle in every situation. Side characters in this novel also really pop off, making this story enjoyable for all of Poppy and Alex’s relationships. I love Poppy’s best friend, Rachel, she was a delight every time I heard about her, and I loved how she brought out another side of Poppy that Alex did not. Poppy’s boss, Swpna, was also a delight who added more to Poppy’s idea of the future in a career, which this novel needed. Not many side characters stuck out from Alex’s point of view, besides his ex-girlfriend, who was only a character to give Poppy someone to hate and blame for Alex and her break up. Henry had a knack for characters, and I just loved the connections they built with them throughout the novel through great conversations, and plotlines that make sense, as this slow burn of a romance was built off of years of anticipation. 

Plot / Writing:

Again, I absolutely love the plot of this novel, the focus of two friends and their yearly summer adventures, that Henry actually gave us in every other chapter split from the present day (Palm Springs Trip), to previous summers, as we make our way to the end of the novel, where Henry finally tells us what happened that second summer, and we complete the romance of Poppy and Alex of if our two best friends are meant to be more than friends. With the switching between present days and summer pasts, Henry keeps the plot moving quickly, leaving you wanting to know what their next summer adventure is, and figure out if the tension will ever cool it in Palm Springs. With great banter between Poppy and Alex, the characters felt real, and thus the decisions they made mattered to you as a reader. Where there was a bit of sex in the novel, I felt it was fine enough and late enough in the novel to make sense, and where graphic, Henry made it appropriately timed to really add more flair to the story. With some unexpected twists happening throughout, this book reads and feels like a rom-com and is the perfect read for any summer vacation. 

Conclusion: 

Emily Henry wrote the perfect summer story of sunny beaches, adventures, misadventures, and a whole lot of romance and missed opportunities and Poppy and Alex, two summer best friends, finally open up about their feelings in the best possible way. Truly a summer rom-com in a novel, and I cannot wait for the movie to come out! 

[buckysgoldenheart]

The Ways We Meet

Henry Cavill x Reader

Summary: While trying to avoid another man at an A-list event, you accidentally bump into Henry who has no interest in letting you go despite not even knowing your name.

Notes: idk, I thought it was kinda cute. Pov changes back and forth between Y/N and Henry A LOT. Implied smut (because I’m so damn bad at writing full smut).

Words: 2211

Y/N:

These events pissed you off, they really did. Despite being only a director’s assistant, you were forced to attend. And it wasn’t the tight, sparkly dresses you had to wear that made you miserable, nor the heavy makeup or the overcrowding in rooms that far surpassed fire department code. It was more that you felt out of place and always managed to have one creepy man sense that from a mile away with the intent to pray on what looked like your innocence. You weren’t innocent, by far, but you supposed the impression you gave off by the way you stood away from others, sipping the same drink for a half hour, made sense.

Usually, drinking in a dark corner at an A-list event by the time midnight came around kept you safe. Those creepy men surrendered to your disinterest in them, and ventured to find an easier, more desperate woman. But not tonight. Tonight, this one was persistent.

You didn’t know his name; never let him get close enough to tell you, but he followed you around, not so subtly watching you with a look in his eyes that had you nauseous. Every step he neared you was a step you took in the opposite direction hoping to evade his creepiness.

Henry:

It had been a long night, too long, and Henry wished he could just go back to the hotel and watch a stupid movie until the early hours of the Sunday morning, since there was no way he would get a good nights sleep with the jetlag still wracking his body from the morning before.

He was saying goodbye to a couple coworkers, patting them on their backs in a friendly gesture when his shoulder roughly shoved forward. He stumbled a step, and before he could turn to see why, a woman passed him.

Her body was wrapped a snug, shiny red gown, and she had curls pinned back into an elegant bun, and when she turned to apologize, she lightly touched his bicep, smiling politely before continuing on her path. His breath hitched but she didn’t notice as she was gone a half-second later, buried somewhere in the mass of bodies.

His lips were still parted, stunned, until a friend tapped his shoulder.

“Hey, are you ok?” The friend asked, to which Henry only nodded, then walked away in the direction the woman went.

It took time to find her, but when he did, something in his chest seemed to both tighten and lighten in sync. He watched her from a distance as she took a gulp of the drink in her hand then placed it back on the counter and ducked. Henry chuckled, but then spotted him: A smallish man slowly making his way toward where she was unsuccessfully hiding.

Henry quickly shuffled his way through the crowd, and just moments before the other man could’ve spotted her, Henry snatched her by the arm and pulled her into a corner. With his back to the wall, he faced the crowd, his arms holding her snuggly, chest to chest, until the man passed them by.

Y/N:

“You’re safe now,” A man said, drawing your attention upward, and your eyes couldn’t help but widen. Henry Cavill was looking at you with a playful smirk on his handsome face that you never in a million years would have imagined be directed toward you. “Remember me?”

“Shit,” You cursed yourself. “It was you I bumped into earlier.” What a way to make a first impression. How was it that you always managed to look like an idiot in front of the hottest actors at these parties? This certainly wasn’t the first time. Chris Evans could confirm that, and probably wouldn’t hesitate to.

“It was.”

“Oh God, I’m so sorry. I’m not normally so rude. I can explain.”

Henry’s shoulders shook as he laughed, and it reminded you that he still held you tight, with an odd protectiveness. “I think I’ve caught on to the situation,” He said. “Do you know that guy?”

You shook your head.

Henry casually nodded at your confirmation, that smile still on his face, but it slipped a moment later and you didn’t have to guess why. He looked back at you. “Do you think you could trust a stranger for a brief minute?”

“W-What?”

“Yes or no?” He quickly asked.

You blinked. “Yea, I guess.”

“Good,” He said, then slammed his lips to yours.

It shocked you but the feeling of having every part of your body pressed against his made you dizzy, and what was meant to force the creeper away, lasted much longer than the minute Henry promised. Many minutes longer. Enough minutes to give you the time to slide your hands up his chest until they settled on the back of his neck. Enough minutes to have him groaning when you softly nibbled on his bottom lip. Enough minutes to have your heart pounding.

You pulled back first when the embarrassment began to flood your body. Chuckling awkwardly, you stepped out of his arms, and said, “Um, thanks for the help…stranger,” then tried to disappear as fast as you could, for the first time thankful of the enormous crowd.

Henry:

She stiffened as his hand clasped around her wrist before she could get away, and when she turned to look at his face, she became no less tense. It made Henry feel uneasy. He liked her a little too much for how long he’d known her—which was nearly no time at all--and when he kissed her with everything he had, he thought it might’ve been enough to get her to stick around, at least for an extra minute or two.

He wasn’t arrogant. Yes, he’d had women tell him he was a good kisser, but he didn’t assume one kiss from him would have her falling on her knees, begging him to take her home. Henry just thought she felt something too. Perhaps more than one should from a stranger’s kiss, but enough of something to make her pause and question why it felt so damn good, just as he had for the millisecond before she bolted. It had him unwilling to give up so soon.

“Now where are you going?” Henry said, trying to hide the twinge of desperation in his voice.

“Sorry, I—”

“What’s your name?” He asked.

She blinked with her big, butterfly-wing-like lashes as if she hadn’t expected him to care. “…Y/N.”

“Ok, well, Y/N, I think that guy got the hint. You don’t have to keep running.”

“You never know.” She shrugged and anxiously bit the inside of her cheek.

“Right then, how about we leave?”

“What?”

“Do you like coffee?”

“…Sometimes,” One corner of her lips hesitantly turned upward. “Not usually at twelve thirty in the morning.”

Henry grinned as his thumb ran back and forth along the inside of her wrist. “Well, decaf is a thing, and I happen to know a place not far from here that’s open for another hour.”

Y/N:

You didn’t know how you managed to be pinned against one of his hotel room walls, but you were. You weren’t drunk from the little alcohol you’d had at the party, and the coffee certainly wasn’t spiked, but you still couldn’t explain how you were now moaning from the feel of Henry’s lips attached to your neck. Not that you were complaining.

“Goddamn,” He groaned against the skin of your collarbone as his fingers bunched the glittery fabric of your gown up until his hand could slip underneath. As it glided up your thigh, his palm left burns from its trail, and your skin grew hotter with each inch he made closer to your core. “You’re like an angel.”

You let out a throaty chuckle. “Hardly.”

Henry lifted his head and his hazy blue eyes met yours. “Hardly, huh?” He said as his index finger ran along the edge of your panties. He could’ve easily tucked a finger under that useless barrier and felt how wet you were.

“Yes,” You smirked, reaching your hand forward and undoing the buckle of his belt. “Hardly.”

Then you lowered to your knees.

Henry:

Henry didn’t even have to open his eyes to know that she was gone. He’d woken up a few times throughout the night, only to fall right back into peaceful sleep when he felt her warm body tucked into him. Each time, he tightened his arm firmly around her waist as she emitted little soft snores. But now, without the weight of her body next to his, Henry felt cold. Only the empty dip in the mattress where she’d laid for hours remained.

Her warmth was gone. She was gone.

And it stung a lot more than it should. He didn’t even know her last name or her age or, hell, anything about her. He knew he shouldn’t be as upset as he was, but he wanted to learn those things. To get to know her. Coffee the night before gave little insight to who she really was. That time was spent throwing flirtatious jokes back and forth, and if he’d have known she wouldn’t have given him the next morning to ask the important things, he’d have slowed himself down.

Fisting his fingers into his hair, Henry groaned at more than just the glaring sunlight streaming through the windows giving him a ripe headache. He shouldn’t be hung up on someone he barely knew. It wasn’t healthy.

Y/N:

God, you hoped you weren’t overstepping your bounds, or worse, being that girl who hangs around after a one-night stand long after the guy wants you to. You just…didn’t want to leave. He surprised you with his sincerity. He seemed to like you, though you didn’t know why, but you liked him, and, for once, you were willing to take the risk of sticking around for the morning after. It could be awkward. It could crash and burn. But if you weren’t going to be brave enough to see how the rest of the day could unfold, you knew you would regret it.

But, staying or not, it didn’t mean you weren’t going to hop down to the hotel lobby as soon as you woke to get your coffee fill. And based on what you saw last night, Henry liked his coffee rich and black.

Henry:

Who was he trying to fool? This was absolutely going to ruin his day. They’d had a rare chemistry that made him feel like he’d known her forever, and the sex certainly didn’t suck. Not even close.

Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, Henry sat up and rubbed his face with both hands. If she wasn’t going to be there, he might as well get dressed and go about his day. At least, that’s what he thought, until he heard the door lock click and the handle turn.

His head shot to the sound, and he was almost stunned when he saw her walk in, shakily balancing two cups of coffee, a danish, and a muffin in her arms. She jumped when she saw him looking at her, still impressively holding on to the breakfast.

“H-Hi,” She said. And, damn, Henry liked that voice.

“Hi,” He smiled back, and at the gesture he could see her shoulders relax.

He stood and walked towards her, neglecting his boxers entirely, just thrilled she hadn’t disappeared forever. She looked down and blushed, then averted her eyes as he began to unload the food from her arms, and one-by-one placed the items on the table. When she still hadn’t looked back at him, he chuckled and tucked a finger under her chin, tilting it up until she was forced to meet his eyes.

“Don’t be shy on me now.”

He ran his hands down her arms and grabbed both of her hands in his when she sighed and said “Sorry, I’m not…” She took a breath,” I don’t usually do this.”

“Hook up with strangers?”

“No, stick around the morning after. I kind of assume I’m not wanted, so—”

“You’re wanted here. Believe me,” Henry said fast, because those thoughts were the last he wanted on her mind.

She gaped, but then grinned wide and bright. “Really?”

“Definitely,” He said. “I want to know you.”

Y/N:

He wants to know you. Those words made your stomach flip. Though you took the risk to not sneak out at the break of dawn, you figured the odds of him not shuffling you out the door were unlikely to be in your favor. But you weren’t complaining about being wrong.

You grew embarrassed when you realized that dopey smile was still on your face, so you quickly wiped it off then grabbed the muffin and offered it to him. One corner of his lips quirked in unison with an eyebrow, and he gently took the offering from your hand.

“Thank you,” he said, pulling the paper down to take a bite.

“So, um…if we want to get to know one another, what do you want to do?”

Henry only smirked and said “Well…I’ve got some ideas.” He took another bite then licked the remaining crumbs off his lips, which was somehow more distracting than the fact that he was completely naked. “Half of them don’t involve clothes, though.”

[sophie1973]

Seven Sentence Sunday

Happy Sunday everyone ! This week I was tagged by @onthewaytosomewhere @stellarmeadow @thighzp @suseagull04

and @blueeyedgrlwrites. Thank you and tagging you right back.

So this week I'm doing a little self-promo first with that little Birthday fic I wrote for my friend Kim and which can be read HERE. (Rivals football players Alex and Henry)

And second, here is a third snippet of my coming WIP 'Wait for me (to come home)'

Snippet and tags under the cut

As Alex approaches, Henry looks up. A becoming blush colors his cheeks, and his face lights up with a warm smile. "Dr. Claremont-Diaz! Good evening." "Please, call me Alex," he insists. "Dr. Claremont-Diaz is quite a mouthful." Henry chuckles softly. "You clearly haven't heard my full name."

Alex raises an eyebrow. "I thought it was Fox?" He's careful not to mention their gossip magazine research from the previous day. "Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, actually. And I'm sparing you the middle names," Henry explains with a self-deprecating smile. "By the way, I followed your advice. I had an excellent dinner. So, thank you." Alex feels a gentle pressure on his calf and looks down to see David pawing at his leg, seeking attention. "Hello, David," he coos, bending to pet the dog. "Just finished work?" Henry inquires. "Yes, I work late on Tuesdays and Fridays," Alex explains. "I was about to grab a quick dinner before heading home. Just wanted to say hello." As Alex prepares to return to the bar, Henry speaks up, his tone casual but tinged with hope. "Doctor... I mean, Alex. Would you care to join me? If you don't mind the company, that is." Something in Henry's eyes, a flicker of vulnerability beneath the polite smile, resonates with Alex. It's a loneliness he recognizes all too well, a feeling he's grappled with despite the loving presence of June and Nora.  He can’t ignore it. "I would love to," Alex says warmly. "I can't think of better company. I'm talking about David, obviously." "Obviously," Henry chuckles, relief crossing his eyes. Alex finds himself drawn to the way Henry's accent curls around the word, all posh vowels and crisp consonants.

Tagging with no pressure : @firenati0n @theprinceandagcd @piratefalls @bitbybitwrites

@whoevenknows-things @miharaikko @kj-bee @anincompletelist

@inexplicablymine @orchidscript @tailsbeth-writes @myheartalivewrites

@taste-thewaste @miss-minnelli @14carrotghoul @caterpills

@thesleepyskipper @iboatedhere

[thhimble]

we’ve got one thing in common (it’s this tongue of mine)

Henry Cavill x Reader x Chris Evans

The night slides together with alcohol and laughter, with a building, body-thrumming heat trapped between the three of you and growing brighter.

