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daysofyellowroses · 3 months

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steak

carmen berzatto x reader | 3.8k | tw: pregnancy, implied smut, general nonsense

“I need a favor.”

“A favor?”

“Yes. A favor.”

You were already beginning to regret asking, watching Carmy swivel in his chair and ponder the request. Or he was staring into space, it wasn't clear.

“Alright,” He nodded after a moment. “What is it?”

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself. It would have been easier to ask him to murder someone than what you were about to.

“It turns out that I am responsible for making 30 cupcakes for this Saturday and I could use some guidance.”

“I see,” Carmy nodded, pointing the spoon in his hand at you. “and what else? Sandwiches, burgers, hot dogs, stop me when I get the right one.”

You let out a sigh.

“And..three trays of sandwiches. And mini quiches, egg rolls, a crudités platter and a cake.”

“Okay,” Carmy sat up a little, lightly tapping the spoon against his cheek. “Just..a couple of questions.”

You walked closer to the desk, leaning against it and giving Carmy a nod. “Fire away.”

“First, why are you responsible for all of that?”

“Because apparently I promised my best friend if she ever got pregnant I would plan the entire baby shower.”

“Uh-huh. Why?”

“Because I was very, very intoxicated at her bachelorette party.”

He smirked a little, and you rolled your eyes with a small smile.

“Noted. Second question,”

“Third,” You interjected, holding up three fingers. “Technically.”

“Third question, is there a theme to this party?”

“No, of course not,” You frowned, folding your arms. “Themes are for kid's birthday parties and epic novels.”

“Hm, I thought so.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It just doesn't seem very..you know,” Carmy set the spoon down in his lap before interlocking his hands. “cohesive, I guess.”

You rested your hand on the desk, lightly tapping your nails on the surface.

“I'm willing to ignore that remark if you help me.”

“Alright, fourth question..why do I have to help you?”

You thought about it for a moment, working out your best angle to get him on board.

“Well..because I love my best friend and I want to give her an amazing experience, it's basically free publicity for the new restaurant, and we're..you know,” You gestured between yourself and Carmy with a grin. “We're friends. We're close. We kissed that time.”

“Yeah, yeah we did,” Carmy nodded, looking down for a moment before looking up with a smile. “When we were like..six? I don't see what that has to do with me adding to my already hectic schedule.”

“I would just really appreciate your help, even just a little guidance,” You smiled, holding your hands up. “What is the point of having a world-class chef as a friend if he doesn't help you out occasionally..”

“I promise to think about it,” Carmy nodded, picking his spoon back up and pointing at you. “Can you cook anything more advanced than french toast?”

“Depends on your definition of advanced,” You shrugged, pushing off the desk. “I look forward to your decision, I know you'll make the right one.”

“Get out of here,” Carmy rolled his eyes with a small smile. “I'll text you.”

You were heading to the front door when you bumped into Richie, who was carrying a box he promptly dropped on the nearest plastic-covered surface when he saw you, wiping his hands.

“Hey. What brings you here?”

“Me?” You gestured to yourself as you walked closer to Richie. “I just..I thought it was time. To declare my undying love for you.”

“Hm,” Richie nodded, rubbing his jaw before stepping closer to you and touching your shoulder. “I gotta be honest, I thought you'd never do it. Vegas wedding?”

“Vegas wedding,” You nodded with a grin. “Bye fuck-face.”

“See you later darling.”

It was the following afternoon when you got a very simple text from Carmy, relief flooding you as you read it.

‘Fine. Address?’

Opening your front door and seeing Carmen Berzatto standing on the other side was something you hadn't experienced for a long time, but it was a welcome return.

“Come on in, everything is set up in the kitchen,” You smiled, holding the door open and frowning slightly as you saw a worn grocery store bag in Carmy's hand. “Did you bring stuff when I told you that you didn't need to?”

“Sure did,” Carmy nodded, gesturing to his shoes. “Off? On?”

“Whatever you're comfortable with,” You waved your hand, gesturing to the bag. “I got everything, you really didn't need to waste your money on..liquid potassium or whatever, the food is not going to be anything too complicated.”

Carmy raised a brow as he slipped off his shoes. “You do know I'm a chef, not a mad scientist, right?”

“Oh shut up,” You sighed as he laughed, leading him into the kitchen.

“The fuck is liquid potassium anyway?”

“Here we are,” You spun around to face Carmy, gesturing to your humble kitchen, the dining table covered in various ingredients, in no particular order. “I really appreciate your help, I know you're busy.”

“It's fine,” Carm nodded, walking over to the table and setting the bag on the floor before picking up things on the table and inspecting them. “I'm not uh..I'm not needed, today.”

“Well I need you,” You grinned, walking over to the table. “The plan is I prepare everything today, then tomorrow I just have to heat up, and serve.”

“Organized, I like it,” Carmy nodded, looking over to you. “Where exactly do I fit in all this?”

“You..are my assistant for the day. Executive assistant, really.”

You gestured to the bag on the floor. “Show me what you got.”

An hour later, your kitchen was a whole lot messier, but progress was going well. Carmy had the patience of a saint, calmly explaining how everything was done. You were surprised how quickly you were picking up what he taught you, usually you got halfway through a YouTube cooking tutorial and gave up, ordering takeout instead.

“Okay, what's next on the list?” You asked, sprinkling herbs onto the egg roll pastry before wiping your hands. “I still can't believe you made me write a fucking list.”

“You needed the list,” Carmy grinned, reaching for the slip of paper. “Trust me. Okay, once you've finished those we can..almost cross off all the savory, just crudités but that's pretty simple. I can show you how to make dips, if you want.”

“Thought you'd never ask,” You grinned, flicking a loose crumb of pastry at him. “the vegetables are in the..”

You looked up for a minute, trying to think.

“Bottom of the fridge,” Carmy supplied, gently touching your back as he passed you to get to the fridge. “got them.”

You rolled up the pastry under your hands, setting it aside with the other egg rolls that had been prepared.

“So how has it been, being back?” You asked, going to rinse your hands. “I feel like I never asked you properly.”

“It's..fine, yeah,” Carmy replied, his head in the fridge when you glanced over to him. “Hasn't changed, much, well..you know. Never thought I'd end up back here.”

“At least you got out,” You shrugged, drying your hands before moving back to the counter. “How was New York? Incredible?”

“Incredible,” Carmy repeated, coming back to join you and reaching for a bowl. “Hand me that cucumber, please?”

“I need to visit one day,” You sighed, reaching for the cucumber and handing it over. “It's like..it's just there, I can go anytime, but I don't..I will, though.”

“Mm,” Carmy nodded. “You can pour greek yogurt into a bowl if you want.”

“On it,” You smiled, going to get a bowl. “I feel like such a domestic goddess right now, I gotta say. I never really cook. Not like this.”

“Are you enjoying it?” Carmy asked, not looking up from cutting up the cucumber. “I know cutting up vegetables isn't exactly an adrenaline rush.”

“I am enjoying it,” You got a bowl and went to set it on the counter, standing by Carmy. “It's relaxing. I'm not thinking about anything except the next step. I don't have to worry about anything except what I add next.”

“Lemon,” Carmy gestured to the yellow fruit over on the table. “Worry over.”

You smiled as you spooned the yogurt into the bowl, glancing over to Carmy. “You wanna know a secret?”

“Is it..that you're actually a serial killer who kills your victims by liquid potassium poisoning?”

“Oh shut the fuck up,” You groaned, going to grab the lemons as Carmy laughed and shook his head.

“Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. What's this other secret?”

“No, I'm not telling you now,” You sighed, taking the lemons back to the counter. “If you're just gonna be an ass.”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Carm murmured softly, gently nudging you. “Please tell me.”

“It's a world exclusive secret,” You grinned, walking over to the table and picking up your bag from one of the chairs. “Only three people will now know..”

You reached into your bag, pulling out a clean white envelope.

“Time to see if we need to use the pink or blue food dye.”

“What do you mean?” Carmy looked over to you. “Like a..gender reveal? That's still a thing?”

“I know it's a little cheesy,” You shrugged, looking down at the envelope. “But my best friend is just really excited to have this baby, she wants to know everything she can. So she gave me this,” You held up the envelope. “And I get to whip up some frosting.”

“So, what's it gonna be?” Carmy asked as you walked back over.

“Let's see,” You opened the envelope slowly, feeling Carmy's eyes on you. “Ah..not what I expected.”

You handed the paper over to Carmy as you picked up a lemon. “There's gonna be a little kid running around that looks like her..crazy.”

“Nice, though,” Carmy shrugged, setting the paper aside. “You know, if you..if you're someone that wants that.”

“Mm,” You nodded, taking a knife to cut the lemon. “She has, for a long time. I was so excited for her when she told me. Then I went and agreed to do all this, because..”

“You were drunk?” Carmy supplied.

“Yes, that,” You laughed, shaking your head. “It's not going that bad though, right? Everything is under control.”

“True, but uh..” You looked up as you felt Carmy's hand on your arm, looking down and finding yourself staring at his tattoos.

“You might want to cut the lemons, not your fingers.”

“What? Shit,” You frowned as you looked back to your hands, a trickle of blood appearing. “Spoke too soon.”

“It's okay,” Carmy led you to the sink. “just wash it off, have you got band-aids?”

“Uh..yeah, I think so,” You nodded, running the water. “in the bathroom cabinet.”

“Okay, wait here.”

A few minutes later you were leaning against the counter watching Carmy apply a band-aid to your finger with the precision of a surgeon.

“I can't remember the last time someone put a band-aid on me,” You murmured softly. “Thanks.”

“Don't mention it,” Carm looked up, his hand still holding yours. “I'm an expert at it.”

“So I see,” You smiled, inspecting your finger. “Excellent work. I'll be sure and recommend you.”

“I might need the extra work,” He sighed. “We're getting close to the deadline and it just feels like we're not progressing.”

“Hey,” You gently squeezed his hand. “Stressing out won't change anything except to make everything harder. Just keep going, do what you need to do, and then on the tiny, tiny, chance it doesn't work out you have a career lined up as a professional band-aider. You can patch up my victims.”

Carmy was quiet for a moment before he laughed, really laughed, and you felt a weight slip off your shoulders.

After a moment a comfortable silence fell over the two of you, your eyes held on each other.

“I‐”

“I should actually be going,” Carmy spoke before you could finish. “I just remembered I need to call this guy about the..”

“Okay,” You nodded, clearing your throat. “I can..I can handle the rest. Don't let me keep you if you're in a rush.”

You could see the guilt in Carm’s eyes, choosing to look away.

“I'm sorry to leave you in the middle of all this.”

“Don't be sorry,” You shrugged, looking down to your bandaged finger. “It's my responsibility, I got it. Thank you for your help.”

Carmen gave you a nod and you mustered up a smile in return, watching him leave.

A couple of hours later, the sun had set and your kitchen lights were bright as you flicked some cupcake batter off your fingers. When you heard a knock at the door you looked up, pausing for a minute before grabbing a cloth to wipe your hands.

“Coming, hang on.” You called, setting the cloth aside and heading to the door.

It wasn't a total surprise to see Carmen on the other side.

“Hey,” He said after a moment. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” You stood aside, holding the door open. “Come on in.”

You watched him as he took a deep breath, hand clutching the zip of his jacket.

“So, about earlier, I-”

“I know,” You smiled, holding up your hand. “It was a lot. It was fun, and..domestic, and kind of intense, and that's a lot. I get it.”

“Yeah,” Carmy breathed, nodding sofly. “But..I'd still like to help you out, if you'll let me.”

“Then get your shoes off and get in the kitchen,” You smiled. “I'm just starting the cupcakes. Assistance is definitely needed.”

Half an hour and a lot of batter later, the cupcakes were in the oven, and the daunting prospect of the cake stood in front of you.

“Do I really need to make a cake and cupcake?” You mused, looking at the messy counter. “It feels excessive.”

“You're making the cake,” Carm nudged you gently. “Show me what you've learned.”

“Prepare to be amazed,” You grinned. “For better or worse.”

You cleared some space on the counter and glanced over to Carmy for a moment with a raised brow. “Hold still, you got batter in your hair.”

You gently moved your hand to carefully remove the fleck of batter.

“Would I be out of line to suggest you might be overdue for a haircut?”

Carmy laughed softly and shook his head, ruffling his messy curls.

“It's on a list, somewhere. I'll get round to it eventually.”

“I could do it,” You suggested, looking back to the counter and taking a clean bowl. “I know my way around a pair of scissors.”

“Really?”

“Really really,” You nodded, reaching for the flour. “you help me with this cake, I'll make you look like a new man.”

“Deal.”

Once the cupcakes were out of the oven and the cake was in, you sent Carmy off to wash his hair in your shower, leaning against the counter when he was gone and taking a deep breath. You reached for the note that your best friend had given you, smiling as you read over it.

When Carm came back into the kitchen, you felt your heart race a little. He was dressed the same of course but his damp hair was slicked back, and he had a warm, clean scent that still had a musk to it that was really doing it for you.

“The cake will be a while, I checked,” You smiled. “Skewered it like a pro. Take a seat, let's get you fixed up.”

“Are you going to skewer me?” Carmy asked, raising a brow as he sat on the chair you'd moved up by the counter. “I'm a little intrigued.”

“You'll see,” You grinned, picking up the blue towel you'd grabbed when Carmy was in the shower. “Be on your best behavior just in case.”

“Yes ma'am.”

“Alright,” You draped the towel around Carmy's shoulders, adjusting it a little before picking up the scissors and a comb. “Let's see what we can do. Head down, please.”

“About earlier,” Carmy began, and you felt a knot twist in your stomach. “I..I just want to apologize, I shouldn't have just left like that.”

“It's okay,” You murmured softly, gently combing his hair and holding the ends between your fingers. “Like I said, I get it.”

“No, it's..it's complicated,” Carmy sighed. “Because..I don't want you to think that I didn't enjoy being domestic and having fun with you, because I did, and I think you're great, I really..I really like you and it just freaked me the fuck out a little.”

“Like when we were six,” You smiled softly, gently snipping his hair. “And I kissed you. You freaked out and left me alone in that treehouse. I was devastated.”

“Hey I didn't expect it,” Carm shrugged. “You didn't give me a heads up.”

“I'm giving you one now,” You grinned, lightly tapping his head with the comb. “Head up, please.”

“Why did you do it?” Carm asked, soft curiosity in his voice.”I mean, why did you..why me?”

