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yellowjackets96 · 8 months

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i owe you a black eye and two kisses / angus tully x reader

summary / after defending your best friend’s honor in a scuffle with kountze, he decides to take first aid into his own hands.

warnings / mentions of blood, bruises, and general injuries

word count / 2K even!

heyyy, baby’s first x reader fanfiction! cannot believe i have been alive nearly twenty damn years and never once did this. who crode?

You cannot seem to remember when the blood started to pour from your mouth or the moment you realized Kountze’s nose should not be pointed in that direction, but both moments hit you like a freight train when Angus grabs your arm.

“Holy shit!” he exclaims, fingers prodding at the newborn black eye on your face. “You– you– my god.”

As cooly as possible, you pop your neck to the side and smirk. “Heh. All in a day’s work.”

“You could’ve killed him,” one of Kountze’s goons says, tending to his nose. The blonde bully is shell-shocked, a state of mind you previously believed to be inherently against his nasty nature.

You scoff, shrugging at the lackey. “I’m sure his daddy can help,” you remark, spinning around on your heel and striding out of the room, with a hyped Angus in tow. He’s so energized, he could probably shoot himself off the walls like a projectile and fly back to you like a boomerang.

“I can’t believe you had that in you,” he mutters, still quite bewildered by your sucker punch. “In all my years of knowing you…I don’t think he’ll ever bother me again, now.”

You turn slightly to grin at him. “Hey, I’m glad to hear it. Guy’s a real fuckface and a half. His reign of terror has gone on far too fucking long.”

Once you get to your modest dorm room towards the end of the hall, you feel Angus reach out and touch you once again, and he gazes at you sternly, his expression mirroring a way only your mom looks at you. You roll your eyes, hands not moving from turning the key in the door. “What’s the matter, Tully?”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, a deep grimace on his face. “He was shit-talking me, not you. And now you’ve got a black eye, your lip is busted, and you could’ve lost teeth, and–”

You swiftly cut him off. “So? You’re my best friend. I was simply defending your honor. Little shit shouldn’t be able to get away with mocking your familial situation. It’s not like you can control it.” Twisting the knob to the side, you gently push the door open and step into the room, eyeing him slightly. “You can come in, if you’re not planning on lecturing me.”

“Well,” Angus says, shutting the door behind him. “You can ignore my chastising to high heaven, but you’re still going to need some wound care for the black-and-blue knuckles, swollen eye, and split lip. Even if you don’t wanna ice the bruises and bumps, though, you need to keep the lip stuff from the point of possible infections.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him. “Everything that could possibly hurt is just…dully throbbing. And I’m sure all the bleeding was due to how shallow the cuts were. I need nothing more than an ibuprofen and a bandaid.”

For the third time, the boy takes a grip on your arm, lanky digits wrapping around your cold skin gently enough to leave no mark, but firmly enough to stop you definitively in your tracks. “Sit down,” he states, the edge of hoarseness in his voice causing it to be barely above a whisper. “Now.”

You find his forceful tone compelling enough to follow his commands, pushing your swivel chair around until it faces forward and reluctantly take a seat. “Fine. Have it your way.”

“Thank you,” Angus says, winking at you before immediately diving headfirst into rummaging through your cabinets and drawers. “You’re gonna need the whole nine yards of first aid care here. Just be patient, okay? I know from you doing it for me that the process tends to be lengthy.”

“Whatever you say,” you murmur. “As long as you don’t break anything valuable during your expedition into my belongings.”

He turns to you with a hearty smirk, arms filled with cotton pads, alcohol wipes, hydrogen peroxide bottles, bandages, and tweezers, among multiple other things. “Oh yeah?” he says, seemingly challenging you as he places the supplies on the desk behind you. “And what would you do about it if I did?”

“Probably cut up my end of our friendship bracelets,” you reply, not missing a beat. “You don’t even wear yours, anyway.”

Angus does not even need to speak to refute your claim as he pushes his sweater sleeve past his watch, revealing the braided object in question is still on display on the part of his arm that no one can see. Your jaw goes slightly askew at the revelation. “I stand corrected.”

He chuckles, sufficiently satisfied with the exchange as he flips the cap open on one of the peroxide bottles, pressing it against a cotton pad. Once he determines it to be prepared enough for your bloodied mouth, he looks over at you, eyebrows furrowed in thought. A moment of contemplation passes – he closely scans your face up and down, down and up, enough times to be able to sketch it perfectly from memory, as he nods to himself. With a steady step forward, he places the pad between his thumb and pointer finger and goes in, forcefully dabbing it against your bottom lip. All of the miniscule amounts of warmth escapes your body as you roughly suck air in through your teeth, grabbing a fistful of the cuff of his sweater.

“Does that hurt?” Angus asks, wide brown eyes filled with an entire galaxy’s worth of concern. “Be honest with me.”

You grind your teeth, putting as much effort as humanly possible into a brave face. “It stings, that’s for sure.”

He quickly withdraws the soggy gauze from your mouth. “Good news, then, ‘cause I’m already done with it.”

“Shit!” you exclaim, hands flying up to your bottom lip. “Really?”