There’s no hesitation, no doubt, the idea’s been in your mind since Chris pressed a kiss to the top of your shoulder and wrapped an arm around your waist while Henry leaned forward to say something into your ear, his eyes shifting from yours to Chris and back again.

Warnings: soft squirting (it’s a thing, okay) a little bit of manhandling, but nothing too rough. i don’t think. No DP in this part, but maybe the next one… maybe. not beta read but i did my best.

This is also 9.2k of pure smuuuut so…heads up for that?

Also, the working title of this fic was:

this ain’t a crossover, baby(but we are crossing swords)

But we didn’t quite have any, you know, crossing swords so i sadly had to let that title go. :(

This is a Christmas gift to the amazing @rocknrollphanda​ who requested some Henry/Chris/Reader smut and since I’ve never written something like that before and i liked the challenge… here we are. 9k later.

Also, I’m sorry in advance, I don’t write/read Chris Evans so I hope he comes across okay from what I’ve seen randomly on TV or in gifs on my dash.

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we’ve got one thing in common (it’s this tongue of mine)

Henry Cavill x Reader x Chris Evans

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.

               You’re tipping into that tipsy that makes everything just that much smoother; that sheen, filter, ease to the world that makes everything just that much better.

You aren’t even sure how you ended up here.

Chris, just Chris, doll, forget the last name, is pressed up behind you, his hands on your hips and his breath in your ear as you move to the electric-tipped beat pounding through the bar.

Your fingers slide over the nape of his neck, scratching the short, prickly hairs at the base of his skull, his skin is warm, his hands are hotter. You let your head fall back against his shoulder, his mouth traces your pulse, and you can feel every hard curve, every shift of his muscles, from his chest pressing against your shoulders, his abs shifting along your spine, and the weight of his hips, that bulk in his jeans, rubbing against the curve of your ass every time you roll your hips back against him.

You can see Henry, through the shifting lights, your head tilted back enough to watch him the way he watches you. Drink in hand, leaning against the railing of the upper floor.

He meets your eyes, your heart pounds, Chris’ hand slides across your stomach to pull you tighter into the grind of his hips.

Distracted, he says and nips your pulse. You laugh a little, your eyes closing, trying to sink back into the beat, but you know Henry’s still watching, still there; imprinted behind your eyelids, dark-eyed, dark-haired with a voice like…

(It’s your smile, he says, leaning closer, voice just loud enough to carry, his hand coming up, his finger brushing into the curve of your cheek where you can feel the heat of your skin, that little ache of smiling too much.)

You open your eyes, Henry’s there, lifting his drink to his mouth, water, you think, just like you’ve switched to because you know where this is going.

You’ve known it for a while now, this burning bit of warmth in the bottom of your stomach, lingering between your hips with every glance, every laugh, every slick-fingered knock of a drink or a shot as the night went on.

Chris’ hand tightens on your hip and you grip the back of his neck, your eyes locked on Henry as you roll your hips back, letting your head loll a little, heavy-lidded, full of that alcohol-ease and something hotter, slicker, like the heat of Chris’ body, like the burn of a shot without any chaser.

Yeah, you think, you know where this is going.

               .

.

.

               There’s no preamble, there’s no, are you coming with, no, are you sure—

You slide from a bad first date to Chris’ laughter, to Henry offering you a drink and a smile, you could do better, to a round of shots and dancing, to the back of a black car and the gilded, too nice marble floors of a hotel lobby.

The night slides together with alcohol and laughter, with a building, body-thrumming heat trapped between the three of you and growing brighter.

There’s no hesitation, no doubt, the idea’s been in your mind since Chris pressed a kiss to the top of your shoulder and wrapped an arm around your waist while Henry leaned forward to say something into your ear, his eyes shifting from yours to Chris and back again.

And it’s not until the hotel door thuds closed and Henry’s hand is hot on the back of your neck, dragging you into his body, his thumb pressing up on the edge of your jaw to tilt your head higher, that you wonder if you’re making a mistake.

Not because you don’t know if you want it— not because of the alcohol or the bad date, (that left you feeling a little stupid and upset,) but because there— right there in the heat of his mouth, the sharpness of his teeth, the way he crowds you against the closed door and takes— just takes— like your breath is his and your mouth is his and his thumb slides over your pulse like he knows the exact moment your lungs are empty…and leaves you gasping, open-mouthed and swollen-lipped—

is the very real realisation that they might wreck you for anyone else.

His grin is sharp and he touches his forehead to yours while you’re still gasping for air. “Only fair,” he mutters, “Evans’ got the first.”

Chris snorts behind him, and it’s only then you register the lights coming on, a soft warm glow from the side table lamps, the clink of glasses, the shnick of the mini-fridge opening.

“Just ‘cause you don’t dance, old man.”

“You’re older than me,” Henry huffs, but he’s reaching down, his hands wide and heavy on your hips as he hauls you up into his arms, letting you wrap your legs around his waist as his teeth scrape your neck. “Asshole.”

“Yeah,” Chris laughs. “But you act ten years older.”

“Not true,” Henry mutters, but he’s sinking back into the couch, manhandling you until you’re settled on his lap and you’re sucking in a breath, feeling the bulk of his cock trapped in his slacks.

You card your fingers into Henry’s hair as his lips brush hotly over your neck, as you squirm into the weight of his cock, pressing down and his voice is a rolling, rumbling sort of thing you can feel in your stomach, your cunt, your fucking toes.

“God, that’s good,” you breathe out and Henry smiles into your skin.

“This is a much better kind of dancing, isn’t it?” he hums into your skin and you nod, because yeah, it really is. Even if it has more to do with the man beneath you and the cock you’re grinding against than the idea of a lap-dance in general.

His hands slide, all thick and warm and heavy along your thighs, up under the edges of your dress, a long-slow stroke that leaves you grinding down harder until you get that pressure right against your clit, the zipper on his pants pressing against you, his cock thick and hot even through the layers, spreading your lips, dragging your underwear slick and damp between them.

Henry breathes out into your shoulder as your arms wrap around his neck, clinging on because holy shit it feels good— that perfect sort of pressure and heat that spills extra dirty, makes you think back, trip back, to being younger and grinding against your palm, a pillow, still trying to figure out what felt good.

You’re pretty sure he knows exactly how good it is for you.

There’s the clink of ice next to your ear and Chris is there holding out a drink, it’s something fizzy and clear when you manage to drag your head up from Henry’s shoulder, blinking at the other man and his hand.

Henry snorts into your neck, nipping your shoulder before his hands are on your hips, beneath your dress, pushing you back just enough to throw off that perfect bit of pressure.

You whine, your whole body wanting; Chris grins and rolls the glass a little. You glare at Henry and tell yourself there isn’t a pout on your mouth, but by the way his lips twitch up, you aren’t so sure you believe your own lie.

“Sorry,” he grins but doesn’t look at all sorry. You huff and hear the clink of the ice again, looking over at Chris.

“Doll,” Chris starts and when you pull in a breath and let it out in a sigh, trying to find some patience for that needy thing that’s hot and warm between your hips, you reach for the glass, only to have it pulled back, and instead you get Chris’ hand at the nape of your neck, tugging you back a little, an awkward lean that leaves you gasping, held in place by Chris’ hand and Henry’s grip sliding to your ass.

Chris kisses you hard, his mouth is cool, touched by alcohol and the fizz of the drink, his tongue slick against yours.

Your hands tighten on Henry’s shoulders, feeling his fingers press in, slinking along the edge of your underwear, bunching it up more over the curves of your ass until it’s just skin beneath his palms.

When Chris lets you go, it’s with a grin and another roll of the glass, his eyes dark and his hair mussed from your hands earlier. “All’s fair.”

“Didn’t know we were keeping score,” you say breathlessly, taking the cool drink and swallowing it down, only just realizing how thirst you are, feeling it slide, cold and bright down your throat to settle in your stomach.

When you drain it, you breath out, your hand hovering with the empty glass as you wipe the back of your hand across your mouth, feeling the heat in your lips, the swollen warmth in them.

Chris slips the glass from your fingers, laughing as he drops down unto the other side of the small couch, leaning back into the corner in an easy slouch; he refills the glass with something out of a bottle, holding it out again.

Henry tugs you back in for another kiss, hard and quick before he’s tapping your ass cheek and pushing on your hip, tilting you towards Chris. You go easily, crawling over the short distance until your sliding into Chris’ lap, only half aware of Henry taking the glass Chris had poured and downing it almost as quickly as you had.

Chris’ lips are shiny with the drink and you lick the taste out of his mouth, letting him wrap his arms around you; the feeling of his beard, when he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, prickles inside of your belly like it does on your skin.

For a minute, it’s just like you’re back at the club, with the weight of Henry watching you and Chris dance, the feeling of Chris around you, his hips twitching up as yours roll down… but it’s too quiet, just your breathing and theirs, the very distant sounds of late-night traffic so far down below the hotel room.

It trips inside of you, like the fizz of the drink, being here, suddenly—

You aren’t really sure you believe this is actually happening.

“Distracted,” Chris says, mouthing over your cheek. And you aren’t sure how he knows every time, but he does and you groan a little as he bites and sucks down your neck, tilting your head back and trying to gather your mind.

His hand eases up your thigh, under your dress, feeling how Henry left your underwear. He grunts into your neck and palms your cheek in a hard grip.

You look to Henry, who’s in that same sort of easy slouch Chris was, turned a little towards the other end of the couch, his back in the corner of it, watching you.

“Have you guys done this before?” you ask him, because your curious, because they seem so… calm, sure, confident in a way that’s broad-shouldered and steady. Sharp-toothed and hot-mouthed like every kiss you get swept up and swallowed by.

Henry laughs and shakes his head. “Can’t say I have.”

Chris laughs and nips your neck. “That’s a nope from me, too,” he says and when you look back at him, he sits a little straighter, wrapping the thick of his arms around your waist and hugging you to his chest and looking up at you.

“Really?”

Feeling your own smile on your mouth just at the way he’s smiling at you, you run your fingers through his hair, tilting his head a little higher before kissing him.

His heart beats against yours and there’s something easing about it, that physical closeness that isn’t just sex.

Until his hand smacks down on your ass and you yelp, jolting in his grip and huffing at his laughter.

“Really, really. We don’t make a habit of picking up girls in clubs in clubs just for a good ol’ tag team.”

You laugh. “I think we missed the tag team bit already,” you tease and steal a quick kiss when he lifts an eyebrow. “Pretty sure that’s more… you know, one of you and then the other. You two have basically kissed already.”

Chris’ face scrunches with laughter and you hear Henry’s echoing behind it, his head tilting back onto the couch.

“True, true!” Chris laughs. “Supes and Cap have swapped spit, it’s official.”

“Crossover of the century,” Henry laughs and you grin at him, sliding out of Chris’ lap and crawling back over to him.

You hear Chris’ hey— behind you, but clamber back onto Henry’s lap and grin at him as Henry kisses your jaw. “No tag-teaming,” you pout when you look at Chris. “It’s about equality.”

Chris laughs and raises his hands in surrender as Henry huffs into your neck. “Can’t argue with that.”

“And no high-fiving,” you say, your eyes flicking to Chris and back to Henry, leaning back to look at you, his eyebrow tilting up. “That’s a rule.”

“High-fiving?”

You nod. “No high-fiving, like good job, bro—Got ‘em!”

Chris’ laugh is loud and deep, got ‘em— his hand touching his chest as his head tilts back and Henry’s is deep and rolling against your body, nipping at your jaw as he tugs you closer, his hands on your hips, letting you find that same spot as before.

“Alright,” he forces out around a slowing laugh. “But I think that means I should get a dance, too.”

You look to Chris, who lifts his hand and gives it a little ‘go on’ sort of roll, wiping a hand over his face and still chuckling. “Equality,” he says and lifts his own drink to his lips with a smirk. “Since we’ve been banned from high fives.”

You grin and laugh, your hips winding until you feel that bump of the seam of Henry’s pants, the weight of his cock beneath it. Your body hums for the feeling of it, your mouth opening to pull in a breath as it sparks through you, grinding down right against it to chase that feeling.

It kills the laughter and replaces it with that heat that’s been building between the three of you all night; a swell of it, like it was a little dormant ember in your belly and all it took was a little spark to bring it back to life.

Henry palms your ass, gropes it to tug you tighter before his hands slide up the back of your dress, over your hips— you can feel your dress climbing, the cool air on your skin, but Henry kisses you and his mouth is so hot that you can’t pay much mind to the exposure until you hear Chris next you, his voice rough.

“That’s a fuckin’ sight.”

You can only imagine it, as Henry’s hand slide up your sides, your dress caught, bunched up over his wrists— the rolling grind of your hips, the shift of your ass, the bunch of your underwear stuck between your cheeks, the damp spot you can feel growing along the front of Henry’s pants on every slow-weighted roll of your body.  

You feel Henry’s hand inching along your spine, his fingers gathering up the silky fabric of your underwear, bunching it tighter to pull tighter, dragging through the slickness between your legs, adding even more pressure to your clit every time you grind down.

You whine into Henry’s mouth and grip onto him tighter, pressing against his chest as he tugs it again, his mouth hot on your cheek, his voice rough and warm.

“Can you come from this?”

No, you think, because it’s not that easy— but he winds the fabric around his fingers once and it pulls it tighter, and every tug, every roll of your body, every grind down against that teasing, thick weight of his cock trapped beneath the layers of his clothing.

“Yes,” you choke out and he grins against your cheek as you turn your head to look at Chris, his eyes burning, moving from your body to your face and back again.

He moves then, standing from the couch and moving behind you. You feel his hand on the straps of your dress, his fingers grazing along your skin, pushing the straps down your shoulders.

You tilt your head up, and the kiss is awkward but his mouth is hot as he leans lower to lick into your mouth, his fingers on the zipper on the back of your dress, easing it down your back. Your dress pools open, Henry sucks a mark into your neck, his hand gripping your hip tighter, urging the roll of your body as Chris works the band of your bra open.

You feel it loosen, feel Chris’ hands sliding over your shoulders, down your arms, tugging your bra out from between the press of your body against Henry’s.

Your nerves flair for a second, just one sparking second at the idea of being naked between two men— but Chris’ hands are cupping your breasts and Henry’s tilting you back and his hips are twitching up just this little bit— inching rolls that tease the idea of him fucking you, of the weighted roll of his cock moving inside of you and there’s nothing but the grind of your hips, that slick, wet glide of your cunt against his lap, the tug of his fingers pulling your underwear, sliding it against your clit every time your hips roll back.

His thumb slides over your nipple, trapping it against the side of his finger as he gropes you, adding this sparking, tingling surge of pleasure like a spark, winding through your body.