“You weren't like the other boys in our class,” You shrugged, gently sweeping the comb through Carmy's hair. “And you weren't like Richie or your brother. You were just..Carmy. I always thought about you. I liked that you were doing your own thing. Tilt your head sideways, please..thanks.”

He stayed quiet while you cut his hair so you kept talking.

“I don't think I really had a crush on you or anything back then, I just liked you. Then as we got older I started seeing you differently but I never acted on it because I didn't think you were interested. We never really hung out much, for all I knew you were a major dick. Then,you were gone and I tried to forget you..head down, please.”

“What do you think now?”

You thought about it for a moment, holding the comb in Carmy's hair.

“I think..you've actually got really great hair.”

“That so?”

“Oh yeah,” You nodded. “I mean usually it looks like a bird should be nesting in it so anything is an improvement.”

He laughed slightly and you felt your shoulders drop a little.

“I also think,” You murmured softly, slowly closing the scissors on the ends of his hair. “Those tattoos on your hands are really doing it for me.”

“Yeah?

“Big time.”

A silence hung over you as you continued the haircut, trying to keep your hands steady.

“Just because I freaked out doesn't mean that I don't..that I haven't been thinking about you.”

“Yeah?” You mused, lightly brushing some hair off the towel.

“Big time. But..” Carmy let out a sigh, clearing his throat. “I'm really not..an expert at the whole relationship thing. I'm not even a novice, I'm like..a nightmare. I can't do the flowers and dates and meeting the parents and all that like..I know I should want all that and maybe I do but..something just stops me and I can't..I can't do it.”

You slowly walked around to stand in front of Carmy, meeting his eyes as you glanced down.

“Head up, please.”

You focused your attention on his hair, feeling the nervous energy radiating from him.

“First of all, you know my parents. So that's not relevant. Second of all..I'm not saying that I want a relationship because I don't even know if I do. But..I wouldn't mind having someone I hang out with, watching movies and talking shit and eating takeout and figuring out if we want to be more but it's okay because we're still good how we are. And I could see you being that person.”

You took a step back, tilting your head slightly.

“All done.”

“Good,” Carmy nodded, standing up and stepping closer to you, his hands reaching out to touch your face and leaning in close til you felt like you couldn't breathe. “You can check the cake.”

You let out a frustrated sigh before laughing and moving your hands to grip the towel around Carmy's shoulders.

“You're definitely a major dick.”

You pulled him in for a kiss, feeling a rush shoot through you. When you pulled back you thought your heart was on fire.

“Wow, you've really improved,” You grinned. “I'm impressed.”

“You don't know the half of it.” Carmy grinned, pulling you back in for another kiss.

He wasn't lying, as you discovered when he put you up on the counter and feasted on you til you cried.

You had wasted no time, pulling him right down onto the kitchen floor to show what you'd learned too.

The next day, when you watched your best friend cut into the cake and scream with joy as layers of pink and blue sponge were revealed, you made a silent vow to volunteer your services more often.

#the bear #the bear fic #the bear 🐻#the bear fics #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you

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blackopals-world · 2 years

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I have a silly request that you may or may not enjoy.

Fem!Yuu who came from a long line of chefs and can make just about anything. From quiche to raspberry tarts to katsu sandwiches. She of course decides to share her skills in the form of making each of her friends a different bento catering to their tastes.

When asked why, she simply states that she cares about them and wants to see them well fed. Cue the marriage proposals.

~Okay, I can do that. Not for ever character of course because I have no time. Just allow me my personal flavor.~

"The way to a man's heart"

(part 2 here) (part 3) (part 4)

Characters featured:Azul, Jamil, Ace, Deuce, Malleus, Vil, Idia, and versus staff

"Remeber sweetheart, the way to a man's heart is though his stomach. That's how I got your Baba. It's is also a measurement of love, a good dish is made with 3 cups of love and 4 tablespoons of care and 1 liter of dedication."

Yuu had those words etched in her mind since childhood. Every dish she made was filled with the TLC her family required for the perfect dish.

But being the youngest I such a line meant that she had never had many people outside of the family try her foods.

Mama, Baba, Ye ye, and Lola didn't lie; but they didn't want to hurt her feelings.

So Yuu couldn't help but tremble when she handed the two lunch boxes to Ace and Deuce. It was just before lunch time when she presented them before quickly running off.

She ran to the quad and hid behind an apple tree.

Her plan was to let them eat the lunches and later go to retrieve the boxes to get a review. They wouldn't feel pressured to say anything nice and Yuu would know how she did.

And if they like her cooking then they could be super close and eat lunch like this everyday!

But if they hate it then they might not. They might get mad and never talk to her again.

"Are you trying to poison me? What kind of girl doesn't know how to cook something so basic" Ace would say tossing away her lunch.

"It's not too bad, if it's your first time. I just don't think your cut out to be a chef." Deuce would say turning green.

Yuu managed to make herself depressed from her own imagination as she hid. Her wild imagination tended to get the better of her.

"Hey, Yuu! If you wanted to eat here just say so." Ace said standing behind her with lunch box still in hand.

"It's not a bad spot either. We should eat here more often. It's quieter." Said Deuce next to him.

Yuu internally screamed as they sat to eat. She focused on their every facial expression as they ate.

Ace had Monte Cristo sandwich with a summer fruit salad. He seemed to really like the dip for the sandwich.

Deuce had a simple fried egg sandwich with bacon, and cheese. There was a bit of blueberry jam on the side for the bread.

While the boys ate Yuu didn't notice that they eyed each others food and quickly ate theirs to see if they steal form the other. They guarded their lunch like dogs.

Yuu saw this and her eyes lit up believing they really loved her food. Eagerly she waited for them to finish so she could ask.

"Do you like it?!" Yuu asked

The boys after staring each other down heaped praise on her and asked her to make lunch again.

It became a regular thing as they were already spoiled by Yuu and she loved her first taste testers.

With Yuu reassured of her skills came another challenge. He insatiable need to share her food.

"Good food makes for good company and friends." Ye ye always said.

Food is meant to be shared and it was good for the soul. Many souls in this school needed to be fed. Maybe they'd calm down a little.

So she started supplying her friends with homemade food.

Yuu waited patiently for Jamil after basketball practice with a hefty lunch box. It was buttered chicken curry with jasmine rice. It had a side of vegetable sauté. And of course an after practice energy drink.

She had patted herself on the back for this one. She wanted to impress Jamil.

As she walked along the side of the court she offered Jamil the drink. He took it great fully before eyeing the lunch box suspiciously.

"I made you something to eat. I though you might want something to eat you didn't make yourself for once." Yuu said suddenly self conscious.

Floyd must have heard because he rudly began interrupting.

"Oh, sea snake is are so lucky! I want a shrimpy wife to cook for me too!" He whined loudly.

The "Ooo"'s that came from the other basketball club members made Jamil's ears turn red.

"Shut up Floyd!" Yuu yelled at him with her face burning.

"I'm sorry Yuu. You know how guys are. Thank you for doing this for me." Jamil said quietly trying to hid his face.

"It's no problem Jamil. I really wanted you to try this." Yuu said softly.

Just as she said this Jamil looked over his shoulder to the the boys laughing before leaning down and kissing Yuu's forehead.

"I wanted to thank you properly." Jamil said smiling before leaving to sit down to eat with Yuu.

She was an amazing cook and it felt good to be cooked for. It reminded him of when he didn't need to care for Kalim.

"I wish I could eat this everday." Jamil said absent-minded.

Yuu's eays widened before laughing. He didn't mean it. Right?

There were times Yuu casually dropped off dishes.

Korean barbecue for Epel

Ratatouille for Rook

Fresh baked pie for Silver

None of this escaped Vil's notice who wondered why Yuu never came around to give him anything. I wasn't as if he didn't eat.

Though if memory serves he has turned his nose up at certain foods around her. She probably didn't want to be told her food wasn't good enough.

To Vil it didn't matter, if she was a chef she should know her customers tastes. Never mind that he wasn't a customer nor was she being paid to cook, his feeling were hurt.

But as luck would have it Yuu didn't forget him.

"Vil-sama! Here!" Yuu practically bubbled with energy was she leaned over Pomefiore's kitchen counter.

Epel was currently face deep in a slice of apple-apricot pie. and ice cream.

Vil hoped that she wasn't expecting him to eat that as he wouldn't have that much gusto. He didn't have the heart to lecture Epel on manners with Yuu around but he had no problem after she was gone so he better injoy it while he can.

"Try some." Yuu held out a cup of green liquid.

Yuu held out a cup of green tea with a palte of fresh sushi.

"Traditional green tea doesn't go well with heavy or greasy foods so I made some simple salmon sushi to help clean your palette." Yuu said smiling.

Vil took a sip and smiled at her.

"It's good. I wish I could drink this every morning." Vil said eating a piece of sushi.

Yuu turned pink as she quickly excused herself.

Azul was the greediest of her friends. He loved trying new foods but especially fried chicken.

Azul eagerly awaited when Yuu entered the lounge with food in hand. They would eat in his office as Azul would try to trick Yuu into working hin the kitchen.

Even though he was trying to convince her to work for him the job offer was as a personal chef because he didn't want to share. Another reason she didn't agree.

"I just want to eat with you everyday." He said slyly over his Frutti di Mare. "Don't you want to eat with me too?"

Yuu bit the inside of her cheek as she turned red.

"Azul that's not funny. Don't say that unless you mean it." Yuu said stiffly.

"But I do mean it. Cross my heart." Azul said more earnestly but Yuu quickly said goodbye and fled. Azul was left confused.

The next day Yuu spent lunch hiding in the teacher's lounge. She was allowed to as Crewel's pseudo daughter and bringing lunch.

Crewel dug into his beef stroganoff as he listened to Yuu's concerns.

"I don't know what to do! Pa, I can't face them again!" Yuu panicked her hands waving frantically.

"Slow down my pup. What happened." Crewel said unfazed by Yuu's familiar. She's expressive he'll give her that.

"Jamil, Vil and Azul asked to marry me!" Yuu shouted before slapping a hand over her mouth. Blabber mouth.

(telling someone you want to eat their cooking or drink their tea everyday could be considered a proposal. I just happens that in Yuu's family that how they propose marriage traditionally.)

There was a sharp spitting sound from across the room as Sam burst out laughing making seafood gumbo splattered.

"Congratulations, sugar! I always knew you were a charmer. It's no wonder all the boys want you!" Sam laughed.

"It's highly inappropriate. You're all to young to even think of such things." Trein said stiffly as he put down his spoon and stopped eat his potage parmentier.

Divus stared blanky before asking again. Crowley would raise hell over this if he didn't do it first. His puppy can't get married. Not yet.

Yuu found herself at ease after it was explained that people don't propose that way here.

Feeling better she waited late for her nightly walk with Malleus. She made a late night snack of soft madelines and a thermos of cinnamon hot chocolate.

Malleus was more then happy to accept her gift. They sat in glen snacking before Malleus spoke up.

"I heard you are getting engaged." He said drinking hot chocolate

"No I'm not." Yuu sighed because of course he heard.

"I see, so they were all unacceptable. Please consider me an option then. I would happily marry you and eat with you everyday!" Malleus said taking Yuu's hand and getting on one knee.

Yuu almost fainted in shock.

'Papa you lied!'

(Bonus)

"Idia please come out! I brought you some Gyros." Yuu called out from behind the door.

Yuu had been working hard to lure Idia outside and was making progress. Soon enough Idia will be eating in the cafeteria before he knows it.

It was like getting a feral cat socialized as Idia cautiously opened the door. He knew to be wary of Yuu's offerings but like the call of a harpy he does as she wants. Everyday she lures him further away from his safe space.

"I made some tortoise candies last night." Yuu said holding the golden lollipop.

Idia would have to steel himself for this one.

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small-sinclair · 11 months

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Dada

Bo Sinclair x mother fem!reader

@zaras-really-dreamless... you wanted some "Take me Instead" content, yeah? Well, it's not the next two parts, but I hope it quiches a thirst :3 . A dabble based off my Bo x preg!reader au. I promise I'll make a master list for this au and give it a name I swear--

"Can you say 'Bo'?" You asked in your mother voice, a smile on your face. "Come on, Jazzy, say 'Bo'!"

"Shouldn't encorage to hav' 'er say my name, darlin'," Bo said glancing over his shoulder. "Have 'er say 'mama' or somethin' like that." He started working on the car you and Todd came. "When did ya last get 'is thin' an oil change?"

You shrugged as you bounced Jasmine on your hip, smiling at her happily. "Todd always took care of that." You heard an audible sigh and the hood slamming. "Is it that bad, Bo?"

"Well, ain't gonna lie, darlin', but your car," he thumbed behind him and threw his rag, "is done. Never drive ‘at heep o’ shit again."

You lifted a brow before looking at Jasmine. "Well... that sucks, huh, Jazzy? There goes out escape plan," you joked. "Trapped here forever."

Bo shook his head and rolled his eyes. "I'll have Lester bring the trailer down an' scrap it. Make more money than fixin' it." He placed a hand on his hip and fixed his hat. "Sorry, Mama, but it ain't drivin' no more." His eyes flickered down at Jasmine and watched her bright eyes looking back at him. "She seems lost."

"Jasmine’s just looking around, Bo," you answered, smiling. "She was always a wanderer just like my mother." You gave her an Eskimo kiss and smiled at her giggle. To Bo, it melted his heart. "She's just trying to figure the world out."

He takes a deep breath in and motioned you to follow him out. "Le'me close up an' we c'n get home-"

"Hello?" Your head snapped to the front door and saw young man walk in with two of his friends. "Anyone here?"

Bo gave you a look then led the way to the front of the shop. He puts on a fake smile and says, "Yeah, jus' caught me." He sounded cheerful when he said, "Was gonna close up soon."

"Would it trouble you to replace our spark plugs?" The man asked. "Me and my buddies have the slightest on what to do an--" his face was caught off when his green eyes landed on you. He straightens up and nods his head. "Ma'am," he said.

"Gentlemen," you replied. You stood between him and Bo before turning to look at Bo, saying, "I'll head up to the house and start dinner."

"I won't be long, sugar," Bo said, leaning down to kiss your head. "Promise."

They boys by the door parted and let you pass throw.

******************

Jasmine played on the floor with little horse stuffies while you cooked dinner. Bo dropped hints of cooking pot roast and green beans with potatoes. Besides, he’s been working hard in the shop the past couple of nights along with making sure you and Jasmine are fitting in well.