Snickering at your shocked face, Angus tilts his head to the side, examining your injuries again. “Yup. I think you were right about it being shallow. I’m no med student, but I don’t think it’s at risk of developing any kind of infection.

Melting back into the chair, your face is overtaken by a relaxed smile, in spite of yourself. A few seconds pass before curiosity overtakes you and you peer over your shoulder to ogle at his activity. You’re met with the completely ridiculous sight of him attempting to maneuver a bandaid into a jar of petroleum jelly. “Jesus, Angus!”

He can’t help himself from laughing at your reaction. “What? You didn’t have any ointment!”

“You said my lip’s fine!” you respond. “Unless you were trying to soften the blow of my oncoming sepsis by lying to me.”

He shakes his head emphatically. “No. I just wanted to see if I could make it hurt less for you.”

“It doesn’t,” you insist, waving him off.

“Really?” he asks, folding his arms across his chest in judgment, once again harkening back to something an authority figure in your life would do. “Then why were you tugging at my shirt like a damn seven-year-old at a grocery store?”

You scowl at him, face overtaken by a shade of red that only appears when you’re trying not to laugh at him. “I hate you.”

Angus laughs a sharp ha!, face wrinkled up in a simper as he pulls himself back up to your level, an ice pack in either hand. “No, you don’t. You wouldn’t have kept me around for so long if you did.” He drops the ice packs in your lap and points at your cheek. “I can’t believe you were insisting on letting these wounds take care of themselves, dude. Your cheek’s swollen as hell.”

“How bad is it?” you curiously ask, brows quirked in thought.

“Well, the verdict’s already in that you’ll survive this,” he quips, earning a laugh from you. “So that’s out of the question, but if I didn’t already know you, I’d assume you either victoriously won or pitifully lost a professional boxing match.”

You playfully smack at his shoulder as he breaks into a laughing fit. “It was a compliment!” he defensively mutters, picking up one of the ice packs. “The thing’s a bona fide war wound, I swear. You look badass.”

“You should see the other guy,” you remark, watching him intently as Angus brings a hand up to your face, softly touching the ice pack to your bruise. “Also, I can’t believe you would call me badass. You must be buttering me up for the next time you have a bone to pick with Teddy.”

“Nah,” he denies, raising the pack slightly further up. “You’ve always been badass, ever since we were old enough to speak our minds. It’s a mindset in my eyes, since you never really looked like I imagined one being.”

Your face instantly softens as you gaze at him, studying the way he intently deals with something as uneventful as a bruised cheek. “You’re just being nice because I look like hell.”

Angus pulls his attention away from the ice pack to meet your lingering eyes. “I’m as serious as a car crash. You’ve always had this self-assured attitude, no matter who you were dealing with. The way that I don’t back down from a physical fight is exactly how you are in verbal sparring matches, but you’re, just, so much cooler in terms of that, ‘cause you refuse to relent on your beliefs. I could never be so firm when I speak to people, even if I try my very fuckin’ darndest.”

“I-I had-” you stammer heavily, effectively caught off-guard by his words. “No idea you thought so highly of me. That’s so incredibly sweet.”

“Well, you deserve to hear it,” he says, taking the ice pack off of your face. “You’ve been such a constant in my life, and I seriously don’t know who or where I would be without you. Hell, you even BEGGED your parents to let you transfer to every single school I ended up in post-expellings! I can’t help but idolize you. You were born with an insatiable fighting spirit. Nothing and nobody can get to you.”

Before you can form a single coherent thought, you blurt out four words you would never even dream of saying to Angus Tully. “Can I kiss you?”

Silence falls over the two of you like a curtain as Angus gazes up at you, eyes full of wonder, mouth hanging open. Before long, his lips turn upward in one of his signature smiles. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Lifting his hands up, he gingerly cups your cheeks with his hands and dives in, pressing your lips together in a delicate embrace. You close your eyes on impact, heart lighting up with an intensity you are not sure you have ever felt. Holy shit! Kountze must have killed you! This has to be heaven! The moments pass fleetingly before Angus finally pulls away, a genuine, natural, adorable little grin on his face as he sheepishly doesn’t face you, cheeks burning a soft, passionate pink. You must have been an idiot for never making a move all these years, but at least you finally got struck with the urge to do so.

“Y- your c-ch-” and now, like poetic justice, he is the one who’s been bitten by the stutter bug. “Your cheek looks better already. How about we get some ibuprofen in you and then we – okay, you have to step in if I embarrass myself here – step off of campus to go get some dinner?”

You’re smirking now, trying not to giggle at the unseen shy side he keeps so carefully locked away. “Angus Tully, are you asking me on a date?” He tries his very best not to avoid eye contact with you again as he nervously nods in confirmation. You reach out for his hand, interlocking your fingers together like puzzle pieces. “Well, then. I’d have to say what I’m sure you’ve been waiting to hear come out of my mouth all these years – yes.”