You hitch a moan, feeling yourself spilling closer and closer to that edge, you head falling back against Chris’s shoulder, and it can’t be comfortable for him, leaning down the way he is, but his mouth is hot on your neck and he sucks a mark, worries your skin, pinching and rolling your nipples between slow, hot-palmed gropes at your breasts.

You aren’t even sure when your eyes shut, only that they do, sometime around the time a slick noise starts up between the sound of your moans and their breathing; the sticky grind of your cunt against your soaked underwear and Henry’s lap.

You spill closer to the edge, your cunt throbbing with it, clit aching, it’s right there, right there—

And your lips are moving, your voice a whine, a hitching moan, oh god, oh god—

One of them groans, and you wonder if it’s enough to make Henry come too, but he’s still hard beneath you as you lose your body to the sparking rush of the orgasm he grinds you into; a slow-building, slow-easing one, thighs trembling, toes curling, chest quivering as Chris groans into your neck, gripping harder on your breasts.

He tilts your head back as Henry’s fingers ease out of your underwear, giving it a few more little tugs until your whimpering, twitching your hips against his lap; Chris kisses you with his hand on the back of your head, tilting over you a bit more.

Henry strokes your thighs, your sides, palming your ass as you hum a soft moan into Chris’ mouth, your body still sparking on every stickier, slower roll of your hips against Henry.

“Doll,” Chris grins, kissing your cheek with a laugh. “That was hot as fuck.”

Your head lolls against his shoulder again, but he’s pressing another kiss to your cheek before standing straighter, letting Henry pull you back into a seated position on his lap, his hand sliding up your spine to keep you steady until you can get your body to work.

As good as you feel when Henry licks into your mouth, his kiss is the sort of hard and demanding that makes your insides spark up again, like all your orgasm was was a slow exhale over a flame and Henry’s mouth is the fire feeding itself brighter.

You reach between your bodies, feeling the shift of the couch as Chris sinks back into the other side, your fingers finding the skin-warmed heat of Henry’s belt. His hand cups your jaw, tilting your head to kiss you harder— the first clink of his belt, the slide of leather—

Henry’s hand slides down to cup your throat, a little bit of building pressure as he breaks the kiss and pushes you back, sitting you straighter. Your spine tightens, your fingers curling along his belt as you suck in a breath, your pulse tripping, his thumb sliding on the side of your neck.

“Not there yet,” he says roughly, his hand tightens just a little more before he kisses you, stealing what little breath you have and there’s a building pressure as his hand flickers tighter— just before his mouth breaks away and he turns you and pushes you back roughly, dropping you back against the seat cushions.

Your breath leaves your lungs in a rush, pulse sparking; your head lands on Chris’ thigh and you blink up at him, his hand already slipping over the same spot Henry’s was, his thumb pressing into your pulse point.

“Hey there,” he grins and leans down to kiss you. It’s distracting, shifting from kissing one to the other, feeling the softer slide of Chris’ hand along your throat, palming your breast again, thumb sliding slowly over the peak of your nipple.

It winds through you, a teasing stroke, and you’re distracted enough by his mouth and hand that you’re only half aware of Henry moving between your thighs until Chris breaks the kiss and you both watch as he pushes your dress up over your hips, leaving it bunched around your middle, exposing the slickness between your thighs the way your underwear is stuck, sticky and twisted between your lips.

It’s a perverse sort of hot, even to you, and if the resounding groans that tumble out of both of them are clear enough, you’re not the only one who thinks so.

Henry’s finger slides right down the middle of you, right along the bunch and twisted silk covering your cunt, just brushing, just teasing over the swollen, damp heat of your clit beneath the silk.

You whimper and twitch and Chris’ hand twitches on your throat, keeping you still. You’re all watching as Henry slides his thumb along the soaked edge of your underwear, his thumbnail this little sharp spark that makes your insides twist.

“You gonna eat her out?” Chris asks, his voice rough. Henry nods, his eyes flicking up to yours as his thumb presses that much harder along the side of your cunt, slipping just a little beneath the twisted-up seat of your underwear, his thumb slick and hot, stroking through the mess of your release.

“Been dying to,” he says, watching his thumb slide along your cunt before looking back up at you. “Yeah?”

You nod eagerly, your insides burning with the idea of him thinking about it, your mind tripping back to the bar, the way he looked at you…

“He’s got a thing for eating pussy,” Chris says like Henry isn’t between your thighs with this look on his face that makes your cunt clench. “You learn some things about a guy when you drink together enough.”

Henry grins. “True.”

You watch him shift closer and you wonder if the front of his pants are as wet as you feel, and it’s a hot little thought, that you’re soaking into his lap still but that he’s shifting and kneeling on the floor, dragging your hips to the side as he tugs at the twisted-up underwear on your hips and yanks them down your legs.

Chris pulls you up a little, his hand sinking over your stomach and over your mound, his fingers push over it, pressed together until they split into a v, spreading your lips open between his fingers. “Fuckin’ pretty.”

Chris, you whine, your face burning, your hips squirming against nothing as the cool air brushes the wet heat of you, as they both just look—

And then Henry’s mouth is on the inside of your thigh and his teeth are sharp and deep and you’re crying out this tripping sort of whine as your knees jerk up and Chris’ fingers find your clit.

It’s sudden and too much and your eyes clench shut for the feeling of it all, for Chris’ thumb stroking soothingly over your cheek, but his fingers hot and weighted, rubbing this perfect sort of pressure over the sensitive, swollen heat of your clit.

Your face turns into Chris’ lap and his cock is right there, hard and thick in his pants and you move trembling fingers, trying to get your body to work because—

Someone— one of them— needs to get a dick out.

Chris laughs and you realise you said it out loud. He looks down at you, lifting a brow, but lets you fumble with his pants; he shifts back, sinking lower in the seat, his fingers still stroking your clit and distracting you.

Henry’s mouth comes off your thigh, but he’s licking, kissing, nipping along the inner curve, his thumbs stroking closer and closer—

Chris rubs you again, a heavier sort of push of his fingers before they slip wetly over your mound and up your stomach to cup your breast again; sliding a sticky finger over your nipple. A grin on his mouth as he tilts a brow at you when you yank at the button of his pants in frustration.

“Having some trouble?”

“C’mon,” you whine and then gasp as Henry hikes your leg over his shoulder and his mouth— his tongue— the heat of him is right there.

It steals your thoughts, making your spine arc, your body squirm— his tongue heavy and wide, licking you up from leaking core to swollen clit, rolling over you until he presses his face harder into you and sucks.

There’s nothing in you but that feeling, your hips twitching into his face, a jerky roll of your body to chase that pressure. Your face twists, your body burns, Henry’s mouth is—

“F-fuck—” you sob and feel Chris’ hand soothing over your cheek, his breath warm as he leans closer and kisses your forehead.

“Oh doll,” he rumbles into your skin. “You should see yourself.”

His hands slides over your stomach, gathering the bunched-up of fabric of your dress around your waist, and you can only imagine what you look like, hair mussed, body burning up, muscles trembling, hips rolling against Henry’s face.

You turn your head into Chris’ lap and he tugs on your dress; it’s this weird sort of binding around your middle, a pulse-spiking reminder that they’re strong enough to move you, manhandle you, to keep you where you are or make you go where they want you to go—

God, you shouldn’t like that as much as you do.

His hand strokes over your head, and it’s almost soft as he cups your breast again, playing teasingly with your nipple while Henry nips your clit with the sharp of his teeth and makes you insides twist tighter when he chases that nip with the flat of his tongue.

You get Chris’ pants open, but he has to shift to get his cock out, taking over for your unsteady hands as you try to focus, but with Henry’s mouth on you, it’s nearly impossible.

“G-god—” you hitch, giving into another burst of pleasure that pushes you closer to the edge as Henry’s thumb slides along the inside of your thigh, brushes along the slick curve, that tense, shaking tendon… brushes closer edging along your entrance, sliding thick and warm around it.

“Fuck— Henry,” you whine and you swear he smiles into your cunt, pushing his thumb that much closer, edging around your hole, a teasing weight, the tip of his thumb just edging in. “Asshole—” you choke out, your hips hitching down, trying to chase his thumb, to fill that ache between your hips, that need that leaves you clenching around nothing.

Chris laughs, low and warm and it’s only then you open your eyes to the sight of his cock right next to your head, his hand stroking it, slowly, thick and long and Jesus, Jesus— you think, how is that fair?

You reach for him, and it’s an awkward angle and you can’t really breath right, not with the way every breath is broken by the noises Henry drags out of you on the tip of his tongue.

But you curve your hand around him, revelling in the thick throb of his cock in your palm, that iron-hard heat beneath the smooth skin.

Chris groans, his head dropping back against the couch. You watch the bob of his Adam’s apple, the thick of his throat as he swallows, the shift of his shoulders as you stroke him… his hand gripping harder onto your breast.

“God, babe—” he groans at nearly the same time you feel the slip of Henry’s thumb dipping inside of you.

It’s just the tip, just enough to tease, circling your hole wetly, before sliding up and out and circling along the edge again.

You whine, you don’t even care how wanting it sounds. “Henry—” you choke, and roll your hips, searching for more. “Fuck— please—”

Henry hooks his thumb inside of you, stretching you, his tongue hot and wet and dipping inside along with it, stroking up and over the spread of you as his thumb presses a little deeper. He does it again, easing his thumb back to circle you before sinking it in… this slow steady rhythm that’s maddening, mind-tripping, pulse-spiking.

You can’t stay still, trying to roll further onto his thumb, gripping at Chris’ cock, your head turning toward it and you think about having it in your mouth, the weight of him on your tongue, but everything is wrapped up in that thumb, hooked inside of you.

“Distracted,” Chris teases, with this crooked smile that’s undone by the heat in his eyes. “Poor baby.”

“You do it,” you say, because the idea of it… of him using your mouth is hotter than anything you’ve really ever thought about. (Just a late-night, stomach-tensing fantasy, your fingers on your clit, your head pushing back into your pillow: a cock in your mouth, another inside of you, being taken apart, being wanted that much. That’s it, they’d growl, look at how good you take it.)

Chris looks down at you, his eyes narrowing, glancing at your mouth and then back to your eyes. It’s a moment to make sure, you think, to make sure you both understand what you’re asking for—

And you do, you think, you really, really do.

Chris’ hand knots into your hair, twisting your head a little more before he takes over your grip on his cock and feeds it into your mouth.

He’s hot and thick and you taste that bitter edge of precum, but he’s hitting the back of your throat and stretching your mouth wide and it’s perfect and perverse when his hips start to inch up as his hand tightens to hold you still.

It’s not hard, not like that deep-throat fucking you’ve seen in porn, because you aren’t sure it’s even possible with how your lips are stretched and your jaw is already as wide as it can go… but Chris rolls his hips up in these little pulses and you breathe as best as you can around the thick of his cock, pressing your tongue along the thick shaft, moaning around it when you feel Henry’s thumb push a little deeper.

It’s better than any slick-fingered fantasy.

You feel Henry’s mouth easing back and you almost whine for the loss before you hear him spit—

And your body burns bright at the feeling and idea of it, but he’s pushing two wet fingers inside of you and all you can do is moan around Chris’ cock, your body straining, back arcing as his fingers push in, curving up and rubbing right against that bundle of nerves.

You can’t suck in the breath you need, and you choke a little, moaning around his cock, but Chris soothes a hand along your cheek and your hips shift up in these needy pulses, trying to ride that cresting, burning wave of pleasure that fills up your body, sparking out from Henry’s fingers inside of you.

Chris’s other hand weighs down on your breast as your body trembles and squirms, half to get more, half to get away, until Henry curves his arm over your hips and pins you down.

You reach for Henry’s head because it’s almost too much— but his mouth finds your clit again, and there’s no escaping the build of your orgasm; an electrical wave of it, like a cracking flame between your hips, burning through your limbs, sparking inside of you as his fingers rub and stretch and rub and stretch—

You choke around Chris’ cock as you come; broken whimpers and choked moans, shoving at Henry’s head with the unsteady tips of your fingers.

Chris eases the roll of his hips, his cock slipping hotly out of your mouth using your spit to stroke himself right over your lips; his eyes moving from your face to your cunt and back again.

You pull in uneven breaths, feeling the heat in your lips, the tingling feeling of his cock rubbing over them. Your spine twitches up, your fingers twisted into Henry’s hair, your whole body trembling as you whimper every time Henry licks slowly, hotly over you, his fingers still buried deep.

“My turn,” Chris says and it’s the only warning you get before your being manhandled, Henry pushing your legs up and towards Chris while Chris pushes your upper body up and over to Henry’s side of the couch.

Your find your head in Henry’s lap, and you can barely blink at him before you feel Chris’ mouth on your clit.

There’s no warning; Chris sucks at your clit and sinks his fingers inside you, two sinking deep, pushing hard and steady right against your cunt like he’s fucking you with them, before pulling them back and doing it again.

“Sh-fuck—” you cry out, pushing at his head, but Henry catches your hands and pushes them together against the arm of the couch.

His mouth is hot and his tongue is slick with the taste of your cunt, his cheeks slippery beneath the rougher brush of his stubble…and it’s hot— weird, perfect to lick yourself out of his mouth until you’re groaning out over his cheek when Chris sinks a third finger inside of you.

“Come on, angel, one more,” Henry says roughly, his hand sliding along your jaw, his thumb under your chin, keeping your eyes on his.

It’s a lie, you think, it’s not going to be one more.

“Please,” you sob, your thighs trembling around Chris’ shoulders. You aren’t even sure if you mean please, it’s too much, or please, just fuck me. Because his fingers are wide but his cock is thick and you can’t think about anything else but feeling it, clenching around it… filling that bit of hunger low in your gut that even their fingers can’t quite sate.

But you’re already too close to the edge, still strung-out and wound-up by Henry’s mouth, and Chris’ focus on that bundle of nerves inside of you shoves you right back over the edge. You come hard and fast, your cunt clenching around his fingers, hearing the slick rush of your orgasm as he works you through it.

There’s no word for the sound that comes out of you, some whining sob, over-sensitive with every nerve on fire, your body strung tight, your mind completely consumed by the sparking edges of it racing through your whole body in a way you’ve never felt before.

“I think she just squirted a little.” Chris laughs into your cunt and curves his fingers. You kick his shoulder with an unsteady, shaky leg.

“Fu-ck off— did not,” you groan and Henry huffs a little laugh, looking to Chris and then back to you, his eyebrow tilting.

“Can you?”

You shake your head, because no, you think, I’ve never— that’s not possible— but your words are trapped in your throat and beneath the drum-beat of your pulse in your ears, that full-body hum of your orgasm and you can’t get your brain to work enough to say any of it.

But Chis lifts his fingers and holds them out for both of you to see and watch as your orgasm drips off of his fingers and splatters against your belly.