Ever since you started living freely with the Sinclair Brothers, you were left with the house keeping and cooking job. Thought it's not the best picture of how you wanted to spend your life, but you had the freedom to move around within the house and around the dead town. Though you were watched with careful eyes, the fear you had with them would fade over time. Yes, the murdering and blood shed scares you, but tried their best to keep that away from you and from Jasmine.

Living with the brothers felt like you were living in a strange home. Lester brought you along to the store for baby shopping, and he always stopped after the trip to get your drink order at Starbucks. Vincent was a natural at rocking Jasmine to sleep when you were busy, and he enjoyed feeding her when you were tired or needed to rest. Bo found himself looking over you and her as time went on, and you would wake up to him some times at night with him looking into the crib, his hand holding Jasmine's fingers. When you saw the high chairs and baby photos, you learned why they made sure to keep Jasmine happy, to keep her away from them, to keep loving on her until their hearts give out.

If you were honest with yourself, you wanted to burn Bo’s high chair.

When you asked Lester why it’s there, he shakes his head. “Bo doesn’t know how to heal,” he answered as he nodded to his brother working in the shop. “This is the only way he can.”

Even if he doesn't show it, you knew Bo was in love with Jasmine. Besides seeing him with her at night, you would catch some glances of him holding her on his hip while he shows her the inside of a car, telling her all about the engine of a '68 Dodge. He would call her little star, sunshine, lady bug, sweetheart-- you kept seeing the shine in his eyes when he was around her. Of course, things weren't always calm and sunshine, but he never yelled at her like Todd did. Never once has he called her dumb or stupid.

Maybe you agreeing to stay in this town was good for the three of you.

Humming to the radio by the stove, you started cooking the potatoes when he came home. You glanced over your shoulder to greet him but your face fell once you saw him limping in with his hand holding his thigh.

“What happened?” You asked as you met him in the hall, taking a towel and the first-aid. After being here for two months, you learned that it's best to keep the first-aid within reach.

“Got stabbed,” Bo hissed, breathing through his teeth. “One of ‘em got brave and headed towards the house, too.” He then looks at Jasmine, who still played with her toys. “He was gunnin’ fer ‘at lil’ one.”

“How do you know?”

He bit the corner of his lips. “Just knew. Didn’t lik’ the way he was lookin’ at ya an’ ‘er.” His drawl was heavier than normal. “Should’ve said nothin’, girl, an’ snuck out in the tunnels.”

“I’m sorry.”

Bo grumbles to himself as he lets you tend to his leg. His eyes linger from you towards Jasmine. For a moment, the anger burning in his irises dimmed when Jasmine showed off her stuffed pink horse to him before playing again. Once her gaze was gone, his anger sparked again.

"Never do 'at again, woman," he warned, as he leaned back in the chair. "Men are dangerous 'round children."

"Are you dangerous?" He didn't mean to ask him, but as soon as those words left, he glared at you. "Sorry."

"I'll let it pass just once," he murmurs, "but don' say 'at shit again."

Bo leans back and closes his eyes, taping his fingers on the arm rest. As he felt the pain start to fade, his eyes linger over Jasmine as she plays with her horse. His relaxed his shoulders against the wood and watched her little horse wiggle in the air as of it was flying, grinning slightly at her movements.

"Dinner's almost ready," you say as you came back with water and two pain killers. "Just cooking the potatoes now."

"Yeah?" He asked, lifting a brow. He takes the pills and gulps down the water. "That's awful kind 'o ya."

As you two started talking about dinner, Jasmine sat and watched the both of you with curious eyes. She uses the couch to help her stand, dropping her horse, and pulled herself up. Once she was standing up, she takes shaky steps forward, her mind competly forgettign the horse under her feet. Tripping, she falls down, looks around, and opens her mouth, crying loudly.

Bo jolted as he heard her started to cry. He watched you scoop up your child and kisses her head as you tried to calm her. Her little hands reached out towards Bo, bright eyes burning through tears as she cried out, "Dada!"

It's like time froze and the world stopped spinning. Bo's eyes grew wide as he looked at you and back at Jasmine. "What... what did she just--"

"Dada!” Her little hands reached for him, tearfully crying out, “Bo!”

Just like that, Bo's heart shattered in two million pieces. Her little hands reached for him still as she wiggling in your grasp. With his hands still bloodied, Bo opened his arms and nodded at you, reassuring that it's okay for you to leave him, but you can't... not while he's covered in someone else's blood.

Though the pain was still there, Bo moved quickly from the den to the kitchen. He scrubbed and washed up as best as he could, took off his work uniform shirt and tossed it aside, and dried off as well as he could. He heard the basement door opening and Vincent entering from downstairs.

Before Bo could fill him in, Jasmine cried out, "Bo! Dada!"

Vincent felt his stomach drop as he looked at you and Jasmine. His lone eye looks back at Bo and pointed, eye wide in shock, signing, 'Did she just say your name? Or am I really dehydrated?'

"Ya heard right," Bo breathed. He limps away from Vincent and headed back into the living room. He held out his hands, motioning that he was reader, and you gave her to Bo.

This was his first time holding her since the day he got you away from Todd. Truly holding her close, not like when he has her on his hip while working on a car.

As soon as you place her in his arms, something clicked in his brain. The way she looked at her with tearful eyes and her hands reached for him to hug, Bo’s world rocked. He heldJasmine so close and protectively as he rocked back and forth, hushing her gently. Feeling her again in his arms felt almost right, but he’s not her dad. He’ll be a good enough father, he knows, but…

“You’re okay, star shine,” he whispered as he felt her calming. “Ya just bummed yer knee. Nothin’ to cry about.” He walked away from you as he paced in the other room with the pool table. He nodded at you to take care of the food while he takes care of Jasmine. “Yer okay. You’ll be alright.”

“Dada,” she whines as her little hands gripped his shirt. “Bo.”

How fast can a heart shatter and build up again? Is there a study out there that could answer Bo’s question?

He rested her head against his heart as he took shaky breaths. He’s not ready. He’ll never be ready. “Shh, star shine,” he whispers. “Rest ‘at lil’ head. I’m here. Bo’ll always be here.”

From the kitchen, Vincent started the potatoes and had you watch from the doorway. Were you in love with him, or did you just see him as a father figure? As much as you tried an answer, you couldn’t make since of it yet. Todd was her dad, but any boy can be a dad. Bo was a man; he was a better father than Todd. You just can’t tell him yet.

So, you watched as Bo swayed back and forth with Jasmine in his arms, murmuring a song only for her to hear. Slowly, he leaned against the pool table. His eyes was filled with so much warmth and carefulness when he looked down at Jasmine. You had to admit he knew what he was doing, and Jasmine fell asleep right away in his arms. He leaned down and rested his forehead against hers. The walls that he built and the lies he believed fell so fast to let her in.

Dada. Bo.

He squeezed his eyes shut as a sigh escaped. He’ll kill a thousand men just to keep Jasmine safe, to keep you happy and well, to keep what lever type of… family? Relationship? What is the best word to say? But he looked down at Jasmine as if she was his own, and a grin formed. Bo will fight off every and any monster that dare comes near his home.

***********

Later that night, you woke to the sound of your bedroom door opening and feet shuffling across the floor. Turning, you found Bo in sleeping pants, shirtless, and holding Jasmine in his arms. Her head rested against his shoulder as he swayed slightly back and forth with his eyes closed. You heard him hum a lullaby low and soft just for her. When his eyes parted, he made eyes contact with you, smiled, and laid her back down ever so slowly and gently.

Bo turned his heels and tucked you back in. “Rest, Mama,” he whispers, pressing a kiss on your temple. “It’ll be a long day tomorrow.” Then Bo turned and left the room, closing the door silently.

What a beautiful mess that’s unraveling right in front of you.

676 notes · View notes

hussyknee · 1 year

Text

Red, White & Royal Blue: Collector's Edition Henry PoV bonus chapter by Casey Mcquiston.

(transcribed from the page pictures posted)

This is the coda to the end of the book, so don't read it if you haven't read the book first. Sadly, the Collector's Edition doesn't seem to be available on Kindle so. Arrrr matey.

Download link for file at the end.

....

HENRY

“I am not asking you to believe in it, or even to like it,” Henry says stonily. It’s been a long morning already. He is beginning to perspire. “I am simply asking you to show a modicum of respect.”

“To–to your quiche?”

“Yes. To my quiche.”

Bea puts down her tape gun and wipes her eyes. “Pez!”

“Yes?”

“Henry says he’s going to make us a quiche!”

Pez’s squawk of a laugh bounces down the stairs. “Pull the other one!”

“I make them all the time for Alex,” Henry insists. “They are perfectly edible.”

“So, when you promised us breakfast if we got up early to help you.” Bea says, “you meant that you were going to make us breakfast?”

“Yes!” Henry says hotly. “Stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry!” Bea says. “It’s only that...well, Henry, the last time you cooked breakfast for me, you were twelve and you put a sausage in the microwave until it exploded.”

“That was your idea! And it’s been ages since then! I’ve studied, all right? I’m quite good now. Those pictures I send the group chat aren’t just for show.”

“Oh, aren’t they?” Bea says rudely, as if his incredibly generous offer to cook her a shallot-and-thyme quiche with mushrooms from the farmer’s market means nothing at all. As if he’s lived in this house for five entire years without learning to use its kitchen.

Perhaps if their lives weren’t so chaotic, if Henry weren’t flying out of New York every time Bea had a spare moment to fly in, he could have proven this to her earlier. But Pez, who lives mostly in the city now and visits so frequently he’s earned his own Secret Service code name (Cardinal, since Henry is Bishop), should know better.

“Percy Okonjo,” Henry says as Pez joins them, “you were here last weekend when I made mince pie. You loved it.”

“Did I?” Pez wonders aloud, with an annoyingly Bea-like lilt.

“Look at this apron!” Henry gestures to himself and the navy blue apron he’s wearing. Alex gave it to him for his birthday last year. “Would a man who can’t make a quiche have an apron like this? It’s monogrammed.”

“You’re royalty, babes,” Pez points out. “Everything you own is monogrammed.”

From the pocket of his serious-home-cook apron, his phone buzzes. Reinforcements. The FaceTime connects, and Alex says, “Good morning, love of my li–”

“Alex,” Henry interrupts, “tell them about my quiches.”

Alex pushes up his sunglasses and frowns into the camera. He looks so lovely with his faded T-shirt and jean jacket and shaggy hair. Pure American heartthrob, might as well have a cowboy hat on. Henry never does tire of it.

“Sorry?”

“Bea and Pez don’t believe I can make a quiche.”

“What? Have they seen your apron?”

“That’s what I said!”

“Henry’s quiches are great!” Alex says loudly, to the kitchen at large. “I almost never find shells in them!”

That sets Bea and Pez off again. On the screen, Alex’s face crinkles into laughter.

“Thank you very much, Alex, you’ve been a tremendous help,” Henry groans. “How are things? Florist this morning, wasn’t it?”

“Just finishing up.” Alex says with a grin. “Final approvals done. Everything looks great.”

With only one week until moving day and two until the wedding, it made sense to divide and conquer. Henry agreed to stay in New York and finish packing up the brownstone with help from Bea and Pez, while Alex, June, and Nora are ticking off the last of their checklists in Texas.

“Of all the surprises that wedding planning has brought us,” Henry says, “your ability to micromanage floral arrangements has certainly been...one of them.”

“You know I love to curate a vibe,” Alex says.

“That you do,” Henry agrees. “Where are the girls?”

“Getting donuts,” Pez answers before Alex can. He holds up his phone, open to a photo of June blowing a kiss while Nora fellates an éclair.

“Donuts!” Bea says. “Now there’s an idea!”

They spend the rest of the day drowning in cardboard boxes and bin liners, packing everything but the furniture and the downstairs television. Pez reminds him once an hour that they could pay someone to do this, but Bea is stubborn, and Henry is reluctant to let anyone else wade into all the intimate trappings of his and Alex’s life. It was bad enough explaining the contents of the trick drawer in their dresser to Pez, much less some mover he’s never met.

When it’s done, Bea puts A Knight’s Tale on in the living room and promptly falls asleep on Pez’s lap. Pez passes out too, but Henry stays awake, because Heath Ledger deserves an audience. And because he knows if he doesn't wake Bea and move her to the guest bedroom, he'll have to hear about her back spasms in the morning.

David hops up beside him on the loveseat, and Henry strokes the top of his snout until his little body relaxes into Henry's side.

"Nervous old boy," Henry hums. It still does seem like the ultimate irony that the dog he adopted for emotional support has anxiety. David has grown more and more worried all week, as more and more of his home disappeared into boxes. "We won't leave you, I promise."

The brownstone has been a good house for them. Sturdy brick walls, neighbors that actually let them be. Henry has loved it more than he ever loved Kensington, or at least as much as he loved Kensington when his parents both lived there too. Some mornings, when he comes downstairs to find Alex with the coffeepot and the kettle already on, he feels the way he did when his family all slept under one roof. This roof is quite a bit smaller than that one, but the feeling isn't.

So, perhaps David hasn't got entirely the wrong idea. It is hard to let the place go. For the past month, Alex has kept asking Henry why he's staring, and the truth is that he's been committing to memory exactly how Alex looks in every room. How the bannister fits in his hand, the place on the foyer wall where he always braces himself to pull on his shoes.

Everything that's happened in the past five years has happened, at least in part, inside this house.

…

It's seven months after Alex's mother's second inauguration, and Henry is wishing he had never even heard the word "credenza." Then he wouldn't have to decide where to put one. Alex is arriving in half an hour to help him move it, but Henry still doesn't know where. Across from the fireplace, perhaps? But what if he wants to put a sofa there? Does he want a regular sofa, or a sectional? Should it go upstairs, in his study? Or should he leave room for bookcases?

He longs to be back on a beach, sipping something from a pineapple.

It’s been a long, glorious summer since Alex packed up his White House bedroom, called Henry, and asked, "Do you want to get the fuck off the continent?" They did Dubai first, then Lagos. Rio, for old time's sake. Buenos Aires, paper lanterns in moonlight and Alex flirting with the bartender for free drinks. June through August became a lovely blur: Alex asleep against his shoulder on the plane, Alex throwing his Portuguese phrase book out the window of a speeding car, sand in unmentionable places, Alex Alex Alex. Endless runways and half-arsed disguises, swimsuits that got smaller and smaller until they simply didn't wear them anymore. Falling in love, the sequel, with fresh suntans and all the time in the world.