#angus tully #angus tully x reader

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leakyweep · 11 months

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Doflamingo x gn!Reader - Patience

@kyuuin9in ; Morning, hope you’re doing better! It’s 💜 anon, decided to come off anon for the request. :D I’ve had this on my mind for a while; how would Doffy feel if he met someone who actually read him like an open book to the point where his s/o actively (but not verbally) tries to teach him healthier habits, such as handing him a glass of water instead of letting him reach for the bottle of wine after a nightmare, proving him with emotional support without outright asking him about it and not expecting him to tell her about it. But also being basically attached to the hip to him and just doing things for him without him asking her to. He’s thinking about getting some salt? Well, would you look at that his s/o already passed it to him. (I also think his s/o wouldn’t like Trebol too much cause he’s an active enabler of Doffy’s bad habits 💀💀)

A/N ; Thank you for this lovely request! Writing Doffy being soft is so fun and challenging, so I hope you enjoy <3

Words ; 0.8k

Warnings ; None, just pure fluff. Although this fic is sfw, my blog is not. Minors, you are not welcome on my blog. Thank you.

Being with Doflamingo was a full time job. It didn’t matter that you lived under his income, under the roof of his stone palace, in his pink satin sheets. You helped out the servants in your free time, making up for the harsh side Doffy always showed the helpful staff. You stood in the kitchen, cutting vegetables, preparing lettuce, learning how long to cook meat to the exact temperature the master enjoyed. You found the servants to be quite pleasant; and while your husband was off in some meeting, you got to know his underlings, smiling and listening to their interesting stories and anecdotes.

At the end of the day, when changing into your silk pajamas in front of your beloved, he asked you why in the hell you spent your days folding laundry with his servants, thanking them at the dinner table, tucking them in and telling them about the days you spent on the sea when you would join him on his expeditions – and your answer was simple.

“They’re people too.”

This made him… think. In his office, in bed, with the other members of the royal family. Of course, your least favorite cohort, Trebol, had many negative things to say about your kindness. He found it pathetic, trying his best to convince Doffy you were his weakest link, that your emotions were too strong. Of course, this made your love see red, grabbing his closest commander by the collar to tell him never to speak about you that way. Although your heart swelled, it discouraged you from being around Trebol for long bouts of time.

One particular night, you had joined him in bed later than usual, too caught up in your screaming thoughts as loud as a freight train in your ears. Sitting in the plush armchair Doffy had gifted you for a birthday in the past, you watched the moon slowly ascend into its place in the dark sky, trying your best to focus on all the good things in your life, the most prominent being the large, snoring figure just feet behind you, sleeping wistfully beneath his heavy comforter. This was short lived, though, when he was snapped awake by a harsh nightmare, his breaths ragged and uneven.

You turned from your seat to ask him what was wrong, but before you could, his large hand reached for the bottle of red wine on his bedside table. You frowned at him and when his golden eyes met yours, you shook your head.

“Darling, let me put that away for you. I’ll grab you some water.” Your footsteps were soft against the carpet as you took the bottle before he could argue. You disappeared to the kitchen to grab a glass of cold water for him as he pouted like a little boy who got his toy taken away. His expression upon rearrival made you chuckle gently while handing him the glass. With a roll of his eyes a mumble of gratitude, he took the glass and sipped. He fell back asleep in your arms that night, your manicured nails gliding through his blonde locks to calm him back to his dreamland.

Over time, you began to learn small habits to change for his well being – wine was forever replaced with water on his bedside table, you found yourself passing him things before he could ask at the dinner table, learning his triggers to help him calm himself when he was tested, being his kind ambassador when going to the town to enjoy the nightlife. You wouldn’t change it for the world, you thought. You loved this man – and you realized that while he was ruthless, powerful, and malicious, he also had feelings, and he just needed a little help dealing with them in a self-sustaining way.

Doffy’s heart had grown a few sizes since meeting you, or so he was convinced. The way you were kind to every living creature, how you spoke to children and laughed at their terrible jokes in the streets of Dressrosa, your calming tone as he felt those tendrils of anger threaten to choke him and devour him whole and completely dissipate at the sound of your voice – it all drew him closer to you, wanting to smother himself in the absolutely pure and selfless aura that radiated from your smooth skin. Hearing your laugh after a long day of work and dealing with absolute imbeciles was like medicine. Making love to you was like nothing he had felt before. All these things combined into one, and Doffy was marrying you within the next year.

You were thankful for him, just as he was for you. And you knew as you grew old together, he would change, and he would grow, and that he just needed time.

You were willing to be patient with him until the end of time.

#doflamingo x reader #doflamingo x you #donquixote doflamingo #one piece #op #doffy #liv writes #fanfic #just a q

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nffica · 2 months

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hyperfiiixate · 5 months

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the greasers and their favourite the garden songs because they are some of my interests and i will talk about them in conjunction with each other !!!!!