“You sure?”

You suck in a breath, watching it slide over your stomach, shiny and wet and so obvious it makes your body burn.

Henry groans a little, pressing a kiss to your hot lips. “Guess we’ll find out, huh?”

You whine in your throat, shaking your head again, even if your cunt clenches at the idea of it, as Henry’s hand slides down your throat and over your chest until he cups your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers.

It’s a softer spark compared to the ache between your hips, but it’s a little, tingling burst of heat prickling through your body, keeping you wanting.

Kneeling on the couch, Chris tugs off his Henley, his muscles shifting, abs flexing— and it’s a sight you’ll remember, you think, the way he shoves down his pants with one hand while ripping open a condom with his teeth.

He has more tattoos, you realise, more than the glimpse of the one you saw in the ‘v’ of his shirt, more black ink on his chest, that you can’t quite make out, an eagle on—

You’re on your belly before you can register Chris’ hands on your hips. Your face in Henry’s lap and his cock hard against your cheek. It makes your cunt clench, your insides spark, rubbing your cheek along that bulk, your nerves sparking because it feels thick and heavy and too fucking big.

Henry groans and his hips twitch up as Chris hauls your hips up almost as quickly as his palm smacks down; the slap is loud and sharp and you cry out and bury your moan into Henry’s lap.

“Fuck,” one of them says, but your too— sparking, caught up, lost in the moment to figure out who said it when Chris’ palm smacks down again.

“Fuck, doll, your ass,” Chris groans and then you feel his cock, nudging along the soaked heat of your cunt, thick and hot and pressing in. It’s a slow press, the stretch steals your breath and leaves you gasping, open-mouthed at Henry’s cock; his hand bracing on the nape of your neck as you curl your fingers into his belt just for something to hold onto.

You feel like a doll, you think, held in place as Chris’ cock splits you open, his hands bruising on your hips, Henry’s cock beneath your cheek, his thumb stroking soothingly over your skin. You can’t get your body to work, too strung out by the feeling of Chris pushing inside of you so slow and steady.

His hand slides from your ass cheek to your lower back, and he presses down on the arc of your spine, tilting your ass higher as he bottoms out, his hips pushing tightly against your ass.

You gasp and try to shift forward, because he’s long and thick and you feel stuffed by it, this sharp little spark deep in your gut…

“Maxed out,” Chris says with a breathless laugh that’s more like a groan. “Fuck that’s good.”

You’re panting on Henry’s lap, turning your face to gasp for cooler air, letting out a jolting curse as Chris’s palm smacks down again before he rubs over the heat of your skin his palm left behind.

“Okay, babe?”

You nod, your cheek rubbing over Henry’s cock, and it feels so perversely good that you do it again, turning your head to rub your mouth over it, letting your tongue press hot and damp at the material of his pants.

“Christ,” Henry curses and he shifts, working open the front of his pants, his hands sinking inside the open front to tug his cock out. He strokes it in front of you, and your cunt clenches for the sight of it, thick and long and—

Jesus, you think, you aren’t sure you’re going to be able to walk tomorrow.

Chris groans behind, his hips twitching forward. “Felt that,” he says and then pulls back—

The first thrust tips you forward, your chest pressing hard into the thick width of Henry’s thigh, your breasts rubbing against the couch, you cry out, gasping at the feeling of being filled up so quickly.

“Sh-hit,” you whine. “F-fucking— Chris—”

You grab at Henry’s cock, half for balance and half for the want to have him in your mouth the way you did for Chris. But all you can do is grip on, your breath puffing against it, Henry watching your face twist and your voice break as Chris sets a steady, unrelenting pace.

You were wrong, you think, this— this is mind-wiping: the steady, almost too hard stroke of Chris’ cock inside of you, every knock of his hips against your ass, every bright flare of being too full before being emptied out again.

There’s a hand on your cheek, soothing over your forehead, right along your hairline, you can feel the heat in your face, the burn of your cheeks, but Chris’ cock is hard and thick and dragging in and out of you so perfectly that there’s nothing you can do but give in to it.

Every thrust in nudges that too much edge of fullness, that brief flicker of a sharpness, maxed out, just like he said. Every dragging pull back is this moment of clawing desperation and anticipation for the next, stretching, filling push in.

Your back aches in the angle as Chris pulls your hips up a little higher, but it’s so good, that little counterpoint to the pleasure burning and building and dripping out of you.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Chris groans. “You’re soaked.”

And you are, you can feel it, a slickness between your thighs, and when Chris’ hand slides beneath you, his fingers rub slippery over your clit, soaked and over-sensitive and you can’t stop the pitching cries breaking out of your chest.

It’s God and Chris and please— drawn-out whines you get lost in it, sparking and too hot, your back arching more, Chris’ strokes deep and steady and just bordering into too hard, shoving you down until it’s just your ass arched up, needy and trembling, your legs boneless and shaking.

Henry’s cock is thick, right against your cheek, but you don’t have anything in you to do more, your muscles quivering, burning up until that aching heat inside of you that’s building on every stroke of Chris’ cock, every smack of his hips against your ass, is bursting—

You tense up just before you come, your eyes squeezing shut, breathing in hot damp air in the curve of Henry’s lap and his cock in your hand, pressed against your cheek, his belt digging into your forehead.

Chris curses behind you as you lose your body to your orgasm and all it’s sparking edges, your hips winding up, pushing your ass a little higher, your feet hitting the arm of the couch like you can push away from that endless, prefect stroke of his cock—

But you can’t. Chris fucks you through it, harder than before, his arm wrapping beneath your hips to hold you up, Henry’s hand on your nape to keep you still—

Your near sobbing through it, strained, pitching cries as your toes curl and the nails of your other hand sink into Henry’s thigh.

Chris’ hips shove down, his voice rough and groaning as he comes, his cock twitching and pulsing on one last too deep, grinding thrust of his hips; pushing his weight against your ass in these slowing pulses just like his cock.

When he pulls back, the thickness of his cock leaving you makes you whimper, and he laughs, this rough, breathless laugh before his palm smacks down on your ass again and he drops back into the other half of the couch, dragging your legs into his lap.

You’re boneless, mindless, lost to that feeling inside of you, breathing hard— but you’ve barely caught the blown-apart edges of your mind before they’re flipping you over and manhandling you to face the other way.

You blink up at Chris.

“Fu–ck you guys,” you say breathless and weak, body still quivering. “Holy shit.”

He grins down at you, sweaty and dishevelled and your sure there’s some sort of dazed look in your eye because he breathes another laugh and leans down to kiss you. It’s awkward and messy, you’re both breathing too hard, but it distracts you for a moment until you hear the crinkle of foil and feel the stretch in your thighs and the grip of Henry’s hands on your hips.

“Oh god,” you whine because there’s no way you can go again, you think, but Henry’s mouth is on your breast and there’s this rolling sort of sound of his chest that’s a sure you can, darling— as his teeth scrape your nipple before pulling it into his mouth.

Chris grins and brushes his hand over your forehead, and his eyes move from you to Henry and back.

“You felt so good, doll,” he starts and you blink up at him, your chest hitching up as Henry bites your nipple again before sucking a hard, bruising mark into the curve of your breast. “And your sounds—” he groans a little, dropping another biting kiss against your lips. “I can’t wait to hear them again.”

Your breath trips, your eyes flutter closed as that stupid spark in your gut starts to burn brighter.

You feel Henry’s hand slide along your thigh, sinking between your legs, his fingers slip over your clit and you twitch and gasp, squirming for the feeling tripping through you, but his hand turns and his fingers brush over the soaked mess of your cunt before they sink inside of you, steady and deep.

“Fucking soaked,” he groans roughly.

Your back strains up. “G-god—” you moan, the sound stretching into a whine as two of Henry’s fingers stretch inside of you, pushing deep and pulling back only to widen, working you open until he slides another finger along your entrance and you tense up, on edge for that stretch—

But you’re so wet it sinks inside of you like the sweetest sort of ache, leaving you gasping and hitching for air, pulling in little breaths as he curls his fingers, stretches them out, a teasing burst of electricity up your spine before that little ache of him stretching you out more.

You get a little lost in the rhythm of it, his mouth on your chest, kissing up your neck until his licks into your mouth— and it’s a distraction, this slow and deep kiss, until he’s leaning back on his knees and yanking you a little bit closer to his body until your head is just barely on Chris’ thigh and your legs are over Henry’s shoulders.

He strokes his cock and you can’t not watch. Thick and heavy, his fingers shiny, spreading your slick over the length of his cock, and then he’s scooping his fingers through your cunt again, getting his hand wetter, before stroking them once more over his cock—

You and Chris both choke on a groan, but it’s Chris who manages to get his brain to work. “Shit,” he laughs. “This is way better than porn.”

Henry cocks an eyebrow, a crooked grin on his mouth before he hauls your leg a little higher on his shoulder and feeds his cock into you.

You tense up almost at once, hands gripping at the couch, nails scratching at the fabric, your head tilting back with a curse in your throat as Henry’s hips inch forward in these slow little pulses.

“Ohgod,” you choke, ohg-god—shi-tshit—

It’s too much you think, there’s no way— no fingering of fucking or any amount of orgasms are going to make that less overwhelming, mind-consuming, holy shit—you might just come just from that achingly good sort of pain, that too full, too bright stretch.

You try to cling onto the edges of your mind, biting your cheek and breathing hard, your chest quivering and whimpering when Chris gropes at your breast, kneading it and rolling your nipple along the side of his finger and thumb.

“You gotta let it out,” Chris says. “Come on, let us hear you.”

You shake your head, trying to breathe through it… but here’s no escaping it, Henry’s works his cock into you in little inching pulses— until you can feel the slicker glide of it, the easing stretch… the thick of his head is just brushing the end of you. And it hurts in that good way that leaves you trembling, caught on the edge of wanting to pull away and dying to get more.

His eyes meet yours, he presses in a little more— eases back and does it again and again until you’re squirming to feel more. Until that ache is a softer thing, lingering beneath the weight of his cock inside of you.

When he hooks both of your knees over his shoulders, it drags your lower body up higher, leaving your head on Chris’ thigh, but letting you both watch the thick of his cock sinking inside of you as he drags his hips back and pushes in.

Your pretty sure that’s a sob in your throat and that Chris is saying something too you, but all you can feel is Henry’s cock, hitting you deep and steady as he sets this relentless, grinding sort of roll, his cock staying deep, keeping you stretched and full and pushing you right into that hazy fucking mess of too much and don’t stop.

“Babe,” Chris groans, dropping a kiss to your forehead. “Look at you.”

Your mound is soaked, your skin shiny all the way to your belly button, a slickness between your thighs that leaves a sticky shine on Henry’s abs on every rolling grind.

Your thighs are trembling on his shoulders, toes curling, legs quivering over the broadness they’re hooked over, but Henry leans back a little more, holding your thigh on his shoulder, the other curving to grip your ass cheek to hold you up higher, to keep you where he wants you.

Jesus, you think, or sob, you aren’t sure. Your body trembles, your voice breaking out of you as he pushes in again, deeper this time, his cock pushing against your cervix and leaving this ache between your hips that feels like your so fucking full of him he’s in your fucking lungs.

There it is, one of them says, but you can’t do anything but breathe and hold on, swallowed up the feeling, the ache, the burn of pleasure that’s less sparking and more like liquid heat, like you’re being consumed one slow, deep, too thick roll of his hips at a time.

He stays steady and deep, it’s not even really fucking you think—there’s no ebbing tide, no room to breathe, his cock pushes steadily, thick and deep right against that too-deep ache that turns your insides into something molten and too hot… until your sure you’re almost sobbing with it, your spine winding up, higher and higher, the back of your head rubbing on Chris’ thigh…

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

Henry holds you steady, grinding into you, making you take it without any mercy. Without any real thrusts. Just a steady, little inching roll of his hips, almost this little, controlled-bounce of your ass against his lap.

Your thighs clench, muscles tensing as his cock burns you from the inside out, leaves you choking for air, hitching noises that you can’t describe, until everything’s burning brighter. Until your spine strains up, your chest shaking, your nails scratching at Chris’ forearm, clinging onto him as Henry fucks you through that building, consuming thing that feels like it’s going to eat you alive any second now.

His hand bruises into your thigh and ass as you lose your body to the fire, the thick of his cock pushing that ache deep in your gut, holding you still as you come apart. Cunt clenching as you sob, clamping down around his cock— and you’re choking for air as he fucks you through it, grinding into you, sending a sharper, deeper bust of that ache through your body.

“Fuck,” he growls, fuck— and it’s too much, you think, too much—

But he tilts forward and pushes into you, swallowing those sounds that you can’t hold in, a sloppy kiss that leaves you breathless, nails sinking into his ribs as his hips shove up in a rough grind as he comes.

You feel surrounded, Chris’ arm trapped between your body and Henry’s. Henry’s breath hot on your mouth when he kisses you one last time before pushing back and sinking back into the other side of the couch.

Your mind hums or the room does… or maybe it’s just your heartbeat in your ears, your body lost to the waves of whatever the fuck that was that’s still flowing through you.

Someone’s hand strokes over your stomach and it feels weird and too wet, and you have to tilt your head up and blink down to look at it to make sense of the feeling.

Chris trails his hand through the shine on your skin, the pooling liquid that gathers in your belly button and fucking soaks the couch beneath you.

You blink at it, trying to make sense of it when Chris’ voice breaks the quiet.

“See,” he says roughly, hid fingers sliding through it. “You can absolutely squirt. Fuckin’ look at that.”

You groan, feeling Henry’s hand on your leg, his thumb stroking your skin slowly. “Next time we’ll try for an actual squirt, yeah?”

You’re pretty sure you whimper, your stomach tensing with the idea of it, with the words next time burning through you, but the silence stretches again; the wetness on your skin and soaking the couch, cools and makes your shiver. You don’t know if you have enough willpower to move out of the wet spot, let alone take a shower.

“Wait, we almost forgot,” Chris starts, and before you can squint up at him, his hand is up and Henry’s breathless, low laugh rolls through your still-boneless legs resting in his lap.

The slap of their hands echoes in the quiet and you groan, covering your face with your hands.

“I hate you both, oh my god.”

Lies, one of them says, but you’re all laughing tiredly, stuck together with no desire to move and you know it’s not true as Henry’s thumb strokes your ankle and Chris’ hand trails slowly, smoothly, through the mess on your stomach.

Not true at all.

Got ‘em, you think, and let your eyes close.

.

.

[buckyownsmylife]

Would you write a headcanon of sensually shaving Henry Cavill's beard like in that Skyfall scene with James Bond and Money Penny, pretty please?

Of course! There’s just something so intimate about that act, it brings butterflies to my stomach. Thanks for your request!

If you’re reading this it means that headcanon Sunday has started! If you want me to write something, feel free to send me your idea! I’ll be writing those all day!