And now here they are in Park Slope, where Alex is renting the second floor of a brownstone two blocks from Henry's.

It's practical, they agreed, to live in the same neighborhood before they live at the same address. They've scarcely gotten a chance to date the normal way yet– if it can be called "normal" when their combined security teams are headquartered in an empty apartment down the street. Still, Henry wants this to last.

They've sprinted headlong into everything so far, but now he wants move slowly, in delicious increments. He wants to savor nights, minutes, firsts, to covet them and then let them dissolve on his tongue, like the sugar cubes he snuck off his gran's filigreed tea trays when he was small. He wants a life.

He wants someone to tell him where to put this damned credenza.

It's a vintage Broyhill Brasilia piece, walnut with clever brass drawer pulls. June helped him pick it out when she was in town with meeting her editor, but she never gave him any advice on where it should go. He hasn't ever been allowed to decide where furniture should go before.

So, it’s...there, in the center of the empty living room, the first piece in the entire house.

“Maybe you could start with a rug or two,” says Alex from the foyer.

Henry turns to find him with his keys in one hand and a paper bag in the other, smiling in a beam of mid-morning light, and, ah. Yes. There it is. That sweet, sharp gasp of nerves. The half second when he forgets how to use his mouth. If he knows nothing else, at least one certainty remains, which is that seeing Alex Claremont-Diaz in the flesh will always do this to him.

Alex in a photo is handsome, but Alex in life is a symphony. He’s refracted light with a cherry cola chaser. He’s got a Fibonacci jawline and a troublemaker smile and thick forearms built for posing in doorways with his sleeves rolled and thumbing corks out of champagne bottles. The first time Henry ever told Pez about him, he said, “God, but he’s lethal.” It’s only worse once you get to know him.

“Weird place for a credenza,” Alex comments. He kisses Henry’s cheek, then passes him a warm bundle wrapped in parchment paper. “Hope you like sausage-egg-and-cheese.”

“I don’t know where to put it.”

“Sandwich goes in your mouth, typically.”

“The credenza.”

“Ohhh, right,” Alex says, pretending to have just caught on. He winks. Henry sighs theatrically but accepts a second kiss, on the lips this time. “Why don’t you just put it right here?”

He points to his left, where a blank wall stretches from the front door to the foot of the stairs. It does, upon closer inspection, appear to be the exact right size.

“Oh,” Henry says.

This is where they overlap. Where he ends and Alex begins. Great gooey puddle of feelings, meet course of action; endless burning energy, meet point of focus. Agonies, meet your most obvious, most natural, most inevitable conclusions. It’s frightening sometimes for a person like Henry, who has spent his entire life pedaling his agonies about like baguettes in a posh little bicycle basket. What is he to do with them now?

Yes," Henry concedes, "I suppose I could," and Alex laughs.

...

It's the summer of 2022. Henry has opened his third shelter, and Alex has just finished bulldozing his first year at NYU Law.

A few boxes of books still wait at Alex's place, but otherwise, he lives in Henry's brownstone now. Their brownstone. A UT pennant beside a Chelsea scarf on the living room wall. A fridge full of Topo Chico and Bulmers. Two pairs of shoes by the front door, brown Barker derbies and Reebok trainers. Nobody could mistake it for anyone else's.

It's their first Chore Sunday (Alex's idea), and Henry has put the last of the laundry in the dryer. He's in the kitchen doorway, watching Alex unload the dishwasher.

Alex once told Henry the type of man he's typically attracted to: tall, broad-shouldered, pretty eyes, a little haunted. Bit of attitude and a smile that makes you curious. For Henry, it's never been so simple. He liked boys in his classes because they bothered with the assigned readings and fancied one of Philip's awful Eton friends because he could sail and smelled of cinnamon. The only thing all his Oxford boys had in common was that they didn't know how to speak to him. He's never had a type, and he's always been sure Alex was singular, anyway. Alex is unlike anyone he's ever met before or since.

But here, now, watching Alex bend to remove a salad bowl from the bottom rack, he is confronted with the hard truth. All those boys did, actually, share one trait.

"Are you gonna help me with this," Alex says without even an investigatory glance over his shoulder, "or are you just gonna keep staring at my ass?"

...

It’s Christmas 2022, their first since Alex officially moved in, and Henry is going to make a yule log if it kills him.

Perhaps he’s been too ambitious. He’s rather new to all. Growing up, he was rarely permitted in the kitchens, and he concentrated his uni diet on fast food and takeaway. He can make toast and boil an egg, and he’s got a deft hand with the coffee percolator and a gin swizzle from time to time. He knows about food– the finest foods, actually, he’s yet to meet an Englishman who can select a better brie– but he never learned to cook, until recently.

Recently, as in when Alex became too fanatically involved in his second-year coursework to remember to feed himself.

It began with force-feeding Alex a bacon butty twice a week. Henry’s arms suffered little constellations of grease burns, but bacon was easy. And those faded, so they didn’t deter him for long. Curiosity piqued, he taught himself the basics of pasta, how one can simmer almost anything with garlic and onion and butter and it will taste good over noodles. It bolstered his confidence enough to truly commit, and now, between hours at the shelters and video calls with his mum, he watches tutorial after tutorial on how to brown butter and roast chicken. Only half of what he makes turns out the color it’s meant to, but he loves it.

He loves walking to the market on the corner and hunting down specific ingredients from the family recipes June sends him. In fact, it’s become such a regular pastime that the paparazzi have cottoned on, which is why his mother finally forced his security team to hire an actual body double. Now some bloke named Angus with his height and build and nearly the same face goes on diversionary strolls while Henry peruses jarred chilies.

With all his independent studying, he was certain he could manage a dessert. He wanted to do something impressive, since they’ve convinced their families to let them host Christmas dinner. Only, his sponge has gone all wrong, and if he’s learned anything from Bake Off, he knows it’s not meant to have cracked in five places when he tried to roll it up. Paul Hollywood would have him pilloried.

“Think you might’ve left it in too long?” Oscar asks from across the kitchen island. He’s wearing his white elephant prize, a sweatshirt airbrushed with the slogan YOU CAN’T SPELL CONSTITUTION WITHOUT TITS. Inexplicably, Henry’s own mother brought that one. “Lookin’ kinda dry there.”

“I appreciate that you are trying to be helpful,” Henry enunciates, “but if you say one more word I may start crying, and then we’ll both lose some respect for me.”

Later, when Pez has persuaded him to “call it, mate, put it out of its misery,” he carries his disgraced platter of ganache and cake and marzipan out into the living room and lets everyone go at it with spoons. The house feels full to bursting, and not just because of the Christmas crackers. There are all three of Alex’s parents, Henry’s mum, June and Nora, Bea and Pez, Shaan and Zahra on speakerphone, occasionally an awkward Philip and Martha via FaceTime, and, because he had nowhere else to go for the holiday, Angus.

(“I don’t like him,” Alex muttered when Henry suggested inviting his own body double to Christmas dinner.

“Why not?”

“Because he looks exactly like you, but I find him deeply unattractive, and that freaks me out.”)

Ellen tells everyone the story of the year Alex got his first real bike for Christmas and knocked out his two front teeth by Boxing Day, which prompts Catherine to recite eight-year-old Henry’s letter to Father Christmas, in which he requested a leather-bound journal and a holiday to East Wittering so he could gaze at the sea. Bea pushes Henry behind the upright piano, and he takes requests for an hour. It only ends when Pez rewrites half the lyrics to “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” to be about his own lactose intolerance. No one wants to follow “tidings of Lactaid and soy.”

After the third round of mulled wine, when Alex’s parents have called their drivers and his mum has retired to the guest room, June and Nora find themselves under the mistletoe. Everyone whoops and whistles until Nora finally pulls June in by her Christmas-light necklace and kisses her to a round of applause. June's cheeks turn red, but she looks pleased as anything.

"I can't believe it took this long for y'all to finally kiss." Alex says, to which Pez bursts into laughter. "What?"

"Alex," he says fondly. He drains his glass and pecks Alex on the forehead. "You gorgeous, stupid little turnip."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Pez just shakes his head and strolls off to the kitchen.

"Wait," Alex says.

He frowns, like he does when he's trying to recall something incredibly minute and specific from his torts textbook. Then, suddenly, a light goes on, and his own mug is clunking on the lamp table, and he's running off after Pez.

"Pez, what's that supposed to mean?"

...

It's late morning the summer before Alex's last year of law school, 2023, and Alex is the first word out of Henry's mouth.

Truthfully, that's how he begins most mornings. On a Monday morning five time zones away, "Alex" pitched low to the screen of his phone. On a Friday when Alex's early lecture is cancelled, "Alex" in F major, muffled in the pillow as his body moves and the day stretches out before them. Half three the night before an exam, a hoarse "Alex," followed by, "turn the bloody light off and come to bed."

This morning, it's because David is barking at the door. A rainstorm is brewing, and if jet lag didn't have Henry dead under the bedclothes, the gray gloom would. Alex was the one who surfaced from sleep half an hour ago and blearily ordered three entire pancake breakfasts from some 24-hour diner a few neighborhoods over. He should have to get up and answer the door.

“Alex.” Henry mumbles, turning over.

Alex has got the quilt tugged up so high he’s only a shock of wild curls on white linens.

“Nnnghh,” Alex groans from the depths.

“Breakfast is here,” Henry says. The doorbell helpfully rings again. David howls.

Alex’s face appears, pouting. There’s a crease from the pillow down one of his cheekbones, a comet’s tail in a constellation of freckles. “Can you get it?”

Henry rolls his eyes but smiles. Inevitable.

He drags himself out of bed and pulls on the joggers and hoodie from last night’s flight. It’s not until he feels the breeze on his ankles as he descends the stairs that he realizes they’re Alex’s, not his.

On their doorstep, a pink-haired delivery girl is looking bored under her bicycle helmet.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Henry says. He fishes a crumpled bill out of Alex’s pocket. “For your trouble.”

The girl pulls a face.

“Got any real money?” she asks. Her accent reminds him a bit of Alex’s mum.

He blinks down at her hand, which is holding a twenty-pound note. “Ah. Sorry again. Er.” He snatches his wallet out of the bowl on the credenza and gives her all the American dollars he has.

“She’s gone, Davey,” Henry says afterward to David, who’s now fretfully circling the living room. “You’ve protected us from another fearsome home invader. Well done.”

He lets David out into the back garden to do his business, then carries the food upstairs. Shockingly, Alex is awake and propped up against the headboard.

“I’m getting too old for red-eye flights,” Alex says, rubbing his eyes.

“Love, you’re twenty-five,” Henry reminds him. He deposits the bag on the nightstand, and Alex wastes no time tearing through the plastic and tucking in to his breakfast. “And I’m older than you.”

“Yes, you are. But like... I get why we have to go to Philip’s kids’ christenings. The cousins, though?” He sets to work smothering his pancakes in syrup. “I mean, at least my cousins would stack their baptisms. One and done, baby.”

Henry opens his mouth, prepared to answer with one of a thousand things. That the tabloids will have even more of a field day than usual if he stops doing his chores, that there will always be a church dedication or a swan upping or an appointment for a top hat fitting, that he’ll always be obligated to have one foot in London and one day they’ll have to choose where to settle down. It’s far from the first time they’ve had this conversation.

But then Alex shovels a massive bite of pancakes into his mouth and says, “Anyway, I love you. Do you wanna have June and Nora over tomorrow? We can play Mario Party again. I wanna see them get in a fistfight. Oh, and my dad’s in town next week, and he said to tell you he’s bringing that book you asked about–”

And that’s when Henry knows: He doesn’t ever want to go back.

...

It’s the end of spring 2024, and Henry is not eavesdropping, per se. He excused himself to answer a call from Shaan, which really could not be avoided. Shaan has taken to his new life as a househusband with predictable aplomb, and most of his calls these days involve Henry getting to talk to a baby who is clearly destined to become prime minister. He simply can’t send that to voicemail.

It’s the first time they’ve had room in the schedule for his mother to visit since Alex accepted his law job, which Henry understands very little about but has been assured is the most strategic next step for Alex’s career long game. When Henry left the room, Alex was still trying to explain it to Catherine. It all sounds terribly prestigious.

He is just returning to the sitting room with a fresh pot of tea when he hears his name from around the corner.

“–and the next morning Henry and Arthur vanished,” his mother is saying, “and when Uncle Algie called, I told him that Henry couldn’t go on the annual pheasant hunt because he was violently ill, but actually Arthur had taken him to Rome for two weeks on the set of that go on ridiculous car heist film he was working on, the one with, oh, what’s his name–“

“Jason Statham,” Alex says promptly, through wheezing laughter.

“That’s the one!”

“Loved that movie,” Alex says. “I can’t believe Henry got to be on set.”

“It was all Arthur’s idea, but he was right to do it. Uncle Algie is a dreadful bore, and Henry despises his son. Guilford. Did you meet Guilford at the wedding?”

“Henry made sure I avoided it.”

“Yes, that’s for the best,” Catherine says daintily. “He has matured into an absolute dickhead.”

Henry wishes he was in the room to see the way Alex sputters out, “Oh my God.” Alex always forgets that Catherine went to uni and married a commoner from Sheffield.

And then Alex sighs and says, “When Henry and I get married–”

Henry manages to recover the teapot before he drops it.

It’s not a surprise to hear Alex mention marriage. They’ve been sorting it out for years: political logistics and Alex’s child-of-divorce anxiety and a thousand questions about a royal wedding neither of them actually wants to have. He’s already bought an engagement ring, even, and judging by how tetchy Alex gets whenever Henry tries to put his underwear away for him, he’s not the only one.

But it is the first time he’s heard Alex mention it to his mother. He dropped it so casually, so matter-of-factly, as if he’s been talking to her about marrying Henry for years. Henry supposes it’s possible he has been. Is this why Alex had tea with her in London last month and told Henry he wasn’t invited? Have they been conspiring?

They’re discussing hypothetical guest lists now, which cousins secretly hate one another and who wore an inappropriately large fascinator to whose birthday tea, but Henry isn’t listening anymore. He’s thinking of a cafe table in Rome, his dad waving over a second round of gelato.

In his memory, he’s nine years old, and his father is saying, Whoever you marry, Henry, make sure they think your mum is a laugh, because she is. She really is.