(and you will have to deal with that)

dallas: he would love all the scream-y songs, especially since he would probably walk around with a speaker blasting them just to piss people off.

songs such as:

- hit eject

- please fuck off

- sneaky devil

- vexation

- kiss my super bowl ring

- what else could i be but a jester

- grass

- lowrider slug

- a struggle

- at the campfire

- devour

- all smiles over here :)

- a fools expedition

- interrupt

- have a good day sir

- horseshit on route 66

- orange county punk rock legend

- the king of cutting corners

- call the dogs out

- puerta de limosina

- OC93

- literally just the entire kmsbr album

yeah u get the gist. (i have thought so much about dallas’ favourite the garden songs because he is just ??? so ???? the garden ?????? like if he were a teenager in 2024 he would love the garden. rip dallas winston you would have loved the garden) (he would also love their side projects turkey and penalty kill)

ponyboy: he likes to go digging on youtube, band camp and soundcloud for all of their songs that aren’t on spotify and also search for any vada vada lost media. loves a lot of their earlier stuff. has to listen to the garden with headphones because they’re too annoying for darry (😞). idk these songs have his vibe:

- no destination

- a message for myself

- make yer mark

- everything is perfect

- express - sector 28

- circles

- the life and times of a paperclip

- life as a hanger

- what we are

- together we are great

- freight yard

(i didnt rlly think about ponyboys favourites and i havent listened to all of their unreleased stuff YET so when i get around to that i will definitely edit this post with more for ponyboy)

johnny: doesn’t rlly listen to the garden but has picked up a few songs that he likes because he listens with dally or ponyboy (there will be very few songs here sorry !! i feel like he would love their solo projects more (enjoy + puzzle) because sonically they have his vibe. especially enjoy) (i will probably make a post about their favourite enjoy + puzzle songs) anyway here:

- egg (his all time favourite the garden song ever)

- make this a challenge - we like you

- the apple

- birds nest

- chainsaw the door

- fix

- aunt j

- gumdrops

- i’ll stop by tomorrow night

- crystal clear

yeah !!!! he doesn’t listen to them a whole lot but when he does with dally or pb he makes sure to queue these songs. tbh he would be an avid enjoy listener with a bit of puzzle sprinkled in too. he doesn’t use spotify that often and just listens to his liked songs on shuffle play

two bit: I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE!!!! he loves all the goofy sounding ones with random ass sound effects that just pop up unexpectedly. loves the songs that have the biggest clown vibes and will listen to the garden with soda and steve at the dx. also tried (and failed) to get marcia to listen to the garden. anyway his faves:

- call this # now

- play your cards right

- california here we go

- u want the scoop?

- clay

- all access

- :(

- shameless shadow

- banana peel

- stylish spit

- good news

- thy mission

- haunted house on zillow

- at the campfire

- make a wish

- stallion

- the whole mmsyc album

- haha

- red green yellow

- i guess we’ll never know

- everything has a face

- what else could i be but a jester

yeah. loves himself a good goofy sound effect or two (or more). his taste scares darry a bit (he doesn’t see the appeal for the garden (tasteless)) and he definitely blasts these with dallas to annoy people

sodapop: he likes all the songs that got popular on tiktok lets be honest here, but he’s just a casual listener like johnny, and will sometimes pick up songs from ponyboy or twobit that he likes. mainly listens to the garden when repairing cars at the dx because they make “good car repairing music” (whatever that means). his favourites:

- this could build us a home

- call this # now

- california here we go

- clay

- chainsaw the door

- haha

- freight yard

- thy mission

- horseshit on route 66

- shameless shadow

yeah just likes the popular stuff, he never rlly got into the garden

steve: just likes the same songs soda likes because he too never rlly got too into the garden and those are the songs he’s only rlly listened to. makes fun of ponyboy for nerding out about finding all the obscure songs at any chance he can get (sorry steve)

ALTHOUGH he does have one song that is unique from sodapop’s taste:

- OC93

that’s it. that’s steve’s favourite the garden song that is unique form soda’s favourites and tbh he’s so valid for that

darry: “i can’t listen to that right now i have a headache, turn it off!!” would rather eat rocks than listen to the garden because they annoy him too much. made it a rule that ponyboy and soda could only listen to the garden when he’s out of the house or they are out of earshot from him. HOWEVER !!!! he likes one of their songs!! he can tolerate one song!!!!

- california here we go

YAY!!!! he has taste we must admit, but also his entire music taste would just be either classical music, old soft rock songs or rain sounds.

yeah thanks for reading if u did sorry i needed to ramble about this desperately AGAGDHSJA

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the-uncharted-cookbook · 7 days

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Cargo Pilot

Victor Sullivan is a man of passion and taste. The only thing he loves more than stiff drinks, expensive cigars, and beautiful women is telling stories about them. From the very first moment he stepped into my bar, he was chatting up anyone and everyone he could find and sharing tales of his many escapades all around the world, each more climactic than the last.

While hearing about barmaids and brothels was certainly exciting, what captivated me was the sheer breadth of his adventures. Sully has been everywhere and rubbed shoulders with everyone, carving out his living hauling freight around the globe in the Hog Wild, his trusty Grumman Goose G-21 seaplane. Unfortunately, the Hog didn't survive one of Sully's most dangerous expeditions down in the South Pacific, but Nathan Drake and Elena Fisher have since paid him back for crashing his plane with a replacement. I suggested Sully name his new Goose the Whole Hog, to keep with the theme.

The Cargo Pilot was born from a desire to create a cocktail as well traveled as Victor Sullivan himself. It's a riff on the Test Pilot, a drink originally created sometime before 1941 by Donn Beach, the founding father of tiki and a man also famous for his intrepid nature.