You knocked on Henry’s hotel door as best as you could, arms filled with beer and random snacks

“Hey, open up, loser!”

Despite obviously waiting for him to do so, when Henry’s huge form appeared before your eyes, you still got scared.

 “Oh my God, warn a gal next time!”

He only chuckled, that deep warm rumble that came from deep within his chest, and that’s when you realized

He was only wearing a towel, hanging low on his hips

He caught you staring, of course, but before he could tease you, you complained,

“Weren’t we supposed to watch movies together? Why aren’t you dressed?”

Henry just shrugged, walking back to the massive bathroom and leaving the door open, signaling that it was safe to approach

“I took a shower and lost track of time. I still need to shave, so I won’t have to wake so early tomorrow before the interviews.”

Rolling your eyes, you jumped up on the marble counter and took the razor from him, softly touching his naked chest to gesture that he should step between your legs.

“You’re still wet, Cavill. What do you think this piece of fabric around your hips is for?” You teased, rubbing your fingers together to get rid of some of the moisture that you had collected from his skin after the brief touch

He only chuckled, eyes focused on yours as you reached out to hold his chin delicately, and started working

You managed to shave one side of his face easily, the silence that had fallen between you two not at all uncomfortable

But when you turned his head to the side to start working on it, he started shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking almost uncomfortable in his fidgeting

“Stop moving, Hen! I don’t wanna hurt you, be still.”

But he didn’t seem to be able to stop

And so you dropped your arms, giving him your best mean face as you threatened him with the razor

“I can leave you like this, you know? Only one side shaved, you look ridiculous. I swear to God, if you don’t behave, I will.”

And so he stopped, but as you returned to your activities, you could feel his burning gaze on you, almost like he had something he wanted to say.

And then he finally said it

“Why is everything so much easier with you?”

So concentrated on the task at hand, you almost didn’t process his words

But when he leaned down to connect his lips to yours, you were forced to do so, right after your gasped was swallowed by his mouth

“What was that?” You asked when he got back to his full height, your eyes narrowing at him.

“It was a kiss. Why did that make you angry?”

“I’m not angry because of the kiss, I’m angry because I could have killed you, you idiot.”

You emphasized your words by waving the razor in front of his face, but he only laughed

“Can you please drop the mean act and just admit that you reciprocate my feelings?”

That had your face warming up, and you couldn’t hold his gaze anymore

Still, you knew just what to say in response

“Jesus, you really are an idiot. It’s not an act, and of course I have feelings for you too.”

He ended up not having a perfect shave, but incredibly pretty bruised lips from all the kissing you shared that night

I wanna kiss Henry so bad!

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Kismet {9}

Henry Cavill x Famous OFC Aliya Taylor

Warning: Slow Burn, Mild Cursing, Dialogue Heavy, POV Changes

Words: 3.5k

Summary: Aliya is a singer turned model turned actress. Since she was fifteen, she’s been creating her empire in the entertainment world. As the daughter of a famous fashion model/designer and Hollywood director, you’d think life is easy for her, but her past has been anything but easy. Due to past trauma, she’s forever changed and no longer trusts any man that is not in her family and a select few in her team. She’s sworn off love and serious relationships and has planned never to fall again, but love isn’t something that can be planned. It just happens when it’s meant to. Can Aliya outrun a love that seems hellbent on holding tight to her, a love that is Kismet?

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘  

As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 

The change within you was instantaneous, and your body fought it like a foreign virus. You’d barely slept a wink the night before. You tossed. You rolled. You took up your phone and hovered over Henry’s contact only to put it back down and toss and turn some more. Half of you wanted to talk to him so badly, but the other half wanted you to practice some restraint. There was no happy middle ground, and because there wasn’t, you struggled to find any peace in your mind. By the time you managed to fall asleep, it was one hour before you had to get up to prep for your day. When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was a message from the culprit to your sleeplessness himself.

 MSG Henry: Good morning, beautiful. I didn’t sleep a wink. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I must have picked up my phone ten times to text or call you. It’s torture not being able to hear the one voice you want to hear more than anything.

 As soon as you read the words, your heart literally melted, and butterflies filled your belly.

 “Christ almighty,” you whispered as your fingers itched to rapid-fire. Before you could catch yourself, you’d already typed out a reply and sent it.

 MSG: Good Morning to you too, handsome. I know what you mean. I didn’t sleep either. I almost called you so many times. I think you’re addicting.

 You reread the message then groaned at the last sentence.

 “Really, Aliya, addicting?” You rolled your eyes hard and pushed to get yourself ready for the day.

 By the time you’d left the hotel, he still hadn’t replied, and you regretted responding altogether.  So, here you were sitting in one of your four meetings for the day trying to keep your head in the game and your mind off of Henry’s lips, or his eyes, or the feel of his muscular arms around you. It was proving more complicated than it sounded. When you weren’t thinking of his lips, or his eyes, or his arms and kisses, you were overthinking your message and his lack of response.

 A little more than halfway in your first meeting, your phone went off, and you had to make yourself slow down and not leap for it. Nonchalantly, you glanced at the screen and saw Henry’s name.

 MSG Henry: Addicting, huh? I like that, but you should not be talking. I have been addicted to you since the day you bumped into me.

 Any worries you’d had the last few hours melted away, and a smile spread across your face.

 MSG: Do tell me more, Mr. Cavill.

 Barely a minute passed before another message came in.

 MSG Henry: I would rather tell you while looking in your eyes so you can see the depth of which I mean them in my eyes.

 You bit your bottom lip and closed your eyes. He was different alright, you thought.

 MSG Henry: I’m sorry it took me this long to reply. I’m trying to finish up all business between today and tomorrow. I had to hide my phone from myself, or else I would have been messaging you this entire time.

 You couldn’t lie. That felt good to know that he was having as much of a struggle going about his typical day to day tasks as you were. The knowledge of that comforted you, but it also worried you. This thing was still so new. For the duration of your meeting, you texted on and off. It continued as you moved to your second and third meetings, and by then, your focus was shot. The only thing you cared about was what he was saying.

 You loved how open he was. He always found a way to describe to you just what he was thinking or feeling while still remaining mysterious enough to have you wondering what he felt and thought. It was interesting. You’d always been able to predict every man that tried to enter your life. You could predict their motives, what tactics they’d use to try to weasel themselves in, and you often could predict how things would end. With Henry, you’d been having a difficult time with those predictions. It bothered you.

 By the time you got back to your hotel room, it was nearing seven o’clock. You wasted no time putting your phone on silent to concentrate on a little self-care beginning with a soak in the jetted tub. You did your best to keep your mind open to allow the meditation track you played to really work at loosening the knots in your shoulders and tension in your neck. The stress of your life, mainly from work, was really beginning to show. It had always shown, you just never listened to your body whenever it told you to slow down or take it easy.

 Many of your friends and family teased you that you lived to work instead of working to live. There were times you were inclined to agree with them because you didn’t need to work so much to maintain the lifestyle you were accustomed to. You had more money than you knew what to do with. You could afford to take time off to recharge but, you’d lived with the belief that the less time you had to be idle, the better it was for your mental and emotional health. Idle hands, after all, were the devil’s playground. You’d grown so accustomed to working nonstop that you didn’t know how to just do nothing.  

After almost two hours in the bath, as you walked into the bedroom, you saw your phone light up. It was an incoming call from Henry. Sighing, you plopped onto the bed, trying to fight back the smile that wanted freedom. The smile won the battle.

 “Hello?”

 “Did I wake you? I called earlier but--.”

 “No, I’m awake. I put my phone on silent and took a long bath,” you clarified.

 “Ah, that sounds relaxing. Maybe I should try that. I’m feeling this burnout more and more.”

 “Those who are serious about their craft work too much.”

 Henry sighed softly, and you wondered if there was a hint of mint and Guinness on his lips.

 “I don’t want to work tonight,” Henry declared. “Tonight, I want to be with you.”

 You dropped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. “Oh, do you now?”

 “Yes,” Henry confirmed, his voice dropping in baritone. Your belly fluttered, making you press your palm against it.

 “Have you eaten?”

 “I haven’t,” you breathlessly replied.

 “Good. I’ll be around for you in forty-five minutes.”

 You sprang upward. “That’s not enough time.”

 “Oh no? High maintenance are you?”

 You snorted and shook your head, hearing the tease and challenge in his voice.

 “Forty-five minutes then, just don’t get mad when I don’t look like pictures in magazines,” you quipped.

 “Come as you are.”

 Your reflection caught your eye. Because you’d gotten your hair slightly wet in the tub, it was now in a half natural half blown out state, making you look crazy. You doubted forty-five would be enough to tame it.

 “See you soon,” you said before hanging up to focus on getting yourself together.

 Forty-nine minutes later, you were dressed and on your way down in the elevator. As it made its way down, you assessed your appearance, thankful you were able to straighten your hair again to add a few loose curls. Part of you hadn’t wanted to bother, but you knew the dress you were going to wear would be better complemented with a sleek look. Your eyes skimmed the half sheer and half bodycon black dress you wore, loving that it was the right mix between sexy and classic. You added another layer of your mauve tinted lip gloss and just in time for the doors to open.

 It didn’t take long for you to spot him sitting in the lobby where one of the big-screen TVs were placed. He was watching a rugby match. You crossed the black and white designed tiled floors and approached behind him. When you dipped to his ear, his scent almost had a moan escaping you—almost.

 “Either, no matter where you are, you gravitate to rugby, or I took too long,” you whispered.

Henry turned, and the moment his eyes landed on you, a dumbfounded look washed across his face. You tried not to bashfully look away as you watched his jaw drop when his eyes took in the full view.

 “Wow.”

 A giggle that would have been nauseating from someone else slipped from you, making you press your fingertips to your lips.

 “You’re breathtaking.”

 You smiled, then gently tapped his chest.

 “Stop.”

 “I’m being completely truthful.”

 Those damn butterflies made their presence known once again.

 “Thank you,” you whispered.

 Henry held out a single peony to you. “For you.”

 As you took it, your smile widened. “Wow, one of my favorite flowers.”

 “Is that so?”

 You nodded.

 “Hmm, happy coincidence,” Henry replied as he stood and buttoned his suit jacket. Once done, he held out his arm for you. “Shall we?”

 You nodded and looped yours with his, ready for whatever the night brought on.

  -Henry-

As you sat across from him under the hanging flowers and dim lighting of the restaurant perusing the menu, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. It could have been the way the golden light bathed your skin, giving it an almost glowing aura. Or it could have been the soft smile pasted to your subtle painted lips. It could have even been the spell of the restaurant, the classical music playing, and the sweet scent of flowers that surrounded the two of you. Whatever it was, he itched to touch you, itched to get closer, and itched to do nothing but find a way to keep a smile on your face.

 “What?”

 Realizing you were now looking at him, he smiled back at you.

 “Nothing.”

 “No, no. That’s a something look,” you said, still not able to not smile.

 “It’s nothing,” he repeated.

 “Henry, seriously. What is it?”

 You reached out and gently slapped his hand, then rested it on top of the table.

 “Nothing, really. It’s just—I can’t seem to keep my eyes off of you,” he admitted.

 Your smile slipped, revealing a serious expression for a few seconds before you smiled again and dipped your head in a bashful way. Unable to keep his hands to himself any longer, he closed the gap between your hands and took yours.

 “Your parents must be proud to have raised such a charming son.”

 He smiled, then shrugged. “She has five of them.”

 “Bless her heart,” you added, making him chuckle.

 A comfortable silence drifted between you as he enjoyed the softness of your hand in his and the way your warmth mingled with his. He could get used to this, he thought to himself. When the waiter returned to the table to pour the chosen wine into your glasses, you pulled your hand away, but he didn’t take offense.

 “So, by this time next week, I will be off the grid,” he said after the waiter walked off again.

 A quizzical look swept across your face.

 “Off the grid? Are you a spy?”

 He smiled. “I promise I’m not.”

 Another waiter approached the table, this time carrying your selected third and final courses. He thanked the waiter as he laid the plates before you before he retreated.

 “You were saying,” you prompted, lifting your dinner fork from the selection of three different ones to your right.

 “I’ve earned some much needed R&R.”

 With your fork paused at your lips, you smiled. “Oh, that’s great. Congratulations. When was the last time you took a holiday?”

 He watched you chew and quickly got lost watching your mouth. It took him several seconds to regain his train of thought.

 “Eh-em, uh—perhaps a year and a half, if we are talking about a true holiday.”

 “Wow, that’s a long time.”

 “What about you?”

 You smirked, then scoffed. “Define holiday.”

 He returned your smirk then rested his knife and fork atop the braised beef on his plate before he replied. “Time off, no work, nothing that you have to worry about that can cause stress,  anxiety, or tension. Oh, and of course, sleeping late, drinking until three or four in the morning, fun every day, and feeling refreshed upon return.”

 You smiled as you finished chewing. He watched you take another sip from your glass and knew the wine was only making your lips even sweeter than they already were.

 “Ha! Jeez, when you define it like that, it’s been years upon years,” you replied.

 “Not good at all.”

 You nodded. “Tell me about it.” A soft smile was still on your lips as you placed another forkful of the pan-seared sea bass you were eating.

 With those words, a thought formulated in his mind, and it was a thought he wondered if he put words to would you be receptive. The remainder of dinner passed comfortably. Another reason why he couldn’t stop thinking about you and enjoyed being around you was because your conversation was always excellent. There was never any form of discomfort or awkwardness between you. You easily talked about so many things, and the things you said were always thought-provoking and intelligent. While everyone thought you were just a pretty face, you’d repeatedly allowed him to see that the world knew nothing.

 His hand was rarely without yours in it, and when he held your hand, you softly raked your fingernails against the palm and fingers. Every time you did it, the goosebumps that raced across his skin sparked a reaction that was visible much, much lower than his hand. Everyone else in the restaurant could have disappeared for all he knew because you’d captivated him and every single one of his senses.

 By the time you left the restaurant, it was close to midnight, but you didn’t seem to care what time it was. You held onto his hand as you walked along The River Thames. He often did this late at night when he couldn’t sleep. It was really the only time he could come and not be bothered or recognized because he was more than likely the only one there. Tonight your laughter danced through the air, and the gentle ebb and flow of the water only helped the glistening light from the bridge and neighboring buildings shimmer that much more. It was quite romantic.

You stopped and pressed your back to the iron gating that kept pedestrians out of the river. You stretched your arms out, leaning back as if to really enjoy the gentle breeze.

 “It’s a beautiful night,” you sighed out.

 Just like that, he drifted closer to you until there were only a few inches between your bodies. When you came upright again, your smile was still bright, even realizing he was so close.

 “Are you trying to push me in?”

 He smiled and shook his head. “Never.”

 “Oh no?”

 “No,” he repeated, taking another step to you.