He clears his throat and finally rounds the corner. “Tea, anyone?”

...

It’s 2024, and nobody knows they’re engaged.

Granted, they’ve only been engaged for about three hours, but Henry is curious to see how long they can go. It feels nice to keep a secret that doesn’t have to be a secret. It’s more that they’re keeping it like a pet, or something especially beautiful from the garden that they’ve coaxed into a jar.

A record is spinning on the turntable, one of Alex’s, maybe the Joni Mitchell he borrowed from Bea. They’ve shoved their phones under the couch cushions and ordered a pizza the size of the moon, and now they’re sitting in the center of the living room floor, demolishing it. They kiss, then eat more pizza, then get distracted kissing again. Henry licks a streak of pepperoni grease from Alex’s forearm, which is a fantasy he didn’t know he had until he’s living it. They tangle up on the rug, and Henry decides he’ll take Alex sailing next weekend, or even out to the edge of the river, just to see him against a horizon.

Four-nearly-five years in, the main thing he’s learned is that Alex is a world without end. All Henry wants is to go on with him forever. To keep finding new favorite parts, to keep turning things over and studying their soft bellies and finding the best bits.

So, he will.

...

It snows on New Year’s Eve 2024. Alex looks out the window and shrugs off his coat.

The Young America Gala may be no longer, but Nora, June, and Pez aren’t to be stopped from throwing a New Year’s party, especially now that Pez has gotten his own part-time flat in the city. They’re the three fates of New York City’s holiday social circuit: birth (June, managing invitations), life (Pez, topless), and death (Nora, also topless).

“What if,” Alex says, turning to Henry on the foot of the stairs, “we don’t go to the party?”

“Nora will murder me,” Henry says. “She told me she’s not afraid to do that now that I’ve given up my title.”

“Murder is still a crime even if you’re not officially a prince.”

“Yes, but she said, quote,” he puts on his best American accent, “They can’t put me in the Tower anymore. Who’s gonna arrest me now? Mr. Bean?”

“Why don’t we just send Angus? It’s dark. Maybe she won’t notice.”

“Where’s your double, then?”

“We live in New York, I’m sure I can find a male model somewhere.”

“As always, sounding the very bass string of humility.”

“Is that fucking Shakespeare?”

“Henry IV.”

“I’m gonna give you a wedgie, you fucking nerd.”

In the end, it doesn’t take much to convince Henry to stay in. Lately, it never does. Alex texts June a flimsy excuse, and they toe off their shoes and relax out of their button-downs.

Henry does have to admit he’s exhausted, in the way that one only can be on the last day of the year, when every other day of the year piles way up behind it. It’s been a big one: Alex’s first law job, the endless press about Henry’s decision to surrender his title, the engagement, Bea’s wedding, the incident with the croquet mallets and the Dutch ambassador at Bea's wedding.

Sometimes Alex jokes that they squeezed it all into one calendar year because no headline can stick if there's another next week, but it's only half a joke. They've been bone-tired for months.

"I'm surprised you're the one who wants to stay home," Henry says. "I remember a young lothario who lived to ruin people's lives on New Year's Eve."

"Ruin?" Alex says. "That's not how I remember it."

"It certainly felt that way at the time."

They drift to the kitchen, past all the traces of the year. The dried flowers, the new scuffs on the floorboards. The box of bound manuscripts of Henry's first finished poetry-ish short-fiction-ish essay-ish collection. The holiday cards from senators and diplomats and old Texas friends, topped off with Alex's favorite of Rafael Luna and his astonishingly fit partner in matching Christmas jumpers. Henry would think Raf had been forced into it if it hadn't come with a case of beer and a note of thanks for letting him stay over the last time he visited Alex and had one too many tequila shots at drag bingo.

Alex withdraws a bottle of Clicquot from the refrigerator and says, "We're not washed, are we?"

“We're aging," Henry points out.

"That's right," Alex says, eyes immediately sparking at the opportunity. Henry preemptively sighs. "You're almost thirty."

"Almost twenty-eight is not almost thirty."

"It basically is. You're old. You'll be thirty a whole year before me. You'll be popping antacids and I'll be in the club, popping my p-"

"You're not even in the club now."

"I could be, I'm just choosing not to, because I don't want to deal with the snow. That's not aging, it's growth."

He slides Henry a glass of champagne and adds, "It's probably time for us to start talking about what's on your Do Before Thirty list, huh?"

Henry takes the glass and chooses going with Alex's bit over pointing out that he's entering his late twenties, not dying.

“I’ve done quite well on that front so far, actually,” he says. “Wrote a book. Started a nonprofit. Engaged to the love of my life.”

“Involved in an international sex scandal.”

“Shook the hands of all five Spice Girls.”

“Best dressed at the Met Gala.”

“Cried in the Water Lilies room at the MOMA.”

“Grew your hair out, then cut it all off.“

“Taught myself to make beef Wellington.”

“That one’s, uh, still in progress,” Alex hedges. Henry gives him an affronted look. “But, yeah! Definitely. And you got really good at scones.”

“That I did.”

“Right,” Alex agrees. “So what’s left? Streaking? Dropping acid? Having sex on our kitchen island?”

Henry takes a moment with that one.

“Having sex on our kitchen island?”

When the clock strikes the new year, the house is quiet. The timer on the light over the front stoop clicks off. The champagne bottle rests between two glasses on the edge of the sink, spent and sticky around the rim, a single soggy strawberry at the bottom of each flute. Miles out from their apartment, fireworks fight the snow over the East River, but in their kitchen in Park Slope, the only sounds are the two of them.

Henry, almost twenty-eight, presses his warm body to the cool marble and gets his midnight kiss.

...

“Do you know what today is?” Alex asks on a lukewarm September.

It’s 2025. He’s in the doorway of Henry’s study, where Henry has been all evening, answering emails.

“Hm? No.”

When Alex doesn’t immediately fill the silence, Henry looks up from his laptop screen.

“What is it?”

“Five years since the story broke,” Alex says.

It takes a moment for him to realize what story Alex means; there have been so many of them. But of course, he means that gigantic, terrible one. The one that changed their lives forever.

“Oh,” Henry says. He closes his laptop, leaning back in his chair and away from it. “Well. Hated that.”

“Yeah,” Alex agrees. “Zero out of ten. Would not do again.”

His tone is light and casual, but when he folds his arms across his chest, Henry can see his glasses in the front pocket of his flannel. It’s been months and months since the last time Alex didn’t feel confident enough to wear them.

For his part, Henry can remember much of that day, but not all of it. He remembers stirring sugar into his morning tea when Shaan walked in wearing an expression Henry had never seen before. He remembers Pez arriving like the cavalry in Gucci slippers, hustling Henry away from his handlers with the same graceful disdain he used to direct at Eton classmates who stared at them too much. He remembers Bea finding them in the music parlor and refusing to hear Henry’s apology, and he remembers Alex’s call and Alex’s arrival.

The funny part, though, is he can’t remember anything between Bea and Alex. He knows that Philip was involved, and there were stories on every news channel, and he spoke to his mother at some point. But the space in his memory where those hours belong is simply blank. His psychiatrist says it’s post-traumatic stress disorder, and Henry is inclined to agree, considering the two of them spent the entire following year recalibrating Henry’s anxiety and depression medication around the event.

Those hours will always be gone. There are things he will never get back.

Most of the time, though, when he thinks of that day, the second worst thing that's ever happened to him, he thinks of Alex's hand in his under a Buckingham Palace table. He remembers, clear as a bell, Alex's voice telling him they would survive it together. It happened to Alex too. It wasn't what they would have chosen, but it was what they received, and they've done their absolute bloody best with it.

He rises from his desk, crosses to the doorway, and gathers Alex up against his chest. Their size difference isn't that pronounced—Henry is taller but lean, Alex shorter but sturdy—but in moments like this, he's thankful for the way Alex's cheek perfectly aligns with the crook of his neck. He's grateful for how effortless it is to slip a kiss to Alex's temple.

Neither of them says anything else. It's all been said a thousand times, in speeches and through official statements and in the dark when it's only the two of them. It's enough to stand here in the center of the house, in the quiet, and let it hold their weight.

...

At the end of 2025, Henry has a bad day.

There's nothing specific that causes it. The days just happen like this sometimes, even with all the therapy and medication and supportive partnership and fulfilling creative projects in the world. There are other people, he supposes, who don't spend their lives waiting for the next bad day. He's had every bloody luxury but that one.

Alex comes home from work to find him curled up on the armchair in the study, staring out the window at the light-polluted night sky over the row of brownstones across the street.

“What are you doing?" Alex asks him.

"Looking for Orion," Henry deadpans.

Alex kneels on the rug in his tailored suit pants and rolled-up sleeves and rests his cheek on Henry's knee, the way he often does when Henry's in a mood. Henry's fingers slide into his curls. They've grown a bit longer in the past few months. Lately. Alex looks quite like he did when they met, except for the glasses and the stubble dusting his jaw.

“I’m tired of big law, “ Alex confesses. It would appear he’s in a mood too. “I know it’s only been a year and a half, but...I kind of hate it.”

Henry contemplates that, along with the dark circles around Alex’s eyes.

“You don’t have to do it, you know.” Henry tells him.

Alex looks at him like he did in that hotel room in Paris the first time they woke up together, like the only thing he knows for sure about what he’s being offered is that he wants it completely. It’s an intimidating look to receive, but it’s only ever improved Henry’s life in the end.

He kisses Henry’s knuckle, just below his ring.

“I have some ideas.”

...

In February 2026, a flu sweeps through Park Slope. Neither Alex nor Henry can agree on who gave it to whom first– Henry knows it was Alex, since he’s been up late consulting with his mum about a voting rights bill in Texas, and his immune system always suffers when he gets upset about Texas—but regardless, they’re trapped in the brownstone together for a week. At least Alex doesn’t have to work through his illness the way he usually does, since he resigned from his job last month.

Somewhere around day five, Henry realizes it’s the longest consecutive amount of time they’ve both been home in years. They always seem to be leaving or returning: rushing off to appearances, climbing out of security caravans in half-undone suits, meeting Cash at the curb at three in the morning with bags over their shoulders. It’s nice, in a way, to get reacquainted with this home they’ve built together.

While Alex naps, Henry paces the entire floorplan.

The first floor, with its long living room and the original beams and mantelpiece, which Henry had restored before he moved in, because he always has been precious about the history of things. Then the kitchen and the deep blue cabinets and the wide back window over the knotty pine dining table handed down from Alex's dad. Upstairs, on the second floor, the guest bedroom with all of his mum's preferred hand creams in the attached washroom and the sitting room with the shelf of swan figurines Pez started collecting years ago in a dramatic fit of June-related yearning. One more flight up to the top floor, with his study and Alex's office and the hall with their photo from Shaan and Zahra's wedding and, at the far end, their bedroom.

The bedroom is his favorite part of the house, and not only for the obvious reasons, no matter how much Alex tries to imply otherwise with suggestive eyebrows. He loves the high ceiling and the chipped plaster medallion of roses at the center. They picked out the bed together, and every morning that he wakes up in it, he gets to turn over and see Alex's loose pens and glasses wipes scattered atop the dresser and know that this, his life, is still real. Perhaps he likes the room best because it feels separated from every other part of the house, lifted up and bundled in, which is the first time he's ever been safe in a tower.

Most importantly, of all three levels of bay windows jutting from the redbrick front of the brownstone, only the one in the bedroom has a seat. They've filled it with velvet pillows and mossy green cushions, and once or twice a year, on one of their vanishingly rare slow days, Alex will climb in and fall asleep.

That's where he finds Alex when he eases into the room with a mug of soup in each hand. He recognizes the quilt wrapped around him: they slept under it in Alex's childhood twin bed the night Ellen won her second term, and then Alex crammed it into his suitcase and brought it back to Washington.

He stirs as Henry sets the mugs down on the dresser.

“Thanks,” he says in a hoarse voice.

Henry nudges in beside him, gingerly removing Alex's glasses from beneath his elbow before they get crushed.

"You know," Henry says, "I chose this house for the bay windows."

Alex blinks at him, fully awake now. "Really?"

"I thought you might like them. You always talked about the one you grew up with. Hoped they might make the place feel like home."

Alex smiles. "They do."

Henry looks at him in his quilt, sleep-mussed and flushed from fever and overdue for a shave, and he remembers that night in the yellow house in Austin. Before Alex led them back to his old bedroom, he peeled up the cushion in the living room window seat and showed Henry pages of elementary school scribbles still hidden there. And he told Henry that he thought once of hiding a picture there too, if only he'd had the nerve to tear it out of his sister's magazine.

Love, Henry has found, has a way of growing backward. You fall in love with a person in the present, and then every person you've ever been gets to fall in love with every past version of them. A sleep-deprived Georgetown freshman falls in love with an Oxford sophomore who's testing out undoing the top button of his shirts sometimes. A ruddy-cheeked teenager with his nose in a book loves a backtalking lacrosse captain. A boy comes home from school with perfect marks and sees a picture in a magazine, and the boy from the picture pauses on a palace staircase.

The crux of it is, he loves every version of Alex to ever sleep under that quilt. Everything else is mostly set dressing

"I'm having a thought," Henry says.

"Congratulations," Alex deadpans automatically. Then, "Tell me."

"This life we have here," Henry says. "This house. It's good, yeah?"

"Yeah, of course it is."

"But we could have a good life somewhere else too."

Alex frowns. "Like where?"

"Somewhere... farther from everything, maybe? Somewhere we could slow down, and things could be quieter, and you could do the work you want to do. I think I could use some time away from it all, honestly. Maybe I wouldn't even have to have a body double anymore."

Alex considers that for a long moment. They both know where Henry means, even if he doesn't say it. Besides New York and DC, and London on its best days, there's really only one place Alex would seriously consider living. They've joked about it before, but Henry's always thought it might be nice to spend a few years somewhere completely different than he's used to. A place where he could see the stars.

At long last, Alex sniffs and says, "You're gonna fire Angus? He was just starting to grow on me.”

...

“If you don't wake Bea up, you're gonna have to hear about her back spasms in the morning,” says a voice that is most certainly not Heath Ledger's.

Henry startles awake to find Alex leaning over his shoulder from behind the loveseat, curls everywhere. The room is dark, and the end credits are rolling.

"You're not home until tomorrow," Henry mumbles.