CARGO PILOT

1.25 oz overproof white Jamaican rum (Wray & Nephew) 1 oz aged Demerara rum (El Dorado 12) 0.75 oz lime juice 0.5 oz white grapefruit juice 0.5 oz treasure spice syrup 1 tsp honey syrup 1 dash Angostura bitters 6 drops absinthe

Combine all ingredients in a cocktail shaker with pebble ice. Shake and dump directly into a Mai Tai or double Old Fashioned glass. Garnish with fresh mint (slapped to express the oils), a cherry on a pick, and a paper or foam airplane.

The Cargo Pilot calls for two specific types of rum: an unaged overproof white Jamaican rum and an aged Demerara rum. For the Jamaican, I recommend Wray & Nephew but Rum Fire will do in a pinch. For the Demerara, I use El Dorado aged 12 years but Pusser's British Navy Rum, Hamilton 86, or other aged El Dorado rums will serve just as well. The types of rum are deliberately chosen for the flavors they bring so be careful and do research before making substitutions. A white Jamaican rum and a white Puerto Rican or Dominican rum are going to taste vastly different, for example.

Similarly, if you use a pink or ruby red grapefruit juice instead of white grapefruit, you'll wind up with a sweeter drink. It may be worth it to adjust the amount of treasure syrup or honey to account for this.

The recipes for treasure spice syrup and honey syrup can be found here.

#uncharted cocktail #uncharted #victor sullivan #nathan drake #elena fisher #rum #tiki #tiki cocktail

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sophie1973 · 7 months

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Bloodstream (tell me when it kicks in)

New York, 1890. Henry is a slayer, Alex is a vampire. Somehow, they are not in a hurry to kill each other.

You can also read on AO3 or come yell at me on Twitter

Manhattan, Meatpacking District - November 1890

Not for the first time that night Henry wonders what the bloody hell he’s doing here.

Here is an empty, sinister back alley in the Meatpacking District, after nearly tripping on the freight train tracks on 10th Avenue. Thankfully, no one is around so late to witness his clumsiness.

No one human, that is.

It’s a frosty November night, and he shivers. Despite being made of the finest wool by one of the most upscale tailors of Bond Street, his coat is still not warm enough to fend off the cold of an American winter. He’s just happy Bea and he arrived in New York after the Great Blizzard of 1888 and hopes this year is not a prelude to a repeat performance.

Patrolling in New York is similar to patrolling in London. The smells are the same, hints of sewer and garbage, a potent odor of meat and dairy coming from the surrounding warehouses, and the sound and humid air emanating from the Hudson instead of the Thames.

He could be home with a nice cup of Earl Grey and his old, battered copy of Pride and Prejudice. Or maybe Jane Eyre. He meant to start that one a while ago but hasn’t found the time yet. Too many books, too little time.

His hand squeezes around the stake he’s holding, focusing on his surroundings. It wouldn’t be very clever of him to be ambushed because he was daydreaming (or is it nightdreaming, in this case?) about Mr Darcy or Mr Rochester.

He hasn’t used the stake yet tonight since Bea and he went their separate ways, but he can hear some shouting and grunts in the distance. Sounds like Bea is more busy than he is. He’s not worried though. His sister excels at this. She always has.

It is their legacy after all.

Bea thrives on it.

Henry…Not so much.

He’s good at it though. The last 5 years of training made sure of that. Besides, just because his heart was never in it doesn’t mean he would allow himself to fail and dishonor his family’s name.

Putting almost 6000 kilometers between them and their grandmother had been a crucial necessity propelled by his father’s unexpected passing and his older brother’s increasing worry for his younger siblings. (he hates that word. his father hasn’t passed away. But when he needs to be alert and focused like tonight, the word sounds better in his head than ‘murder’)

But Henry is not naive. Even from an ocean away, there is no doubt Mary Mountchristen-Windsor still has her eyes on them and their every move.

Antagonizing her even more than they already have would be madness.

Just as he decides to give up for the night and join Bea, a vampire appears from around the corner on his right and Henry sighs.

The fight is quick and expeditive, and in less than a few minutes, the vampire is a pile of dust on the dirty ground.

Henry wipes his hand on his trousers, turns around, and bumps into a wall.

Wait, not a wall. There’s a man in front of him, and Henry’s slayer senses failed him spectacularly, as he didn’t even hear him sneak behind him.

The first thing Henry notices is his height. Henry’s a tall man, but this one has a couple of inches on him. Despite the darkness, Henry can’t help but appreciate the fact that he’s also extremely handsome with golden brown eyes, dark glossy curls, and a devastating smile…

…which reveals a nice, shiny, white pair of elongated canines.

Oh, bollocks.

Henry barely has time to entertain that thought before being pushed against a stone wall.

“Well, well, what do we have here? A baby Slayer? Christmas must have come early,” the vampire drawls with an appreciative grin.

Henry rolls his eyes at that. Yes, he looks young, and the slow aging process doesn’t help, but he’s 25, for God's sake.

He has a retort on the tip of his tongue before he thinks better of it and shuts his mouth. He raises his hand, ready to stake the stupid - and very handsome, God help him- sod and finally be reunited with his warm bed and his books.

The next thing Henry knows, the stake is on the ground and he’s being pressed against the wall by the vampire’s strong, obviously muscular body.