 You bit your bottom lip then sucked it into your mouth, and he became even more painfully aware that he hadn’t sampled them since the night before.

 “Unacceptable,” he whispered.

 “What?”

 Reaching out, he cupped your jaw and slid his thumb across your cheekbone while he slowly traced every inch of your face to his memory. When his eyes met yours, he fell another foot or two deep into the quicksand-like pit of his growing feelings for you. He was so close to going under it was alarming.

 “It’s unacceptable that I haven’t tasted your lips in over twelve hours.”

 He heard a soft gasp escape your lips, and it was the only sound you made before his lips pressed to yours. The only move you made was to entangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. The feel of your fingers against his skin brought those familiar goosebumps. He moaned, then pulled you flush against him. The feel of your body against his made his heart thump rapidly, and when you moaned against his lips, the need to consume you took precedence.

 When he delved his tongue into your mouth, he was shocked when you swirled yours around his, and the sensual move had him pressing you firmly against the iron behind you. It was out of character for him to do this so wide in the open, but he felt himself doing things that no one would ever guess he would do when he was with you. Your soft nibbled on his bottom lip brought his mind back to the rising dilemma, rising being the operative word.

 Pulling his lips from yours, he rested his forehead to yours. Both of you didn’t speak; instead, you were both lost in trying to catch your breath. Long moments passed, and in those moments, he fought to regain his composure. He’d never reacted to anyone the way he reacted to you.

 “Come with me,” he whispered, his voice shakier than he’d expected.

 Your eyes fluttered open, and he didn’t know if it was wishful thinking, but he swore he saw actual stars in them that put the night sky to shame.

 “Where?”

 “Away on holiday.”

 You pulled back a few centimeters and gazed into his eyes more intently. He watched them dart from his left eye, then to the right and back again. Slowly the stars vanished, and humor replaced them.

 “Good one,” you said before you laughed out loud, pulling your body from his.

 “Oh my god, you really had me going for a second,” you said through laughter.

 You took two steps as if to continue walking, but he laced his fingers with yours and pulled you back before him. You gasped, and the sound of it made him close the space between you again, pressing you onto the iron bars. With his body pressed to yours leaving no evidence of there being two bodies, you moaned, and the sound almost had him capturing your lips again. If he did though, he didn’t know if his hands would remain respectful.

 “I wasn’t kidding.”

 Your eyes were on his lips, and the desire for you to take control, almost overrode his desire to be in control—almost.

 “What?”

 “Come on holiday with me, just the two of us, a beach wine somewhere—anywhere.”

 He saw the moment you realized he was as serious as a heart attack.

 “You’re serious,” you reiterated.

 “More serious than I’ve been about anything.”

 You didn’t speak for the next minute, but you also didn’t move away. He decided he’d give you the time to consider it.

 You scoffed before you spoke. “What? Henry—we can’t.”

 “Why?”

 You gaped at him as if he were insane.

 “Why?” That was when you pulled away from him and took a few steps sideways while still leaning against the gate. “We—we don’t--.”

 You looked as if you were wracking your brain for a response, but you also looked like you were trying to catch your breath.

 “We don’t know anything about each other.”

 He took a step to you. You didn’t move.

 “Which is why a private holiday would aid in us getting to know each other—uninterrupted without the pretexts,” he replied.

 Your eyes widened before you shook your head then turned to face the water. You peered out silently, baffled. “Henry—we can’t.”

 He approached you, and as he leaned against the gate, you looked at him. “Tell me why,” he requested.

 “Why—because—I—I don’t do—that,” you stuttered.

 “What holidays?”

 He saw the exasperation wash across your face before it went blank. You stepped away again, then cleared your throat.

 “I have an early flight out tomorrow.”

 It was hard not to feel the rejection, but he hid it the best he could. Nodding, he held out his arm for you to take.

 “Then let’s get you back to your hotel.”

 The entire ten-minute walk, his mind went from one thing to the next. He worried he’d come on too strong, or that he’d said the wrong thing, or somehow offended you. Then he went back and forth with his decision to even ask you. Part of him felt like maybe he was jumping a little too far ahead, but the other part of him felt there was nothing wrong with inviting you especially based on how things had gone the entire night and the vibes he picked up. That made him wonder if he’d read the evening entirely wrong.

 When he stopped with you in your hotel's lobby, he was in no hurry to ask you again. He’d begun to feel quite stupid. His hurt feelings needed the night to recover. He took your arm from the crook of his elbow and held your hand. Again, you didn’t pull away. Deciding he couldn't afford to give you the time to, he lowered your hand and stepped away from you.

 “Thank you for dinner.”

 “T—thank you,” you said barely above a whisper.

 He nodded and debated his next move. He took a timid step forward and kissed your cheek.

 “Have a safe flight.”

 “Thank you.”

 This one was a whisper.

 “Good night, Aliya,” he breathed out before he quickly kissed your forehead then walked away out the door and down the street without looking back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[outoftowninac]

THE OTHER ROSE

1923

The Other Rose is a play by George Middleton based on a French play by Edouard Bourdet. It was originally produced and directed by David Belasco, in association with William Harris Jr. It starred Fay Bainter as Rose Coe. Henry Hull was featured as Tony Mason. 

Playwright Middleton was a ‘Jersey Boy’, born in Paterson NJ in 1880. 

The play takes place at a cottage in Whale Harbor, Maine. 

Rose Coe, the 28 year-old daughter of a prematurely aged scientist, rents a cottage in Maine for herself, her father Professor Andrew Coe, and her 12 year-old brother Johnny, only to discover that Tony, the young son of the landlady did not intend it to be rented. It was, he said, a love shrine, where he had met the passion of his life the previous season; "the other Rose." He tries to put the new tenants out, with the unexpected consequences; love.”

Fay Bainter (1892-1968) started acting on Broadway in 1912. This was the 8th of her 25 Broadway appearances. In Hollywood, she won an Academy Award for Jezebel (1938). 

"I don't think I have ever been as happy in a part as I am in playing Rose Coe. It is a real pleasure to play a modern American girl of such high ideals and one who is so essentially human in every respect. I regard Rose as a girl I would be very glad to know in real life. She is the sort I would like to have come and stay with me and I feel that her friendship would be distinctly worth while. There Is no affectation or pretense about Rose. She is sincere and honest and I try to play her in a natural, straightforward manner. My interest in her is unusually keen and I approach every performance with the desire to give my best that the audience may know and love her as I do. It is really delightful to be playing in such a charming romance as 'The Other Rose.'"

Henry Hull (1890-1977) was ‘born in a trunk’ to a theatrical family. His father was once a press agent for David Belasco. In 1933, Hull created the role of Jeeter Lester in the long-running play Tobacco Road. He had started acting on Broadway at age 21. This was his 12th Rialto appearance. 

Rehearsals began on November 5th at the Belasco Theatre in NYC. This was Bainter’s first collaboration with Belasco. 

The Other Rose opened at Nixon’s Apollo Theatre in Atlantic City on December 3, 1923. After AC, the play traveled to DC, holding forth at the National.  

The Other Rose opened on Broadway at the Morosco Theatre on December 20, 1923.  

ABOUT THE VENUE: The Morosco Theatre (217 West 45th Street) was built in 1917 and named for theatre manager Oliver Morosco. In 1982, despite protests, it was razed to make way for the Marriott hotel. 

"’The Other Rose' is an obvious play but it is a sweet play nevertheless. In this day of stark, forthright realism, one should be thankful for a sweet play. Perhaps, if you are a bit old-fashioned, you will wish that there were more of them. I do.” ~ BRETT PAGE

“There are no surprises and no big moments. But there are many laughs.” ~ BURNS MANTLE

“Poor Miss Bainter was obliged to waste her valuable time on a role that could have played by an amateur.” ~ ALAN DALE

The Other Rose ran for 84 performances, closing in March 1923.  Four months later, Bainter gave birth to her only child, Reginald S. Venable Jr.

“I was only a raw girl, with no better sense than to ape Mrs. Fiske in everything she did.” ~ FAY BAINTER, about her youthful stage work 

In 1947, Bainter reteamed with Hull as Ida Lupino’s parents in the film Deep Valley. Nearly 25 years after first meeting, Rose and Tony were reunited. 

[inkyvendingmachine]

BATIM Cthulhu AU: Season 1 Episode 7

✨Call of Cthulhu Season One Masterpost ✨ 💀 Call of Cthulhu: Haunted Hijinx Masterpost 💀

Warning: This campaign is an edited version of Call of Cthulhu: The Burning Stars scenario. While a lot has been changed, there IS spoilers for it throughout these posts.

i cannot decide on a single quote this time so, here’s just. here’s whatever is happening here. and a whole nother summary cause I GUESS IM JUST COMMITING TO THE SUMMARY LIFESTYLE NOW, SORRY ABOUT IT ALL BEING SO HECKIN LONG

OH ALSO I made a master post, so I can just link one thing instead of all the bits. It’s also sorted out to be in order by session!! since the tag isn’t like that due to the fact none of us keep a consistent posting schedule for this content lmao.

- so after important kisses and rejoicing, the jds crew decides to scramble before the potionmaker lady wakes up, since Gold Text says that “she” is going to kill us and we’d rather not like, wait around to confirm it’s her versus someone else.

- bendy lurker son boy has disappeared in the laundry room, though we quickly find him hiding to playfully pounce at us. Joey grabs him like a child and we skadoo out of there. (at some point Henry might have tried to take him from Joey but Joey just walked a lil faster cause he was enjoying carrying son boy too much.)

- decide that visiting the starpools and trying to rescue tom is best course of action, since we’re not sure if the lurker needs to be there or not and also we have no idea when Tom is gonna like... get sacrificed. So might as well get that settled first. Also the graveyard is pretty nearby, versus the hotel across town that’s hard to reach at 2am when no cabs are out and about.

- sneak up there just fine, nobody has been strapped to a monolith and carved open yet that’s great. the decision is made that 1. it’d be good to keep the amulet away from any cultists and hidden (so sammy takes it and puts it under his shirt, buttoning it up for the first time in forever (sad internal joey noises)) and since Henry is now the “host” he should probably not be crossing paths with cultists. So they’re gonna hide in the bushes with the Lurker Son Boy while Joey tries to sneak in and find Tom.

- This actually ends up being quite easy, cause he just checks where they were holding ‘joey’ last time they were up there and sure enough that is the ‘prisoner’ shack, and Tom is fast asleep in there and has a broken arm, but doesn’t seem to be chained down. aLSO there’s far less guards and cultists around wONDER WHY,

- Joey tries to sneakily way Tom up, to which instead he gets decked across the face. There’s a bit of snappish arguing where Joey offers to leave Tom behind if he’d like to get his full beauty sleep and, yeah okay fine lets escape. Joey gives a terrible summery of things that have happened to ally the Lurker with them (tom please do not attack it or this will all have been for nothing,) while they wait for a opportunity to sneak. (meanwhile Henry has started to scribble again and Sammy makes half an attempt to understand why)

- While sneaking out, Joey does fine but Tom manages to make noise and get everyone in the clearing to notice them. Quickly Joey grabs Tom’s less broken arm, angrily muttering about how he keeps messing everything up and runs off into the jungle, taking the same exact path they took the last time they were running off with the amulet. This is both cause he actually knows this path, and because he didn’t want to run a buncha cultists smack into the rest of the group who are hiding for a rEASON,

- Though when they hear the commotion, Henry and Sammy ask if the Lurker would like to go “do his distraction” again. He happily bounds off once returned to full size and entertains himself with swatting Cultists around. (Sammy and Henry make the mistake of going to check on the scene to see if they can find Joey and Tom, and uh. nope, just a whole lotta gorep,) ((Sammy did make sure to hide the lurker-controlling amulet first, which means he finally buttoned up his shirt.)) (((sad gay joey noises in the distance)))

- Meanwhile Joey manages to put enough of a distance between him and the one Cultist that has kept up that he can quickly shove and hide Tom in some bushes, before hiding behind a tree himself and preparing his gun. When the cultist rounds the corner, he steps out and shoots them in the shoulder, the only way he really knows how to deal with the problem right now and let Sammy and Henry know where they are located currently.

- (they do indeed hear it, and since the lurker seems to have things covered, so Henry and Sammy run off into the jungle to find Joey)

- The cultist runs up and manages to slash at Joey’s leg with a sword while he tried to swing a punch at them. Joey staggers, regains his composure for a single moment, then uses the fact that the cultist is rIGHT in front of him to push himself forwards into the cultist and shoot him point blank into the chest. The cultist falls over, revealing Tom mid ready to assist with a stick, which is no longer needed. Joey collapses.

- Sammy and Henry managed to find them rather soon after, finding Tom standing semi panicked over a wreathing Joey on the ground, who, despite not having an actual major wound, is acting like someone just sawed off his leg due to not being used to this kind of pain. The two take a moment to make sure the area is clear before going to see if they can help the Joey Problem. Henry starts trying to bandage up his leg with the ex-cultists shirt. Sammy’s just muttering insults at Joey (but it’s clear that he’s actually really worried.) Joey is not responding to either of them, he’s just trying to not scream cause he is aware enough to know not to do that.

- Henry mentally pokes the lurker (ARE YA WINNING SON?) to check in while he works on Joey. The Lurker is doing alright, so Henry offers him that he can either keep doing whatever he enjoys doing up there, or he can come along with them if he wants. tURNS OUT?? THE LURKER LIGHTS UP EXCITEDLY AT ‘COME ALONG’ (this is the start of murder) sO HE’S ON HIS WAY NOW

- Meanwhile, while everyone is distracted with Sammy trying to explain to Tom what the Lurker is, and Henry communicating while bandaging the one leg, Joey reaches over and grabs a knife off the murdered cultist and tries to cut his other leg open?!?? Henry grabs the knife out of his hand and puts to down, goes back to bandaging. Joey stupidly goes for it again, and this time Sammy steps in, grabs the knife from him, and asks Tom to help hold him down since sOMETHING IS CLEARLY WRONG WITH HIM,

- Meanwhile Henry is playing marco-polo with the lurker,

- Tom finally hears the Lurker approaching and freaks out at Henry, wHAT ARE YOU DOING THATS THE MONSTER?? OH IT’S HERE NOW?! BACKS AWAY VERY SLOWLY... Sammy you’re on duty for Joey watching now, and also communicating to the Lurker that Tom is friend not harm.