"Moved up my flight," Alex says. He's so close to Henry's face, he's gone a bit cross-eyed. His lips bounce off the tip of Henry's nose. "I missed you."

It's only been a few days, but the truth is Henry missed him too. He supposes he should be used to empty beds and time differences by now, especially when they began that way, but he suspects he'll never stop waiting at the door. You know what will be the best part of getting married?" Henry asks Alex.

"The line dancing."

"The way I won't have to miss you nearly as often."

Alex softens, then maneuvers himself over the armrest until he's draped across Henry's lap. David climbs on top of him and curls up on Alex's left buttock.

Letting go of the house has been hard, but this particular decision was easy, once they finally said it out loud. A gradual, careful withdrawal from public life, at least for a few years. They’ve given so much of themselves to the world and had the privilege of feeling a legacy take shape beneath them, but they need rest too.

It was June who convinced them, actually. Even now, there are certain things only June can say to Alex. Early in the spring, when she was finally transitioning out of her speechwriting job for Raf, she called Alex from Colorado and told him she was moving to New York to be closer to Nora and Pez, and she wanted to sublet the brownstone. When Alex pointed out that he was still living in it, she said, "We both know you've been looking at farmhouses in Austin for six months, it's time to shit or get off the pot."

(Henry loves his particular collection of Americans. They truly do say what's on their minds.)

The new house is beautiful. Henry's only seen it in person once, but the previous owner was a reclusive tech executive with shockingly good taste, so Architectural Digest featured it last year. He's had the article open in a tab on his phone for two months, and he scrolls through all those perfectly lit photos twice a day, getting high on possibilities. Lazy mornings in the wide sunroom, midnight dives in the lake. It's easy to imagine Alex mellowing into a brisket-smoking, tamale-rolling Texas dad out there, and it's just as easy to imagine them basking under cedar trees until their mid-thirties and then deciding they're ready for another round. The wonderful thing is, they can take their time either way.

It isn't a full release from their obligations, but it is the next step after formally relinquishing his title. More boundaries, more of their own rules about what they will and won't do. No royal wedding, but a private ceremony at the lake house and a honeymoon unpacking boxes. A job for Alex at a smaller firm where he can finally get his hands in the earth. A quieter life.

"You're right," Alex says. "You know what else is gonna be awesome about married-people life? We can have actual, real-life date nights. Just imagine it: free refills and bottomless chips and salsa."

"Oh, I've got another one," Henry says. “You can finally show me how to navigate an H-E-B."

“Baby, don’t talk dirty to me in front of company.”

“Please,” says a groggy voice from the couch.

“Hi, Bea.”

“Time’s it?”

“One in the morning.”

“Ugh.”

Grumbling and tugging a blanket around herself, Bea wakes Pez and the two of them head off to wash up before bed. The odds of Pez returning to the couch for the night or availing himself of their bed so that Alex has to sleep on the couch are just about even, based on six years of Pez falling asleep at their house. It’s a comfort to know that when they leave the brownstone and June moves in, Pez will still be making himself at home in it.

Downstairs, surrounded by boxes, Alex crawls out of Henry’s lap and slides a large shopping bag out from behind the loveseat. “I brought you something.” Alex says.

Inside the bag is a box made of the sort of heavy cardboard that augurs something expensive. He imagines Alex hurling his patched-up rough-ridden leather duffle into the overhead compartment of the airplane and then sliding this bag under the seat so carefully that there’s not even a crease in the paper.

He takes the lid off the box and unwraps layers of tissue paper to reveal a hat. A cowboy hat. It’s made of gorgeous, thick felt, with a cattleman crown and a satin lining. A nearly identical one has hung in Alex’s office since he moved in, though Alex’s is midnight black and this one is a warm, pale sand. Where Alex’s hatband has a small gold buckle, this one has a silver pin in the shape of an English rose.

“It’s a Stetson,” Alex says. When Henry looks up at him, his cheeks have darkened faintly. “I know it’s not really your thing, but you ride horses, and it’s kind of a big deal where I’m from to get your first Stetson, so I wanted to be the one to give it to you since you’re about to be an honorary Texan. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want–“

“I love it,” Henry interrupts.

Alex pauses, then breaks out in a grin. “You do? I was afraid you’d think it was a joke.”

“It’s the least ridiculous hat I’ve ever been given,” Henry tells him. “It didn’t even come with a matching tailcoat.”

“Nah, but maybe we can get you some Wranglers,” Alex says.

“Some chaps, perhaps.”

“I just told you not to talk dirty to me.”

Henry laughs and kisses him over the open box, thinking of the next year of their lives. Sunday morning fry-ups, swimming holes, a wedding cake that doesn’t wind up on the floor. Tomorrow he needs to ask if Alex checked on the bakery while he was in Austin, and if they have any more packing tape, and whether Amy’s daughter has gotten her flower girl dress yet.

Tonight, though, Alex is home a day early, and the house is making all its soft, familiar night-time sounds around them. No one sees in through the windows. No one comes in through the gate.

“Henry,” says Alex.

“Alex,” says Henry.

“You and me,” Alex says.

“You and me,” Henry agrees.

End.

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twistedwonderlandshenanigans · 2 months

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Valentine's Day...Gifts They Give You?? I Think. IDK.

HAH SCHOOL CAN KICK MY BUTT BUT BY GOD AND THE DEVIL WILL I SHARE A LITTLE BIT OF LOVE!! (I'm suffering Jesus fucking CHRIST this course is gonna eat my fried up brain for breakfast lunch and dinner) This is done assuming they're pining for Yuu, save for Ortho he's Idia's little wingman. GN reader as always bbssssssssss if anything seems canon divergent, check out my HCs lmao

Heartslaybul Ace: He thought about making it super romantic, like he spent the week leading up to Valentine's day brainstorming ideas on napkins and doodling on scrap paper, trying to come up with a way to ask to hang out that would make it feel different than normal, but not so obvious that he...you know, likes you. He ends up showing up at Ramshackle before class with a box of chocolates he bought the day before and a bit of a blushing mess. "I just got these because who knows how much Sam will have by the end of today, you owe me half, ok?"

Deuce: He absolutely called his mom to ask for some advice, and asked his dorm mom (Trey), to proofread the hand written note he had meticulously written and supervise while he tries to make a heartshaped quiche. Why quiche? Well he knows you guys have...Memories about eggs, and he remembers it fondly, and he knows that quiche freezes well, so if he makes a big batch, you can eat what you want and have a readily available breakfast to just pop back in the oven whenever you want it - hopefully you'll remember him each time you do, and you'll ask for more when you finish it! He ends up at Ramshackle a little disheveled and out of breath, trying to make the quiche early enough in the day that he could make it there before breakfast so maybe you could share a meal before class. "It's still warm??" "Yeah, I ran here as fast as I could once it was cool enough to handle." "You didn't have to..." "I wanted to! You're more than worth the effort it took to be here on time." Trey: Mans has a major advantage in that he is great in the kitchen, but he can't just make your favourite dessert. He can do that any day. No, for weeks ahead of time, he plans, makes, tests, and revises a new recipe, something that is unique and meant to be for you. It's more effort than he normally puts into his work, but it's so worth it when he shows up at Ramshackle in the evening to deliver his gift and a small note, though he gets shy. He leaves it on the front door step, knocks once, and moves to hide by the side of the house, relying on Grim's nose to bring you to the door if you didn't hear him knock. Seeing the way your face go from confusion to joy and excitement as you read the note is worth every moment he spent crouching. He knows tomorrow you'll want to talk to him in person, but for now, that's more than enough for him.

Cater: Consumerism Capital lmao. He has a really sweet, genuine gift to give to you, but the time he's spent with his sisters makes him second guess whether or not something is "good enough". So, yes, he will have spent 72 hours painting a fucking masterpiece on a phone case for you, or a pair of shoes you said you wanted, or a skateboard so you guys can skateboard together, or something you mentioned you wanted offhandedly months ago, but he's not sure if it's enough, so to "make up" for his "shitty handmade gift", he buys a shit ton of Valentine's day merchandise! He shows up with the giant teddy bear, the bouquet of flowers, the chocolates, the sappy movies, a trending perfume and some sort of specialty drink he picked up at a cafe. Depending on your reaction to all that stuff, he might actually give you the gift he worked on, otherwise you'll see it by accident or something and he gets embarrassed and a little flustered because What If You Don't Like It, Isn't Everything Else Better Than That Thing I Worked On Specifically For You. Treat him gently please. That's a personal request slkdjfhlskdjf

Riddle: He's new to this. So of course he researched long and hard on how to best express his interest in you without trying to push anything on you. Cater tried to show him cute stuff on social media, but it all seemed so scripted, disingenuous, or so over the top he couldn't see himself doing it that way. Or on the other end - they were couples, well into their relationships and living together- that wasn't where he was with you, at least....not yet. He ends up watching, reading and listening to tutorials on how to put together the perfect bouquet - his beloved rose garden would have more than an aesthetic use now, and with a little magic, a beautiful gradient came easily to the bunch of roses he arranged beautifully. Before you, this holiday just seemed ridiculous. Maybe it still was, but he would indulge if it meant it brought a smile to your face.

Savannaclaw

Jack: He can't be direct for the life of him, not in terms like this. The night before Valentine's day, he's still stumped on what to do for you that won't be...inherently romantic and obvious, but show that he cares about you!! His eyes end up settling on his little cactus and he ends up finally getting an idea. Somehow after class, but before you got home, he managed to gift you your own tiny cactus. He left it sitting in a box, a small knitted coaster of sorts sitting underneath the flower pot - he put it in the box just so that the yarn wouldn't snag on the uneven wood outside of Ramshackle- and a tiny cowboy hat sitting on top of your cactus. It had been from one of his little siblings dolls that ended up in his bag from the last time he'd gone home, but either they didn't even notice it was gone, or he could get them a replacement later.

Ruggie: "Do you have plans for Valentine's day?" "Yep. Wait for it to be over." He doesn't really care for Valentine's day, but the sale that starts on the 15th? Goddamn, yeah, he's gonna capitalize on that....and he might even like you enough to share a little bit of it...maybe while watching a movie....and snuggling up under the same blanket at Ramshackle...that he may or may not have snagged from Leona's pile of Really Nice blankets....all it takes is for you to say you want some chocolate or treats too.

Leona: He really doesn't care for Valentine's day and all the shit that comes with it, but his sister in law asked him to at least try to make the best of the day. Initially, he was going to...at least try to contest it, but ultimately decided there was a simple way to do it. He ends up firing you a quick text to meet him in the greenhouse. While the way he pulls you into his little nest for napping is rather unceremonious, once you've settled he tucks a pink camellia behind your ear before abruptly telling you he's going to sleep and you're welcome to join him or you can get out of there if you want. He hopes, that just maybe, you'll be able to identify the flower he gave you and find out what it means.

Octavinelle

Floyd: Azul is making him work overtime for Valentine's day, he doesn't get up early enough to do anything Before classes, and by the end of his shift he's EXHAUSTED and MAD. He likely has the wherewithall to bring you a serving from the special menu in a takeout container before flopping down on the couch next to you, then onto you, just looking for a little bit of physical affection. The next day he does feel a little bad for not making you feel as special as he could have, so he'll wake you up with breakfast in bed. Jade: Again, he's been working overtime but he was more ready for Valentine's day than Floyd. While he can't take you anywhere on the day of, he has an easy hike and picnic planned for the weekend if you'll join him. Despite being in the wild outdoors, he's determined to make you a dish that would be worthy of serving at the lounge. He will not handle being asked to stay home very well, but ultimately will if you want that more....but it's going to be in your backyard.

Azul: He had so much on his plate leading up to Valentine's day with marketing, organizing shifts and maximizing profit. But, some of that profit was already planned to be set aside specifically for you. It was about time that you got a bit of a leg up, right? I mean working for Crowley can only pay so much, and he's the head of the dorm that represents generosity anyways. So on the day after Valentine's day, he shows up in the evening with a laptop, and envelope with cash, and a grin, ready to show you the wonders of ✨investing✨. He may have forgotten you still...want to go home. He'll backtrack a bit and offer to help you find contractors that will renovate a part of Ramshackle for you.

Scarabia

Jamil: He didn't even bother trying to plan something for himself with you. How could he? It was a holiday, as ridiculous as it was, it meant that Kalim would inevitably want to celebrate it on the dorm level, and Jamil, of course, would have to plan and organize and arrange everything in order to make it work out. However, that didn't mean he wouldn't make sure to invite you. It didn't mean that he wouldn't make the time to ensure your favourite dish was served. Or that your favourite song would come on during the dance party portion of the celebration. Or that he wouldn't check on you just as, if not more frequently than he did on Kalim to make sure you're enjoying yourself. And if you're not, if it's all too much, he accounted for that already and will show you where you can stay until you feel okay again. Of course, if you show up an hour or two early and demand (you can't ask, he'll say no) to be given a task to lighten his burden, he might just admire you a little bit more (even if he still says no).

Kalim: Valentine's Day means partayyyyy time!! There's gonna be food, and dancing, and games, and lots of people, and live music because he, Cater, and Lilia are gonna perform, won't you come see him?? He needs you there so he can perform the best he ever has!! Come on Yuu, please??? They did actually practice, because they had to change a few lyrics so that it could be a better cover for Valentine's day and he was thinking of you when they modified it, so can you pleeeeeeeease come?

Pomefiore

Epel: He isn't sure whether he wants to continue a tradition he had from home or not, where he would show up at school with handmade lollipops and give them out to people....but his class at primary school was soooo much smaller, it wouldn't make sense to do it here for everyone. Not to mention, he usually had his grandma help him make them, he's never done it on his own. He likely does it for all the first years in his little friend group because he doesn't want to be obvious to anyone person that maybe...he likes them a little more...however your lollipop is the only one that seems to have no imperfections. Funny how that worked out.

Rook: Screw your alarm clock, he knows when you wake up anyways and will be outside your window, serenading you until you wake up. Even if you end up rolling out of bed lookin like a sewer rat and peaking out the window, once he knows you're awake he'll start reading poetry to you. He kinda just lingers until you're done getting ready enough to come great him outside, where he gives you a single rose and a few sheets of paper that he's written his poems about you on. He'll kiss the back of your hand and offer to escort you to class. ** I just want to say, for as much as I gripe about Rook in other posts, I genuinely believe that if he knew or found out you had no Valentine, no plans, and nobody treated you, he would, by the end of the day, at least have left a rose and handwritten note on in front of your door apologizing for not having asked to be your Valentine earlier and going through and complimenting you, though the note is completely anonymous. Rook is a bleeding heart (hehe Snow White ref) and regardless of his feelings for you/your feelings for him, he wants to make sure Valentine's day is positive for you.