Suddenly, Jane Austen is the last thing on his mind. The vampire has one hand curled around his neck, and the other presses Henry’s shoulder against the cold bricks. A predatory grin adorns his lips, and Henry thinks that this is decidedly not a good time to wonder about how long and pretty his fucking eyelashes are.

The pressure on his neck and shoulder intensifies, and he can feel the man’s thigh slip between his own and put some pressure on his crotch. His nose detects a rather intoxicating, spicy mix of santal, cardamom, and violet, and…is that cinnamon?

The vampire brings his lips against Henry’s throat and gives it a lick.

Henry gasps.

The tip of the vampire’s fangs are now grazing his skin, but he doesn’t bite, nipping softly at the smooth flesh, as if searching for the best spot to feed.

Henry’s always been told they ‌go straight to the jugular, but alright, this one likes to play with his food.

If Bea doesn’t arrive in the next few seconds, he’s probably fucked. And not in a good way.

That being said…He assumed that he would probably be scared out of his mind if confronted with this situation. He’s found himself in some dire straits sometimes, but never to the point of being so overpowered like this.

He’s waiting for the terror to settle in, the feeling of finality and ‘well, this is how it ends’ to overcome him, the resignation of dying so young without a real chance of accomplishing anything useful. He didn’t even get to say goodbye to Fitzwilliam, his beloved beagle.

But it never comes.

Instead, long, slow swoops of…something curl in his belly. He becomes extremely conscious of the way the vampire's knee rubs against his neither region, his hot breath on the sensitive skin of his collarbone, and how every nerve ending in his body seems to detonate like fireworks. He closes his eyes and bites on his lower lip, afraid of letting out the wanton moan building in his throat.

When the feeling of horror finally, finally invades his chest it is not because he thinks of his impending demise. With sudden clarity, Henry realizes he’s not scared.

He’s aroused.

His slayer’s instincts kick in and with his free hand, he reaches into his coat’s pocket, pulling out a small pistol and pressing it against the man’s chest.

“I know you’re not a werewolf, but I’m sure a silver bullet through the heart might still inflict some damage,” he says, surprised and a bit proud at how steady his voice sounds.

The vampire releases him and steps back, raising his hands in surrender. He smirks, and Henry sees a look of…appreciation flashing briefly in his eyes.

“Alright. New deal. I don’t bite you, you don’t shoot me. We stay out of each other’s hair.”

Henry nods but doesn’t lower his gun. Despite his gran’s claim that “a good vampire is a dead vampire” he learned early on that, just as humans, all is not black and white in the vampire world and some of them are useful members of society. He prefers to remain prudent still, especially considering the way the vampire narrows his eyes at him, and Henry feels himself squirm under his scrutiny.

“You’re Henry. The Mountchristen-Windsor Line. Arthur Fox’s son,” he says with a final certainty. As if Henry is some sort of renowned personality whose face and family’s line of work are plastered on every newspaper. As if he’s not just boring Lord Mountchristen-Windsor who prefers to spend time in his library than waltzing on a ballroom floor. He almost laughs at the idea of the faces some of the people he meets in these shindigs - as Americans say- would make if they knew of his nighttime activities.

He doesn’t though.

“Keep my father’s name out of your filthy, bloodsucking mouth.”

“Hey, I don’t mean any offense. I was an aficionado. Saw him a few times on Drury Lane when I lived in London. He was a fantastic actor. I mean, Vicky herself was a fanatic.”

Henry’s brain comes to a screeching halt. “Vicky as in…Queen Victoria?”

The vampire nods and Henry’s eyes widen.

What the…The utter disrespect.

He hesitates between laughing and being offended on behalf of Her Majesty. The adrenaline starts to wear off, and the former wins. He quells the bubble of nervous laughter as the vampire shrugs, “She’s the one who asked me to call her that.”

“Right.”

“Anyway…this has been real fun, but if you’re here that means the lovely Lady Beatrice is not far and as a Slayer she’s much scarier than you. No offense.”

“Offense is absolutely taken,” Henry answers through gritted teeth. He wishes he had a more clever retort and he’s going to hate himself when he comes up with one in the morning - too late.

“Henry!”

Bea’s voice resonates from down the street and the vampire grins. “That’s my cue. See you around, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor.”

He walks away before turning around with a mock salute. “I’m Alex, by the way.”

And he��s gone.

Flabbergasted by the whole ordeal, Henry doesn’t even hear Bea catching up to him. She looks almost pristine in her coat revealing a pair of trousers that once belonged to Henry and had been adapted to her frame. One can’t exactly slay vampires wearing petticoats. The only clue of her previous slayering activities is a strand of ginger hair that escaped her bun, and a slight pink flush complimenting her fair skin. She looks lovely, but her petite frame also exudes confidence, her every movement deliberate and poised. That, paired with a devilish smile and an unwavering gaze, never fails to surprise the undead who see her as their next, easy meal. It’s a deadly combination and she never hesitates to use it to her advantage. No wonder the vampire - Alex - took to his heels. Realistically, Henry has to admit he was right. Bea is scarier than he will ever be.

The pride he harbors for his big sister knows no bounds.

“So? How many did you get? It’s rather busy tonight.”

Henry opens his mouth and closes it before saying. “Well, there was this vampire…” He trails off, not sure how to explain what happened.