- It’s agreed upon that we should probably get out of here due to Joey being a lITTLE CRAZY rn, the Lurker offers to piggyback carry Joey, a thing it learned from being on Henry’s shoulders before!! ( ALL THE PLAYERS HAVE BEEN MURDERED ) Sammy picks up Joey and helps get him onto the Lurker’s back ( Joey has gone into tuned out mode and is just rag-dolling now as he Has An Episode ) Joey gets to ride piggyback on giant ink bendy like creature isn’t that gr9

- (also we find out the lurker is a little goopy since it probably jumped in one of the starpools while it was throwing cultists around. wHICH IS ALSO MURDEROUS, ARE U TELLING US THE LURKER IS LIKE A PUPPY THAT RUNS INTO A PUDDLE THE MOMENT YOU LOOK AWAY,)

- while walking back down to the graveyard, Tom asks about getting to a hospital. As we debate what the best course of action is (and Joey absolutely refuses to go to a hospital himself,) we get to the edge of the jungle, and Joey finally asks to be back on his own feet. Once down, he takes off his jacket, struggles to rip it cause it’s a good jacket, throws it to the ground, then takes off the bandage Henry made out of the shirt, rips that into two pieces and ties up both of his legs the same way. (Sammy helps him up and also continues supporting him. gaaaaaayyyy )

- When joey tosses his jacket out of anger, the stone pops out! Lurker is interested in it, they all think that they don’t need it so SURE BOY you can have it. lURKER EATS IT??? UHH OKAY GLAD YOU’RE ENJOYING SNACC

- We ask the Lurker if he’s interested in being small again, and he nods, so Joey and Henry assist in turning him back into a Bendy. This time it’s a lot easier and he kinda just pops into proper shape?!? but is up in the air, Henry tRIES to catch him but misses (maybe because he’s extremely tired) and BendyLurker makes a squeaky noise when he bounces, gives a thumbs up. (we’re all being murdered, constantly)

- As we go to leave, notice that Team Gun Runners is hanging out searching the cemetery that we entered through. Joey insists that he has an idea of how to get around them, and sends Tom, Henry and SonBoiBendy to go out the back and try to get a cab. He asks Sammy if he’d like to assist him, and Sammy freezes, caught between yes he DOES wanna go with them cause uhhh bendylurkersonboi he kinda worships now is in that party, but doesn’t want to leave Joey stumbling around on his own. Joey takes Sammy’s hesitation as an answer, pushes off of him, grabs his jacket and starts walking towards the group, not wanting wait long enough for them to find the group. 

- Henry asks Sammy about his feelings, Sammy does not answer, and they all skadoos out the back of the cemetery.

- The group notices Joey, who is doing his best to look completely normal. They started questioning him about what he’s doing there, if he’s seen anyone else?? Joey ignores their questions and brings up, hey, I have a feeling you’re looking for this (THE INVOICE THAT WAS GRABBED EARLIER AND I’VE BEEN CARRYING THIS WHOLE TIME) which I got off the Gent people, who we will not be working with anymore cause they made these arrangements behind our backs, and you can have it if you leave us alone! 

- ... the gun runners extremely accept this and scurry off. Joey tiredly and in lot of pain, manages to make it to the front gate himself and start walking around the side, finds his group struggling to call a cab. Maybe because Sammy is still wearing a bendy mask over his face, and they have a moving cartoon character on Henry’s shoulders??? Or maybe it was Sammy’s awful French,

- Joey manages to make it over to them, calls Tom a cab, tells him about where the tickets are kept and what to do, Tom tries to be uhh, grateful for being rescued? Joey just takes his gun back (and the sword but they’re not carrying that around, just Tom shouldn’t take it to a hospital) tells him to get out of his sight and sends him off to a hospital. Gets Sammy to take off the mask and the Lurker to play the fun game of “pretend you’re a stuffed animal”, gets a cab to the place Dr. Northeast is staying.

- We all grab very large and strong coffees and a little breakfast before heading up to the room. Dr. Northeast has been apparently up all night as well, studying, and Joey immediately forgets about his food and starts helping. Sammy and Henry hang with the LurkerBendySon while eating their food, making sure Henry stays awake...

- Sammy also gets to have a personal conversation with the BendyLurkerSonBoi, who wants to know... why we’re so bent on not sacrificing ourselves to the eldritch horror he serves? Less because he thinks they should now and more because... he’s never known it to go any other way. So maybe he wants to know if it can... and when asked, he admits he’s more interested in being more than just the jungle monster that swats people into starpools.

- uh oh, the final nail has been struck. our original plan has been completely destroyed because nONE OF US WANT TO OFFER THE LURKER BACK TO THE MESSANGER NOW TO BREAK THE CURSE OR WHATEVER. WE WANNA KEEP HIM. SO WHAT ARE WE GONNA OFFER. UHHHHHH TUNE IN NEXT TIME TO SEE US ALL DIE CAUSE WE REFUSED TO GIVE UP OUR SON BOI,

–> Episode 8

✨Call of Cthulhu Season One Masterpost ✨ 💀 Call of Cthulhu: Haunted Hijinx Masterpost 💀

[sophie1973]

Seven Sentence Sunday

I was tagged by @suseagull04 today. Thank you !

Here is a snippet of my WIP 'Wait for me (To come home) which I will start posting on September 27.

“Good afternoon, Doctor Claremont-Diaz,”  “Mrs. Carter,” he greets her. Henry notices with a faint contentment that he doesn’t tell her to call him Alex. “I don’t believe we had an appointment, right? Is Jack alright?” The woman's eyes dart between Alex and Henry, poorly concealing her curiosity. "Oh yes, he’s perfectly fine," she says with a fond look at her pomeranian. “I saw you and just wanted to say hi.” She lingers a moment longer than necessary, her gaze inquisitive.

After a brief exchange about Jack’s well-being, Mrs. Carter moves on, but not before throwing one last speculative glance over her shoulder. As soon as she's out of earshot, Alex lets out a small chuckle. “That was Janet Carter,” Alex explains, a hint of amusement in his voice. "She's the town's unofficial gossip center. By tomorrow, everyone will know that Dr. Claremont-Diaz was having lunch in the square with a handsome stranger." Henry feels a blush creeping up his neck. "Oh, I... I'm sorry. I hope I haven't caused any trouble for you." Alex waves off his concern. "Don't sweat it. Small-town life, you know? People love a bit of excitement." A moment of silence settles between them, and Henry finds himself grappling with a question that's been nagging at him. Aiming for nonchalance, he ventures, "I wouldn't want to cause any trouble with a... significant other." Smooth, Fox. Real smooth. Alex's eyes lock onto Henry's, a flicker of something indefinable dancing in their depths. "Henry, I clock 65 hours a week at the clinic. I've yet to meet anyone willing to put up with that schedule," he says, his lips curving into a knowing smile. "So, no. No girlfriend or boyfriend." He punctuates this with a meaningful look that sets Henry's pulse racing. Message received, loud and clear.

Tagging with no pressure : @onthewaytosomewhere @stellarmeadow @tailsbeth-writes @firenati0n

@thighzp @14carrotghoul @taste-thewaste @bitbybitwrites

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[papermoonloveslucy]

ROUGH ROAD TO TOP

August 16, 1953

(1)

One of the more famous CBS-TV shows is “I Love Lucy.” 

Its two chief characters - Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz - have had a rocky road to their present status as one of the top comedy teams in the country. 

At the end of Lucille's first year in dramatic school she was told by her teachers that she was wasting her time and money, that she would never become an actress. She was fired from all four of her first jobs as a chorus girl. Later, as a model, she almost lost her life in an automobile accident and was told she would never walk again. 

Revolution Factor 

It was a revolution in Cuba and a mishap in World War II which were fateful turns in Arnaz’ trip to stardom. The Cuban revolution destroyed his family’s wealth, drove them to the United States. World War II got him a broken kneecap in basic training, and since he had been a professional entertainer, he was placed in limited service and assigned to entertain hospitalized G.I.s'. 

Columbia Pictures gave Lucille a contract as a stock player, and, convinced that her luck finally had turned, she sent for mother, grandfather, and sister to join her in California. But, the morning after she wired her family, the studio decided to dissolve its stock company. When the family arrived, Lucille was working as an extra at Paramount.

Bit parts and extra roles in a number of pictures kept Lucille busy, but not prosperous, until she was cast in ’"Roberta.” RKO officials, impressed by her work, gave her a contract. When not busy before the cameras, she was a mainstay of the studio's Little Theater. (2)

Offered Stage Lead 

Her performance in the second lead in “The Girl from Paris" (3) drew Broadway's attention to Miss Ball and she was offered a lead in the musical "Hey Diddle Diddle.” After satisfying her yen to perform on the Great White Way (4), she returned to Hollywood for "Stage Door” and “Too Many Girls.” In the latter picture, she was costarred with Desi Arnaz. They were married Nov. 30 1940 in Greenwich, Conn.

Back from her honeymoon, Lucille walked into her first really big break a role in "The Big Street,” based on a story by Damon Runyon (5). Overnight it made her a star. 

Her first assignment at M.G.M. in 1942 was the title role in the Technicolor production "Du Barry Was a Lady” (6). Stellar roles followed in "Best Foot Forward” and "Meet the People" (7). After completing "Easy to Wed” with Van Johnson (8), she headed for New York to be with her husband, then out of the army and on his way to success in the orchestra business. 

Starred on Tour

Shortly after completing "Her Husband’s Affairs,” (9) Miss Ball went on tour as star of Elmer Rice's play "Dream Girl” (10) then worked with Sonny Tufts and Victor Mature in "Interference” for R.K.O. (11)

Lucille, Desi, arid their year-old daughter Lucy Desiree, live at Desilu, their five-acre ranch at Chatsworth, Calif. They raise cattle, chickens, dogs, and cats and dabble in farming. Enthusiastic fishermen they spend a lot of time on their boat.

Desiderio Alberto Arnaz y de Acha was born in Santiago, Cuba, son of the mayor. Desi’s mother, Dolores de Acha, was considered among the 10 most beautiful women In Latin America. 

Three ranches totaling 100,000 acres, a palatial home in the city, a private island in Santiago Bay, speedboats, a fleet of motor cars, and a racing stable were all at the command of the youthful Desi during the pre-revolutionary days. His father, after eight years as mayor of Santiago, was made a member of the Cuban congress In 1932. 

On Aug. 12, 1933, came the revolution. Congress was dissolved. Its members jailed. The Arnaz property was confiscated, the homes burned to the ground. In 24 hours everything was gone except $500 Desi's mother had hidden. Desi and mother fled to Miami, devoted the next six months to efforts to free Papa Arnaz.  from prison. They were finally reunited in Florida.

For Desi, life in these United States for several years was hard but interesting: he worked at truck driving, train yard checking, taxi driving, bookkeeping, and, of all things, bird cage cleaning. Desi’s father managed to launch an importing business. It went broke when a shipment of fruit spoiled in transit.

Show business at this point finally caught up with Desi. His first job was playing guitar and singing with a seven-piece rhumba band at Miami’s Roney-Plaza Hotel (12). Xavier Cugat (13) spotted him, was impressed with this Cuban boy who was to be dubbed "The Tempo” by critics of modem music. After a year as featured vocalist with the Cugat band, Desi organized his own group of musicians and moved into the swank La Conga Café in Miami (14). 

George Abbott's Broadway hit "Too Many Girls” (15) was Desi’s next step up the ladder, in 1939. He played a Cuban football player, one of the leads, and played tropical drums. RKO bought the film rights and signed Desi to play his stage role. When the shooting was over Desi married the leading lady, Lucille Ball.

He spent from Feb. 1943 to Nov. 1945 in the Army, after which he toured the nation with his band playing theaters, dances, night clubs. He hasn’t been without a band since. In 1948, Desi made the Columbia film "Holiday in Havana.” (16)

He made a vaudeville tour with Lucille Ball and that convinced them they’d do well as a husband-and-wife team on television. The tour inspired the CBS-TV show “I Love Lucy,” which has been highly rated since it started. (17)

Desi Arnaz’s personality is as vibrant as the music he makes. He is friendly, direct in manner, has flashing dark brown eyes and brown hair. He’s an avid fisherman, rides and swims expertly: his tennis is the envy of his San Fernando Valley neighbors, Sue and Alan Ladd, Francis Lederer, Jackie Oakie, and the Andrews Sisters. (18) A good cook, he specializes in such tempting dishes as Ginger Beef and Bouillabaisse.

#    #    #

FOOTNOTES FROM THE FUTURE

(1) The photo is from “Be a Pal” (ILL S1;E2) aired on October 22, 1951, nearly two years earlier.  There’s one thing missing from this file photo: Vivian Vance. The success of the show was its foursome, not threesome! If you look closely you can see the hands of the other poker players, Richard Reeves (Hank, left) and Tony Michaels (Charlie, right).

(2) Lucille did several plays at the RKO Little Theatre under the direction of Lela Rogers (above), Ginger’s mom.  When Lucille later bought RKO, she dubbed it the Desilu Playhouse, a training ground for new young performers, often hand selected by Ball herself. 

(3) “That Girl from Paris” (not “The” as the article states) was Lucille’s 33rd film. The light-hearted musical romance earned an Oscar nomination for Sound Recording. It was released on the first day of 1937. 

(4) Lucille was indeed cast in the Broadway-bound comedy (it was not a musical, however) “Hey Diddle Diddle!” It opened in Princeton, New Jersey, the first of several out-of-town stops on the way to Broadway.  What Lucille’s publicity omits is that the show never got further than Washington DC due to the serious illness of its leading man, Conway Tearle. So Lucy’s Broadway debut would have to wait - until 1960!

(5) “The Big Street” opened on September 4, 1942. It was based on a Damon Runyan short story about a night club singer (Lucille) embittered by an accident that left her in a wheelchair and her romance with a naïve admirer (Henry Fonda) named Pinks. Lucy later said it was her favorite of the many films she made.  It was her 55th film. 

(6) “Du Barry Was A Lady” premiered in August 1943. It was Lucille’s  57th film, but her first for MGM.  She nabbed the role from her friend Ethel Merman, who had done the Cole Porter musical comedy on Broadway.  It was filmed in color, and was the film that earned her the nickname “Technicolor Tessie” because of her bright orange hair - a color she committed to from then on, despite her roots!  This is the film that introduced Lucy to the song “Friendship”, which she would also sing on “I Love Lucy.” 

(7) In the musical comedy “Best Foot Forward” (1943) Lucille Ball played herself.  It was her 58th film. “Meet The People” (1944) was a romantic comedy for MGM, Ball’s 60th film. 

(8) In 1946 she released her 63rd film, “Easy To Wed” co-starring Van Johnson and Esther Williams. Lucille and Van had appeared together in “Too Many Girls” and he would appear on Lucy’s television shows. 

(9) “Her Husband’s Affairs” (1947) was a romantic farce with Lucy teamed with Franchot Tone. It was her 69th film. 

(10) Back to the stage, Lucille accepted the leading role in a revival tour of “Dream Girl” a fantasy comedy by Elmer Rice. Once again, the play launched in Princeton, but this time Broadway was not the goal. It had already played the Great White Way two years earlier. The play toured the country at select cities, landing Lucille back in California in late 1947. In one SoCal gig she was appearing simultaneously with Desi and his band just a few blocks away.  No doubt this was by design. 