Vil: Ugh, Valentine's day. It's a tacky, meaningless holiday that corporations push for the sake of profit. He agrees to model stuff still, sure, he has to in order to try and keep up with Neige, but he hates it. He gets his nails done so that they are jet black. Part of him wants to go goth for the day, but really that would be an overreaction to something so minor. He rejects any Valentine's day gifts, and likely won't want to do anything special, so if anything, you get to see a slightly out of character Vil as he either facetimes you to make sure you've been drinking water today and rant about the industry and how it's ruined Valentine's day, or. You send him a really cheesy gif wishing him a happy Valentines day and he very reluctantly replies, but tells you to never do that again (and it segues into Above).

Ignihyde

Idia (+ wingman/little shit Ortho): Ortho didn't really intend to snoop, but his big brother just left his phone out in the open...well he threw it onto his bed and mumbled something about being a loser. According to Ortho's analysis of Idia's phone, he hadn't been on a mobile game, so what got him so worked up? He sifted through until he found the culprit- the draft of a really sweet...and yeah, kinda cringey message he had written out addressed to the prefect of Ramshackle. Eugh he didn't need to read that...but...but Yuu should. He sends the message for Idia right before his brother comes back into the room, mumbling about how he needs to delete something. His eyes go wide as saucers as he sees not only has the message been sent, but the prefect has read it and is replying in that very moment. Idia reprimands Ortho immediately, but gently until the Prefects response comes through and Ortho confirms the tone is positive. Diasomnia lord help me it's one in the morning

Sebek: Wasn't going to do anything until Lilia mentioned...."exaggerated"...just how important Valentine's Day can be to humans. His decision to try and come up with a last minute gift only amplifies if he sees someone else give Yuu a gift, and ultimately decides with a certain degree of defeat just to buy something from Sam's shop. He decides something practical is best, but gets a little distracted around the candles. Surely in Ramshackle you would appreciate something small, aromatic and it even offers a small bit of heat! He decides to go through with it, but it's only noon, surely he can customize it a bit more before the end of the day. Lilia ends up walking into Sebek's room at around 10:30, only to see him struggling to stay awake as he wipes off paint from the lid. Based on the discarded tissues around, he hasn't been satisfied with any customizations he's tried to make. Lilia gently encourages him just to write a quick note, and he'll deliver it to the prefects doorstep for him so he can get to sleep. Sebek insists it's not perfect, but is forced to accept defeat as Lilia ushers him to bed, reassuring him that the prefect will still appreciate it.

Silver: He knows that he struggles to stay awake, so he starts on his project long before Valentine's day so that he can work on it whenever he has the wherewithall to do so. Come Valentine's day, he has the gift with him during class, and ends up sitting outside of Ramshackle, passed out next to the door waiting for you to show up so he can hand you his gift, which turns out to be a dagger. No, he didn't make it, but he wanted to research the best option for someone of your size and stature, the quality, where to purchase it reliably, to make a small write up on how to care for it properly, what it can and should be used for, and activities it's not suggested to use it for, but you technically "can". It also gives him an excuse to come see you more often to teach you how to use it- often teaching someone is a great way to learn and will add another layer to his training. Lilia: He's been around for so many Valentine's Days, he probably knew the fucking saint it was named after. That being said, he loves to make the most of life, and that doesn't stop here! Get ready for a home cooked meal, you don't have to worry about dinner tonight sweetheart, Lilia's got it covered. Or he'll pay for take out. Or both, to make up for the mess in your kitchen.

Malleus: He's been aware of the holiday for years, but has never really had a reason to celebrate it. But now there's someone who isn't scared of him. Someone who, perhaps if he asked, you would allow him to spend time with you. He ends up daydreaming about the activities the two of you could do together, from making gargoyles to learning to make ice cream together, he ends up spending the entire day like that. Though he's a bit frustrated at his loss of time, he writes out a heartfelt letter to invite you to join him in those activities at a later date. He'll either wait for you outside, or if its too late in the night, simply slide the letter under your door.

---------------------------------------------------------

I was gonna do Che'nya and Neige and even Rollo but its. its way too late, I'm hungry and I have a STATS class tomorrow RIP me.

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jamdoughnutmagician · 1 month

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A Slice Of Life. (Waitress Au) Part 1

Doctor!Steve Harrington x Waitress!Reader.

All you wanted to do was bake your pies, but life had other plans for you. Now you find yourself pregnant with your no-good husband's baby, and worried about the direction in which your life was now heading.

Heavily based on the 2007 film, Waitress.

Warnings:Pregnancy, Billy is reader's husband (and he is not a nice guy at all),

Word Count: 2,630.

Next part ->

*divider by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist // Steve Harrington Masterlist.

“C’mon, just take the test, and then you’ll know one way or the other and you can take things from there.” Robin shouts from behind the bathroom stall.

You step out of the cubicle and huff out a nerve-steadying breath. Your future is quite literally in your trembling hands. Your blue and white waitressing dress suddenly feels all-too constricting and the fabric feels scratchy against your skin.

You look down at the pregnancy test in your hands, desperately hoping and waiting for a negative result.

“Please, not now, not ever, I don’t want this.” you mutter to yourself. “I don’t need any trouble and I most certainly don’t want a baby. I just want to make my pies in peace.”

“I thought you weren’t sleeping with Billy anymore?” Nancy chimed in.

“Oh you know what her husband’s like.” Robin babbled. “He played nice, took her out and got her drunk. Now look where we are.”

“I should never drink. I always do stupid shit when I drink, like sleep with my husband.”

The timer goes off and you cast your eyes downwards to the test in your hands.

“Oh fuck!” you panic “It’s positive.”

“It’s positive?” Nancy and Robin exclaim in tandem.

A heavy fist knocks at the bathroom door.

“What’s going on in there? I’ve got a diner full of hungry customers and no waitresses on the floor!” shouts the gruff voice.

“Hold your horses will you Hopper, Y/n isn’t feeling too good.” Nancy shouts back.

“I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute, Hop.” you chime, brushing the stray strands of hair away from your face.

“Well hurry up!” he grumbles.

“Are you okay?” Nancy asks, rubbing a gentle and reassuring hand over your back.

“Shhh..I’m coming up with an idea for a new pie.”

In your mind you can see the pie so perfectly. The golden crisp shell, with all its fillings and toppings.

“It’s called ‘I don’t want Billy’s baby’ pie.

“I’m not sure that’ll fit on the lunch-board.” Robin laughs.

“Okay, then I’ll call it ‘Bad-Baby’ pie. It’s a quiche, with smoked ham and sharp cheddar.”

The flaky pastry shell, filled with a savoury, cheesy, egg custard, pieces of salty smoked ham running through it. The sort of thing that would fly off the counters during a Sunday lunchtime rush.

Your mind was never not thinking of new and exciting flavour combinations, In a way it your way of expressing yourself. The ideas coming to you at odd times of the day. Sometimes sweet, and fruity, and sometimes tangy and savoury. No matter what pie it was that you made, it was always served with a smile, and enjoyed by the diner's patrons with an even bigger smile.

You sigh quietly as you hold your head in your hands. You were happy enough with how your life was going. You had a job that you loved, working alongside friends that you loved, and a husband who you were quite content to ignore to the best of your abilities. Two out of three ain’t so bad.

“There’s no way I’m going to be able to get away from Billy now.”

You sit beside Nancy and Robin on the bench outside the diner, a pie leftover from today’s dinner rush sitting wrapped up in cling-film on your lap.

“Are you going to tell him?” Nancy asks.

“I’m not sure.” you mumble, suddenly more interested in the dirt-scuffed marks on your white tennis shoes than thinking about how to tell Billy you were pregnant with a baby that you weren’t even sure that you wanted.

“In an ideal world I wouldn’t have to tell him. If I could get away from him somehow, he might not ever have to know.”

“Are you absolutely sure it’s his?” Robin asks carefully, trying not to force the implication of her question.

“Unfortunately yes. I’ve never cheated on him, it absolutely couldn’t be anybody else’s.”

“Here you are; married to this handsome man, you’re pregnant with his baby, anyone else might be happy, and yet neither of us would ever want to trade places with you for a second.” Nancy says.

“No I would not.” Robin agrees. “Well maybe there is one thing I would trade.” She starts.

“What’s that Rob?” you ask, turning to your friend.

“I would love to be able to make pies as good as yours.” she smiles, nudging her shoulder against yours.

“So what if I can make a decent pie. I’m still stuck in a marriage with a husband who I should never have gotten with in the first place.” You sigh.

When you had met Billy you’d both been too young and blinded by love. He was handsome, with soft blonde curls and devastatingly piercing blue eyes. He’d sweet talk you in-between classes, and he made you feel special, made you feel seen for the first time in a long time. Things had been great for a while, and marrying him felt like the logical next step in your relationship, but after that everything changed. He was no longer the man you once knew. Once he’d tied you down to him he stopped trying, so sure that you would never leave him. His words were often cruel and manipulative. Many times you had found yourself dreading leaving work, for fear of what might be waiting for you at home.

The sight of your husband’s Camarro pulls in front of the diner, the wheels crunching over the rocky gravel drive-way, and his horn blaring obnoxiously.

“Yeah, yeah, I can hear you.” you mutter to yourself, when he continues to blare his horn, thumping his fist against the steering wheel.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Nancy nods, bidding you goodbye.

“-and if you do decide to tell hi-” Robin whispers to you, but you cut her off with a ‘shh’ as Billy’s car rolls to a stop in front of you.

“Hey,” you smile, putting on your best brave face. “See you girls tomorrow” you wave goodbye as you make your way to his car.

“You getting in or what?” Billy's clipped tone comes from the driver’s seat.

The sounds of soft rock music filter from the car’s radio as he rattles down the dusty back roads.

“You don’t look too pleased to see me.” he grumbles. “You didn’t even give me a kiss or nothing.”

“I am pleased to see you.” you answer back.

“Well, where’s my hello kiss then?” he demands, taking a hand off the wheel to point at his cheek.

You lean over the centre console to quickly peck his cheek, the harsh scruff of his stubble feeling uncomfortably coarse against the press of your lips.

“That’s more like it.” he grins, satisfied to have gotten his way once more.

“Where’s the money you made today, huh?”

“Right here in my pocket.”

“Well then, what are you waiting for? Hand it over.”

You fish the notes from out of your pocket, handing them over to Billy reluctantly.

“Doesn’t feel like much there, now does it sweetheart?” His tone is snide as he takes the money from you and places it into his own shirt pocket.

“It was a slow day today, that’s all.”

“You’ve been having a lot of slow days recently, I’m not even sure it’s worth you working there anymore.” he scoffs. “Think I might prefer it if you stayed home and cooked me pies all day.” he smirks, his teeth pulling against his bottom lip as he chuckles to himself.

The quiet between you falls once more before he speaks again.

“Aren’t ‘ya going to ask me how my day was?”

“How was your day, Billy?”

“Oh you know how it is, the boss is busting my ass as usual, tellin’ me that i’m not putting in enough effort-” Billy launches into his spiel about how his day went, but it all blends into the background noise, his voice no more than mindless chatter to you as your mind is elsewhere.

Inventing a new pie.

I hate my husband pie, Bitter-sweet dark chocolate, in a crumbly dark chocolate crust, filled with a gooey, salted caramel-

“You’re not even listening to me.” Billy shouts out, taking you out of your happy place. “You never fuckin’ listen to me anymore.” he shoves your shoulder with a free hand.

“Well, aren’t you going to apologise to me?”

It’s pointless to argue with him. You know this. He knows it. And by god does he hold it over you every single time.

“I’m sorry, Billy. Sorry that I didn’t listen to you when you were telling me about your day.”

“See? Was that so hard?”

It’s late in the evening when you get back home, and both you and Billy are sitting at the kitchen table. Your hardly eaten dinner being pushed around by your fork. In contrast to the man opposite you, who hungrily forks up pieces of steak to his mouth.

You have something that you want to ask of him, but for that you know that he’s going to need sweetening up. You smile softly at him, as your hand reaches for his across the table.

“Baby, you’re always so sweet to me, you know that?” you tell him, your voice dripping with a sickeningly sweet, yet false, tone.

“You’re my girl, that’s why.” he says, the knife scratching along the china plate as he cuts himself another piece of steak.

“I was hoping I could borrow some money from you?” you ask sheepishly.

“..And my answer to that question is gonna be no.” he clips, his answer short and curt.

“There’s going to be a big pie bake-off out of state in a few months, and I really like to go.” you continue.

“I already said no.”

“The prize money is really good.” you add on, hoping the promise of bringing more money home might change his mind.

“What do you need money for, huh?” Billy barks out. “I give you everything, and you don’t want for nothing.”

“I don’t want for nothing, Billy.” you sigh. Your plan to get away from your husband starts to look bleaker by the minute.

“I mean why do you wanna go all the way across the state, when you’ve got me to take care of?”

“You’re right, Billy.” you shake your head with a sigh. “Forgive me for asking.”

Late into the night, with Billy heavily asleep in bed next to you, snoring loudly, you’re lying awake.

Quietly as you can you tiptoe out of bed, trying your best to not disturb the man next to you, you quietly pad over to where his shirt lay discarded on the bedroom floor.

Looking over your shoulder to where your husband lies undisturbed on the bed, you reach into his pocket to take back the money that you had earned from your shift at the diner that day. Taking the money to hide it away from him in a secure place that you hope he would never find it.

You sit nervously in the doctor’s waiting room. Another pie perched on your lap, ready to give to your doctor.

Your name is called by the receptionist and so you make your way through the door to the doctor’s surgery.

In strolls your Doctor, except, he isn’t your Doctor. This guy wasn’t Doctor Bloom. He had a bountiful bounce of shaggy brown hair that was slicked back. His tan skin peppered with a few golden freckles, a few of them clustering over the sloping bridge of his nose, and his hazel brown eyes seemed to sparkle under the cool white lights overhead. His white over-coat draped over his broad-shouldered frame as he sauntered towards you.

“Mrs. Hargrove is it?” he asks, looking over his clip-board of notes. “Oh and you’ve brought me a pie! How lovely!” he smiles, reaching to take the pie from your hands.