Bea gestures to the pile of dust a bit further down.“You staked him?”

“Uh, no. That was another one. This one was different. Tall, handsome, well dressed…very long eyelashes. Oh, and he knew Dad, and you. Also, he was rather chatty. And insufferable.”

Bea gives him a look.

“That was…rather specific. And you didn’t kill him? You just had a nice chat in the middle of Manhattan at night?”

“Well, he tried to bite me, and I threatened him with my pistol, so the intention was there, but then we didn’t? I’m not completely sure what happened to be honest,” he fibs, as he is pretty certain his sister doesn’t want to hear about how his traitorous body reacted to the vampire’s proximity and the unwelcomed feelings it elicited in him.

Very unwelcomed. Henry can’t stress that enough.

She keeps looking at him, obviously debating if the subject is worth pursuing and he gives her his most innocent look, making his boyish look work in his favor for once. She’s not fooled one bit.

“Alright,” she says, changing the subject. “I heard about this nest-”

“Behind you,” Henry interrupts her, looking pointedly above her shoulder and she swirls, her stakes raised and ready.

“Do you mind? We’re having a conversation here.”

She easily stakes the vampire, muttering, “How unbelievably rude,” before dusting her coast with a grimace. “We should go home. This is becoming more crowded than Covent Garden on a Sunday morning.”

She starts walking towards their carriage, and after picking up his stake, Henry follows her without further ado.

“Do you remember that coffee shop on the corner next to the millinery? They had those little blueberry scones that were simply delicious. I miss London sometimes.”

“Enough to go back?” he inquires, bewildered.

She lets out a brief laugh. “God no. Phillip risked way too much for us to go back.”

They reach their carriage and Henry grabs the reins as Bea is about to climb on the front seat.

“He said his name was Alex,” he blurts out because he can’t let the topic go for some reason.

“Who?” Bea frowns and turns around.

“The vampire. The other one. The one I didn’t kill.”

Understanding dawns on her face. “Oh. Probably Alexander Claremont-Diaz then. He fits the description you gave me, especially the pretty eyelashes,” she says with a teasing smile and Henry repeats the name in his head.

Alexander Claremont-Diaz. It suits him. A long-ass name for a pretentious, uncultured prick.

And yes, as far as name goes, Henry is aware of how hypocritical he’s being.

“So you do know him?”

She shrugs. “I met him a few times. His sister too. Lovely woman. She works for the Washington Post..”

“Who is he? I’m sure I’ve never seen him before.”

“You probably did. You just didn’t pay attention.”

Henry nearly scoffs at that. If he had crossed paths with Alex before, he definitely would have paid attention.

“Anyway,” Beatrice keeps on, “He's Vanderbilt's lawyer, and he works for some other prominent families as well. He and his sister were turned at the beginning of the century. I don’t know the whole story. You should ask Percy.”

“Percy knows him too?”

“Percy knows everyone, dear brother. You know that.”

They both climb in the carriage. Henry clicks his tongue and the horses move forward.

“If you manage to get away from your books, you might see him again at one of the next soirees,” Bea tells him. “But I suggest you steer clear of him.”

Henry lets out a quite inelegant scornful snort.“I’m not afraid of him and I doubt he will attempt anything after tonight.”

Bea shakes her head, a fond yet slightly exasperated look on her face. “Oh, darling. He’s not going to kill you. He’s going to break your heart.”

*********

Brooklyn, Alex Claremont-Diaz’s house - October 1891

The room is solely lit by the fireplace, barely illuminating the two figures on the bed and giving it a golden hue, creating a warm and comforting atmosphere. The house is silent at this late hour, and the quietude is only broken by the occasional whispers, gasps, or soft moans.

“Is that a stake in my ass, or are you happy to see me?” The tone is slightly breathless but full of mirth.

“Oh my god, Alex, Seriously? Are you trying to kill the mood?”

This is a hypothetical question because at this point no power in the universe would be able to pry Henry’s from Alex’s very capable hands. And body. And everything else.

Alex is in Henry’s lap, the aforementioned hands sliding up his back, slow, tender, fingers spread wide and he feels every touch like fire burning from the inside out.

Alex shifts his hips, setting a slow and steady pace and their gaze meets, and Henry tries not to lose himself in his brown eyes.

He tries not to lose himself in his everything.

He thrusts up, sinking himself inside Alex, quicker and deeper each time. Alex catches his lips in an open-mouth kiss as he smiles and murmurs “Hen,” a touch of reverence in his voice.

A pleasant heat starts coiling at the base of his spine and his hand trails back up the soft, golden skin of Alex’s arm. “I’m close,” he whispers breathily.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” the vampire lets out in a hoarse voice.

It makes Henry’s toes curl in the sheets just as pleasure blooms low in his stomach and he tilts his head back and shivers as white fangs shine in the dark.

“Now,” he exhales and closes his eyes as Alex plunges his canines into his neck, right at the same time he’s hit, in perfect synchronicity, with a wave of pleasure, lighting every nerve ending of his body on fire. A breathy laugh and a string of intelligible words escape from his throat.

Alex is right behind him and lets go of his neck gently to let out a guttural groan as he comes between them, making a mess of their stomachs, his release mixing with the crimson trail flowing slowly from Henry’s puncture wound.