(11) RKO’s “Interference” was re-named “Easy Living” (1949) and dealt with the world of professional sports, namely football. It co-starred Victor Mature and Sonny Tufts. It was Ball’s 71st film. 

(12) The luxurious Roney Plaza Hotel in Miami Beach was located on the corner of Collins Avenue and 23rd Street. It opened in 1925 and was demolished in 1968. The resort attracted a who's who that included Hollywood stars and even the Duke and Duchess of Windsor. The hotel's Bamboo Room & Restaurant was the place to be seen on the Beach for decades.

(13) Xaviar Cugat (1900-1990) was a Spanish musician and bandleader who spent his formative years in Havana, Cuba. A trained violinist and arranger, he was a leading figure in the spread of Latin music. In New York City he was the leader of the resident orchestra at the Waldorf–Astoria before and after World War II.  He was a mentor and friend to Desi Arnaz, who kept his name before the public by making him a rival of Ricky Ricardo on “I Love Lucy” where his name became a punchline. In reality, Desi was grateful to Cugat, not jealous of him! 

“I learned a lot from Xavier Cugat” ~ Desi Arnaz

(14) La Conga Café was located in New York City, not Miami, although the article may be referring to a different, lesser known establishment where Desi Arnaz performed.  He became a regular headliner at La Conga, even issuing a record titled “La Conga” in 1939. 

(15) Speaking of 1939 New York, Desi appeared in his only Broadway show in 1939, Rogers and Hart’s “Too Many Girls.”  When the film rights were purchased by RKO, Desi was hired by director George Abbott to recreate his role. It was while filming this movie that he met Lucille Ball. 

(16) “Holiday in Havana” was a Columbia picture released in October 1949.  The film is about a Cuban hotel busboy (Arnaz) who dreams of becoming a composer.  His love interest was not Lucy, but Mary Hatcher. 

(17) The Tour incorporated some of the same routines seen in the “I Love Lucy” pilot as well as early episodes of the series, most notably the “Cuban Pete / Sally Sweet” duet.  The tour culminated at the Roxy in New York City, where Desi was playing when he married Lucille in 1940. 

(18) Before moving to their Beverly Hills mansion, Lucy and Desi lived on a ranch in Chatsworth in San Fernando Valley. They dubbed their ranch home Desilu.  About their neighbors: 

Alan Ladd (1913-64) was a chorus boy when Lucille was an Earl Carroll showgirl in Murder at the Vanities (1934). He was married to Sue Carol (1906-82) from 1942 until his death. Carol’s name was mentioned on “I Love Lucy” in “The Fashion Show” when Lucy selects the same Don Loper original that Carol has chosen to wear in the fashion show. She does not appear on screen. 

Francis Lederer (1899-2000) was a Hungarian-born actor. In 1960 he did an episode of Desilu’s “The Untouchables”. From 1941 until his death he was married to Marion Irvine. 

Jackie Oakie (1903-78) did four films with Lucille Ball between 1934 and 1938, including both “Annabell” movies. 

The Andrews Sisters were the pre-eliminant close-harmony girl group of their time. The consisted of Patty, Maxine, and LaVerne. They were mentioned on “I Love Lucy” in “Be a Pal” in the same scene that the photo at the top of the article came from. In 1969, Patty Andrews guest-starred as herself on “Here’s Lucy”.  Lucy and Lucie played the other two Andrews sisters. 

[littlefreya]

Bad Reputation

Synopsis: Henry and his girl can’t get enough from one another. They keep finding themselves in rather sticky and lusty situations while other actors are present around them. 🤭

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC

Word count: 2.3K

Warnings: Smut, thigh riding, exhibition kink, public display of affection, dirty language, slight fingering, daddy kink.

A/N: This is by request made for thigh riding! I see this as a slight sequel to  Putting up a Show and Good Girl just because in my mind they are the same couple. Many thanks again to the marvellous @agniavateira​ for doing the beta! Masterlist is here.

Let me know if you want to be added/removed! Thank you for reading as always :)

PR fucking nightmare - that’s what our managers call us. 

They thought it would go away after our first year of dating. But the sad truth is, Henry just loves to touch, and I’m a hot-blooded woman who loves to fuck shit up. Three years in being married and the line is so goddamn blurry by now; I am never quite certain which one of us initiates it, nor do I even care. 

I see my bear sitting sprawled across the red leather sofas, legs spread open as he can never keep them shut. I know I’m terribly biased but that black tuxedo suit sure as hell looks great on his strong figure, especially with the crooked bowtie and the beard he’s been growing for his new movie role. 

And as if the bad boy vibes and big dick energy he sends everywhere wasn’t enough, the half-empty Grey Goose bottle on the round golden table next to him and the slight sweat that covers his forehead is a red flag that we are definitely getting into trouble tonight. 

Bring it on. 

Armie is sitting right next to him, telling him about some scheme by the gesture he is making with his hands. But I can tell Henry has other things on his mind. I can feel his eyes looking at me even when I am standing far away. Our gazes meet, he offers me a mischievous smile, showing off the large dimples of his cheeks. This is what I call a wet, slippery invention. 

I blush and look away. I mean, I have Rebecca Ferguson holding my forearms. That woman makes me want to invite her into our bedroom, but Henry doesn’t like sharing, not even with women. It doesn’t matter how much I’d pout and beg, he likes me all to himself, and he loves it when others can see that I am his. 

It’s always his hand between my thighs, riding up higher, thumb tickling at my clit teasingly. We sat through an entire acceptance speech with him working me hard. If anyone looks closely at that video on Youtube, you can see the exact moment when he hits the spot.

Sorry, Leo, I wasn’t smiling because you won. 

This is us being subtle. Hotels and parties, however, are a different story. We already had a manager quit on us because we made sure the entire floor hears what we are doing through the night. 

Rebecca kisses me on the cheek, the gorgeous Swedish redhead is already tipsy, and I’ve had my second glass of wine. She’s in a red satin dress, her impressive breasts showing through her cleavage. I also spot a few freckles on her chest. It makes me pout and look at Henry, who shakes his head in refusal. 

“Where is your hubby anyway?” she asks playfully, and I point in the direction of where he is sitting. Armie is just getting up, leaving Henry alone. He pours himself some more vodka, fills the glass with ice and then takes a sip with a lustful gaze. That’s probably my cue to keep him company and take that glass away.  

That video when he told everyone to get naked will forever be online. He also has a tendency to start making impressions of others when he is flustered, and I can’t contain my laughter when that happens.

“He’s too drunk to get up.” I sigh, shaking my head while he makes playful, sad faces at me. I shrug and take my phone out my purse, seeing two text messages from him.

Henry: “Where are you, babygirl?” Henry: “I want to squeeze that ass.” 

I text him back “Armie’s? Go for it. Can we have Rebecca, pleaaaaase?” 

He reads my reply, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in complete refusal. 

“Not. sharing. you. Do you want me to spank you in front of all these people?” 

Rebecca is oddly enough very touchy-feely, her hand sliding down my forearms while she speaks about how wonderful Henry is, and how fun it was to work with him on MI6.

“He’s not like all the other ones, he is an actual friend,” she explains to me, her beautiful green eyes lighting up. 

“I know, that’s how he got me, pretended to be my friend for years.” I chuckle, remembering the times we were still just friends. If you look at videos of us from interviews and photos from events from the time we worked together, you’d think we’ve been dating already. He always touched me subtly, his eyes staring at me intently when I speak. And of course, no one cracks him up the way I do.

But Henry waited 5 years for both of us to be single at the same time to “kidnap” me during a walk with our dogs at the forest, where I’d literally be unable to run away. He did that so he can tell me he’s been in love and growing in love with me ever since we met.

I smile at the sweet memory. I held my tears when that word left his lips.

“I’ll come to say hello later, I’m starving,” she says and rubs her belly gently. I nod and lean forward to kiss her, deliberately kissing her soft, red-painted lips for Henry to see. Us girls, we really don’t mind.

As I turn to face him, he is already frowning. He’s not amused by my vexing behaviour. I give him my best angelic posture, batting my lashes and holding my hands together while my head is tilted to the side. In that pale blue and silver dress, I might look like some saint right now, but my darling knows I’ve come from south to heaven.

I make my way to him, walking slowly, a smile both in my eyes and between my cheeks. I can feel the fire burning in my chest, the sight of him is dashing, those thick thighs ever so inviting. He spreads his legs even wider, the bulge in his groin made only for me. He has his pinky finger pressed between his teeth while checking me out.

My body heeds his calling, I’m tingling wet. 

I stand in front of him, my cheeks warm as if this is a first hook up of some sort. Henry rises his beautiful blues to stare straight into my eyes. The beaming lights in the hall make his sweaty skin glow in neon pink and gold, his eyes flashing bright as the different colours dance across his face.

“How many of those have you had?” I ask, gesturing at the glass, noticing the half-empty bottle. I hope not too much, I expect to be rammed tonight when we return to the hotel. 

He shrugs, putting the glass away without bothering to finish it. He is British, and boy, he can drink a lot. He is not as half as flustered as a different guy would be, but yes, he is certainly quite drunk. Enough to give me that look of his-one eyebrow rising up-while his eyes drink in my dress, cleavage, ass, and that slit that runs from my legs to my thighs.

My friends asked me if Henry is an ass or tits man, to which my answer was “he is ‘all of me’ man.” 

“Gotta love women's liberation.” He speaks in a deep, low voice, gesturing at my provocative dress. 

“Come to daddy.” He demands, holding out his hand for me to come and sit on his thigh. To which I am more than happy to comply.

I spread my legs, moving to straddle his muscular thigh. There is a burning sensation at my core as my pelvis meets his taut muscle. My body always reacts to his touch. Henry’s hands immediately take my face, thumbs stroking at my cheeks.

“Why do you tease me, beautiful?” he murmurs, his fierce gaze tracing my face, always taken by me, memorizing every freckle and flaw as if it’s the first time we ever sit so close. God, he makes me feel so beautiful even in my ugliest of ugly days.

I lean forward to get even closer, my ass riding up his leg and my hands reach out to tug at his white buttoned shirt. “Oh, Henry-Bear, it’s. So. much. fun.”

Someone sits right next to us on the big red sofa, saying a friendly hello. We answer at the same time, without breaking eye contact. We never bother looking who is the actor, producer, or whatever who moved to bug us. Too lost in our own little mist of admiration. Henry’s fingers descend from my face to my neck, fingers skirting down my neck sensually. 

“You know what I love about these ceremonies and parties?” he asks as he leans closer to whisper in my ear and then places a wet, lingering kiss on my shoulder. His chin pushes the straps of my dress away, letting it fall on my forearm as if by accident. I let it glide, shivering as the coarse hair of his beard marks my flesh.

“I get to show you off while you’re wearing these outrageous dresses and everyone knows I am taking you home to fuck you until sunrise.”

I chuckle lustfully, my tongue pressed between my teeth. “Last time we didn’t even make it home remember?” I hum gently, feeling his rough touch on my breasts. The tip of his thumbs circles my nipples, teasing them to harden through the thin fabric of my dress. I wouldn’t give a fuck if Henry had me topless right now and sink his fangs in my tits for everyone to see. But he is far too selfish, I was made for his eyes and his eyes only.

He settles for a “chaste” show, laying a kiss beneath my chin and then pressing his face at my cleavage, inhaling the scent of my body lotion before nibbling at my breast through my dress. His breath smells like vodka-sweet and spicy at once.

“I remember, Cumberbatch saw the whole thing,” he answers, his hands holding my ribs, slightly guiding me to move my body on top of his thigh in ghostlike movements. I am searing hot, my mound feels as if it’s seconds from catching fire. I am certain he can feel it, his blue eyes now hazy and dreamlike as they watch the pink tint that runs through my neck to my cheeks. 

“Fuck me, daddy, I am so horny!”

My whisper comes out as half a cry, weak and desperate. My body is a void, it suffers without his touch, it aches when we’re disjointed. I hope we’ll never stop feeling this way toward one another. 

“Ride me, babygirl.” he urges me, raising his thigh up higher, so I’ll slide down closer. The friction makes me lose sight for a moment. My vision blurs as I throb wet and hot onto him. Good thing his trousers are black, otherwise, everyone would be able to detect the wetness I am leaving on his pants. 

I can’t reject his decree, my body needs him. 

“You like it when they watch, don’t you?” he asks me with a slightly slurred voice. His hands glide down to squeeze my ass, assisting me in dancing on the rock-hard muscle of his leg. I am grinding slow and rough, shifting my weight forward, my right hand reaching his other thigh, clawing at him with growing pleasure.

Everyone is looking at us, I am sure, some embarrassed and perhaps even appalled. How puritan of you Hollywood. These people formed their own religion and hidden sex clubs. But I am convinced many enjoy this facade and discreetly salute us, some probably holding out their cameras.  

I roll my hips up and clench my inner thighs, whimpering as my body begins to tremble.  

It doesn’t matter who is staring while I ride him so passionately, seeking my pleasure with urgency while Henry’s hands support me, saddling my hips and pulling me toward him. We don’t see anyone else. We’re locked into one another, the way we always did, just like when Henry had a girlfriend, when we were “just friends” when I dated that asshole. We’d walk into a room, and it was just me and him, hearts and chest bursting with love.

Every moment we couldn’t have one another was stolen from us, we now fight to own it back.  

“I’d sit you on my face in front of everyone, but I think Gretchen would kill us.” Henry half whispers against my throat and then licks up my neck as I lift my chin to the ceiling with gaping lips. He has his hand between my legs, drawing at my centre and sneaking between the slit of my dress to finish the job. 

“Fuck!” he teases my clit, his middle finger travelling at my seams. My entire existence shudders. The bass of the music blasts through my chest, my eardrums throb, and my eyes see all the colours of the neon at once as my cunt implodes with orgasmic bliss. Henry steals my gasp into his mouth, his hand pressing my cheeks, crushing my mouth with hunger. 

Who could ever hate us for our expression of true love?

I gasp feverishly, holding onto him as if I’m about to fall. Henry’s lips are on my temple and then my cheek. Pressing against me and not moving away. He envelops me in his big arms, a clear statement to all our viewers that I am his and he is mine.  We both move our heads to see who's been sitting next to us this entire time.

Alec Baldwin and Jake Gyllenhaal. They pretend not to stare, at least Alec does. Jake gives us a wide, knowing smile. Everyone else has also been staring as I hear the whispers and gasps. 

“Really? They did that again!?”

We bump our foreheads together and snicker with delight. Like we ever gave a fuck about being caught. It’s not the first time, won’t be the last. We just can’t get our hands off of each other. 

“Better call Gretchen now.” I tell Henry, hanging my arm around his thick neck. 

“Before or after I fuck you in one of the back rooms here?”