They meet in a searing kiss as they both come down, his lips molding to Alex’s like they are one and the same, and Henry feels his body sag, his head a bit dizzy both by the intense pleasure and blood loss.

His eyes are still closed but he hears Alex biting his own wrist before pressing it against Henry’s lips, and he takes a few sips, feeling immediately replenished.

Alex leaves a trail of kisses against his jaw, his hand searing a path down his abdomen, gathering some of the come and blood on his finger and bringing it to Henry’s mouth, who opens it and welcomes the salty, coppery taste on his tongue. Alex repeats the gesture, this time bringing his finger to his own mouth and licking it clean with a sultry look from under his eyelashes that makes Henry want to go again almost immediately.

They stay entwined like this, uncaring of the mess between them, their breathing slowly evening.

“You ok, baby?” Alex asks softly, and Henry nods, burying his face in his lover’s neck, still unable to form a coherent sentence.

He never expected this.

Never expected the tenderness and the caring and the complete bliss he found in Alex’s every touch.

At first, it had been a way to itch a scratch, to get that bloody impossible cretin out of his system. A quick shag and they both would go on their merry way, preferably separately.

That had been 4 months ago.

And yet he’s still here.

Bea’s words from almost a year ago resonate, unwelcomed, in his head

He’s going to break your heart.

He had been warned and had nevertheless rushed headfirst into the worst decision of his life.

(Or was it?)

He gives Alex one last, lazy, languid kiss before he pulls out, wincing at the loss of heat, and trying to ignore Alex’s soft whimper. He grabs a cloth on the nightstand, cleans his stomach and Alex’s, then gets off the bed, throws the cloth in the basin on the vanity, and starts collecting his clothes.

Alex frowns. “You’re leaving already? It’s barely 2 am.” His face is impassive, but his voice betrays his disappointment.

Henry buttons his shirt, and looks at him briefly. He suspects Alex is as deep in this as he is, and the elation he feels in his heart is at war with the logical part of his brain screaming at him regularly that this dalliance is a bad, terrible idea.

“I don’t want to risk people seeing me coming out of your house in the wee hours of the morning, love. You know that.”

Alex shrugs and climbs out of the bed, unbothered by his nakedness. There's no doubt he flaunts it because he knows the effect it has on Henry. Henry doesn’t exactly complain either.

He walks to a round table and pours himself a glass of brandy.

“Besides,” Henry goes on, pointedly not looking at him, “I don’t want to come face to face with Bea.”

“Does she know?” He walks back to Henry, standing beside him and watching as he puts his trousers on, not bothering to fasten his waistcoat or tie his cravat.

“Yes. I don’t keep secrets from my sister. That doesn’t mean I want to come face-to-face with her in the hallway at dawn. She’s an early riser.”

“What did she say? When you told her?”

“She doesn’t disapprove. She likes you. For some reason.”

Alex chuckles. “For some reason? Are you saying you don’t like me, sweetheart?”

Henry tries hard - and sadly fails - not to blush at the term of endearment but still gives Alex his most bland, uninterested look.

“I tolerate you. Barely.”

“Well, you seemed to tolerate me well enough an hour ago when I was eating your a-”

He doesn’t get to finish his phrase as Henry grabs him by the jaw and captures his lips. He learned very quickly in their relationship - since the werewolf incident- that it was the best and most gratifying way to shut Alex up.

Alex hums into the kiss, leaning and letting out a whine as Henry takes a step back and grabs his coat.

“Come on, Hen. Stay another hour.” There is a vulnerability in his voice that tugs at Henry’s heart, because God knows he would love to stay a few more hours too.

A few more days…A few more years? A lifetime?

He wished desperately he could stay and lounge in bed with Alex, and not just for the - spectacular - sex but for the odd companionship he found with the vampire. The hushed conversations in the dark. The knowing smiles and heated gazes from across a crowded ballroom. The jokes and even the gossip about some members of the High Society.

But it’s just too dangerous. What they are doing is already reckless but selfishly, he can’t stop.

He put on his coat and looks at Alex who still stands beside him, a soft look on his face, his curls in disarray, his fucking eyelashes, and freckles of gold in his brown eyes, cast there by the light of the fire. There is an array of emotions in those eyes that Henry doesn’t have the time, but mostly the will, to decipher at that moment. He’s already very close to throwing reason out of the window and pushing Alex back against the bed.

It takes a lot of willpower not to do it. One he didn’t even know he possessed.

“You’ll catch your death, darling. Go back to bed”

Henry’s volition only goes so far, and he leans for another kiss, sweet and light, as he breathes him in and presses their forehead together for a few more precious seconds.

“Are you going to the Vanderbilts tonight?” He asks as they finally find the will to separate.

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll see you there.”

Alex nods, and Henry takes a step back, opens the door, and checks the corridor. A last longing look, an imperceptible shake of his head, and he leaves.

A few minutes later he is in the street, walking briskly, a dark shadow reminiscent of the creatures he hunts at night.

The taste of Alex still lingers on his tongue.

#red white and royal blue #firstprince #fanfiction #rwrb fic #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #Henry the Reluctant Slayer #Sophie1973

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