“This pie is for Doctor Bloom. I made it for her, it’s her favourite, peach and raspberry.”

“Well, Doctor Bloom retired a few months ago, and so, from now on I’ll be taking her place.”

“Well I really liked and trusted Doctor Bloom.” you sigh.

“Perhaps, you could really like, and trust me too.” he says earnestly, before offering a hand out to you. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Doctor Steve Harrington.”

You shake his hand and tell him your name in return.

“So, what seems to be the problem?” he asks, his voice a calming presence as he talks to you.

“Well, I seem to be pregnant.” you say plainly.

“That’s great! Congratulations!” He smiles broadly.

“Thank you, but I’m not as happy about it as everyone probably expects me to be, so if you could be sensitive and perhaps not congratulate me, I’d really appreciate it.”

He nods as he listens to you talk through your feelings.

“I’m having the baby,and that’s that. It’s not a party.”

“Alright, noted. Not a party.” he nods in understanding. “Okay, well then let’s do a blood test first, make sure that you really are pregnant, and then we’ll do some basic checks, diseases, hormone levels, stuff like that.” he explains.

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Alright then, the nurse will be with you in a moment, so don’t go anywhere.”

“Mrs. Hargrove, come in.” he says gesturing for you to make your way into his office. Doctor Bloom’s peach and raspberry pie is still in your hands as you step through the door.

“Y/n.” you remind him, hating the way your husband’s name tied you to him.

“Sorry about the mess, I haven’t really had the chance to tidy things up around here yet.” he offers apologetically, carefully moving a stack of papers off his cluttered desk.

“Well if you’re going to be my doctor from now on, then I guess this pie belongs to you.”

Steve graciously accepts the pie with a warm smile.

“Thank you very much.” he says, setting the pie down on the desk. “Well, uh, have a seat.”

You sit yourself down in the chair opposite him, ready to listen to what he has to tell you.

“The results of the blood test came back, and you’re definitely pregnant. So for the next eight months, I’ll be right here if you need me, any questions - I’m just a phone-call away. We’ll be monitoring your progress, keeping an eye on how things are going, making sure both you and baby are healthy. Did you have any questions for me?”

“What kind of questions?”

“Anything really, any concerns with regards to your pregnancy, some do’s and don’ts, lifestyle choices, exercise, sex..” he trails off, scribbling his pen down on a piece of paper.

“Oh well I don’t do much of either of those things.” you reply honestly.

“Okay, any diet concerns?”

You shake your head at him.

“Not really, I mean, it’s just a lot of healthy eating, right?”

“Yeah, just try to maintain a healthy diet, be careful around certain kinds of cheese and fish, here’s a list of foods I would try to avoid,” he says handing over a small piece of paper. “..and here is a prescription for some prenatal vitamins.”

Despite his nervous energy, something you’re putting down to meeting with a new patient for the first time, he seems sweet. Caring and attentive, and spoken with calming demeanour that immediately puts you at ease, and in the situation in which you find yourself, you are eternally grateful.

“Okay, thank you, Doctor.”

“It was nice to meet you, Y/n. I’d like to see you again in about three weeks.”

You leave the doctor’s office with a smile tugging at your lips and your worries put at ease by the calming influence of your new, handsome, kind and caring doctor.

@penguinsandpotterheads @paybacksawitch @mrsjellymunson @seatnights @ali-r3n

#Steve Harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x Female reader #Steve Harrington x reader series #Steve Harrington x Female Reader series #Steve Harrington fluff

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agentravensong · 8 months

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Hello fellow DeltaRune theorists! I have something special to share with you today: a compilation in Google Docs of all the ways darkness and dark worlds are tied to water in DeltaRune, aka, WATER THEORY! I'd been meaning to put something like this together for a while to be an easier resource to reference (hopefully) than the many-times-elaborated-upon tumblr post that spawned it, and I finally got around to it last week. I plan on adding to this document if and when any new connections are found; if you have any ideas of your own after reading the doc, feel free to send me an ask about it!

Shoutouts to @susielesbianism for making that original tumblr post, @halfbreadchaos for making the video that first got me thinking about these connections, and @abandoned-quiche for their many contributions to this theory + looking over the doc version before I made it public.

Also, if a video version of this theory would genuinely interest you, let me know! Maybe with enough encouragement I'll finally get around to it.

#deltarune #water theory #also shoutout to the acds for indirectly inspiring me to make this with the theory docs people have shared there

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spicesweet · 1 month

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good morning, girls ⋆˙⟡♡

brrrrr. it's actually cold. like cold-cold. forecast for tomorrow says it'll be hot again but today it's brr-brr cold. I'm hoping drinking my coffee will make me a little warmer because I'm so not in the mood to get all dressed up yet... I want to continue the illusion that I can wear shorts around the house all day!

in other news, next week will be my love's birthday + Easter combo, which means I'll really have to work out this following week because we're sure to indulge. we're the type who likes to celebrate by eating a lot lol and I'm planning on throwing him the best party ever with a chocolate mousse cake and a maddddd leek and spinach quiche, so I need to stay on track to a tee this week. and the next. and all the following ones, of course.

tomorrow we'll have the first lunar eclipse of 2024 in Libra, and I'm really excited to feel the checks and balances energy that will flow through us all and to reflect on the results of all the changes I've made in the past semester, which were so many: completely switched my professional path, cut ties with people I've known for years, revolutionized my relationship with food, my body and my health, basically remodelled my house... but considering that both yesterday and today I woke up reflecting a ton on the people I've cut ties with, I'm pretty sure this is the topic that will be front and center on my mind. I even wrote about it yesterday but left it on my drafts; I may post it later to mark the occasion.

happy Sunday, ladies, let's relax to the max ✧₊⁺

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archiveikemen · 8 months

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Harrison Gray Main Story: Chapter 5

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection. I do not own any of the original content. Please support CYBIRD by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

❥･• Warnings and FAQ

The sky was clear the day after I walked along the river Thames with Harrison.

Victor: Let me lay out the blanket… there. Come on, sit here, Kate.

Victor: Ellis over there. Elbert next to Kate. Mm-hmm, good.

Victor: Alrighty. Allow me to show you my specially prepared picnic lunch right away. Taa-daa!

Kate: Wow!

(Amazing. There's roasted lamb, spinach quiche, and… too many dishes to count.)

Victor had the sudden idea to have a picnic in the garden, so there we were.

The picnic was hosted by Victor himself, and the attendees were Ellis, Elbert, and me.

Although Ellis and Elbert were practically kidnapped by Victor to attend…

They allowed themselves to be easily swept along without resisting, making them easy targets for the pushy Queen’s Aide.

Ellis: So this is why I saw you walking around with large bags last night. I thought you had humans stuffed inside them.

Victor: Haha, no way! My motto is to not ask the servants for help with things I can do by myself.

(Hm… the conversation is getting rather ominous, but let’s not pay attention to that.)

Victor: Well then, let us all put out hands together. Hey, Ellis. You haven't said “thank you for the meal” yet.

Ellis: Thank you for the meal. … Nom, nom.

Victor: Mmm, my youngest is so adorable. That's enough, Elbert. You can admire the butterflies later.

Elbert: … Okay.

The sunlight shining gently on the three beautiful faces made the scene before me look like a painting.

Victor: Sorry, Kate. Come, you should eat up too. There's plenty of food to go around.

Kate: Thank you, Victor. I shall take up your offer.

(Wow… this is delicious.)

Meals were usually prepared by the castle’s servants and they were always delicious, but I’ve never had anything that tasted as exquisite as Victor’s packed lunch.

(As expected of the Queen’s Aide. He can do anything better than anyone else.)

While I was admiring him, I felt a light tap on my right shoulder.

(...?)

Elbert: … Is this rock beautiful?

Elbert picked up an ordinary looking pebble with his beautiful fingers.

(Um…)

Kate: Right… it looks like an ordinary pebble to me.

Kate: But if you think it’s beautiful, then perhaps it is?

Elbert: … I’m not reliable when it comes to determining something’s beauty.

(Did I make him feel dejected?)

I started to panic, and this time I felt a tap on my left shoulder.

(...?)

Ellis: Here, biscuit with blueberry jam. It’s my favourite food, so I thought you might like it too.

Kate: …? Thanks?

Ellis: … Mm, you’re welcome.

Victor: Come on now, let’s not bother Kate too much. Today’s picnic is a celebration for her, you know.

Kate: A celebration? My birthday is still quite far away, though…

Victor: It’s to celebrate you beating Harrison in his own game. You were given the ‘OK’ to stay by his side, no?

I realised that he planned this gathering after knowing the results of my game with Harrison.

Kate: Yes, that’s right. Although, I think that Harrison was reluctant to agree to it.

Victor: Reluctantly agreeing is alright too. I believe this is still much better than completely not having any type of relationship with him.

Victor: As long as you’re not at 0, it can turn into a 1 or even a 100.

(1 or 100, huh. Yeah, that's right.)

In my fairytale report, I wrote that Harrison “never leaves people in the lurch” and that his fox curse caused him to get distracted whenever there's someone next to him.

(I still don’t know much. I want to know more about Harrison.)

Kate: It’d be nice if Harrison were here…

Harrison: What, did you call for me?

Kate: AHH!

I turned to look in the direction of that voice, and saw Harrison standing there languidly with an aloof smile.

Victor: Wow! This is the first time you’ve ever shown up at a picnic. What on earth is going on?

Ellis: I invited him.

Victor: You?

Ellis: … Yeah. Kate, you talk to Harrison often, don’t you?

Ellis: I thought it’d make you happy if Harrison’s here.

Ellis’ eyes contained a deep and dark glint.

Ellis: Hey. How happy are you right now…?

Kate: Happy? Uh…

Harrison: Yeah, yeah. No need to take this guy’s questions seriously.

Harrison: Scoot over, Ellis. I want to sit here.

Harrison sat next to me, our shoulders touching.

Ignoring the main dishes, Harrison went straight for the dessert and started stuffing himself.

Victor: Harrison, these are my specially made muffins. I used plenty of butter and whipped cream—

Harrison: The person who made them doesn't matter. What’s important is whether they taste good.

Victor: You are so cold! But I love that about you too.

(... I see. Harrison’s only here for the sweets.)

(But why am I feeling disappointed?)

Harrison: Hey.

Harrison stopped eating and peered into my face while sitting next to me.

Harrison: Are you disappointed that I’m not here for you?

I was startled by his words that sounded like he read my mind.

(He’s probably popular because of how casually he just says such things, but I’m not falling for any of his tricks.)

I believed that I had learned my lesson very well, after being lied to and teased on multiple occasions.

Kate: I’d never feel disappointed over such a thing.

Harrison: Hmm.

Harrison: … Seriously, you’re terrible at lying.

Harrison chuckled and said “thank you for the meal” before standing up.

Ellis: Where are you going?

Harrison: Work.

(Is he going for a mission? But why during daytime?)

As I wondered about it, Victor’s beautiful lips lifted into a gentle smile.

Victor: Outside of carrying out Her Majesty’s orders, the members of Crown are allowed to have their own occupations as well.

Victor: For example, William and Elbert are nobles, so they govern their territories and manage their assets. Ah, if I’m not mistaken, Ellis is…

Ellis: I’m an assistant in Jude’s trading company. Basically, I’m like an errand runner.

Victor: And Harrison works as a proofreader for a publishing company.

Kate: What does he do as a proofreader?

Harrison: I help writers during the process before their work is published, doing things such as checking for typing errors and plot holes.

Harrison: Recently I’ve been working together with writers to brainstorm for tricks to be used in their mystery novels.

Kate: Wow… your existence must be very reassuring to writers.

Harrison: That’s outside of my job scope as a proofreader. Anyway, I’m going out to gather reference materials today.

If I learnt more about what Harrison did outside the castle, I might discover new things about him.

Kate: Um, Harrison. If you’re alright with it, can I accompany you to work?

Harrison: As long as you don’t bother me. Do as you please.

Kate: Thank you so much!

…

To look for the reference materials Harrison wanted, we visited a bookstore in Leadenhall Market.

Harrison: … Yeah, this one’s good. Hm? This too.

Harrison's mint coloured eyes sparkled with joy as he picked up a few books one after another.

Then, he turned his eyes to me…

Harrison: Hey, do you read books?

Kate: I think I kind of enjoy reading. Being in a bookstore is making me excited.

Harrison: Yeah. I get that feeling.

Kate: You must really love books to even have a job related to them.

Harrison: I wouldn't say that I love them, but they've always been a presence in my life.

Harrison: My father was a police officer, and my mother was a teacher. They were always at work, so I spent my childhood reading books on my own.

Harrison: Ah.

(...?)

Harrison: A new book by Arthur Conan Doyle. Wow, he released a new book again.

Harrison picked up a book and looked at it with interest.

Kate: Are you a fan of this author’s works?

Harrison: Yeah. I’m a fan of mystery novels in general, but I didn't like this author right from the start.

Harrison: There was this one line that made him my favourite author.

Kate: What is it…?

Harrison: “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth”.

Harrison: I can’t really explain it very well… I just think it’s a good line.

Harrison looked brilliant while talking to me about the things he likes.

The darkness that once reflected in Harrison’s eyes seemed to have vanished, and they were now shining brightly like sunlight.

(... Harrison is definitely not lying this time.)

As he spoke, it felt like I was seeing his true feelings. My lips naturally relaxed, but I tried to hide my smile.

I didn't want to spoil the moment, I wanted to listen to him voice his true feelings for as long as possible…

I desperately tried to act calm while sitting next to Harrison.

…

After visiting a few bookstores, the sun was already setting.

(He went to so many bookstores to look for reference material for writing…)

The shadows of Harrison and I carrying bags filled with books, stretched out on the ground.

Walking slightly behind me again today, Harrison’s muttering melted away into the sunset.

Harrison: … I’m glad you came with me today, you know.

I turned and looked back at him, feeling surprised by the unexpected words.

Under the crimson sky, Harrison gazed at me and his lips lifted into a smile.

Harrison: Because I have an extra pair of hands to help me carry bags.

Kate: … I figured. It is my honour to be of service.

Harrison: Don’t sulk. I told you that your smile is not bad, didn't I?

Despite our bickering, I knew deep down that he didn't mean it.

The books in the bag Harrison was carrying were much heavier than mine.

(He can be mean sometimes, not all the time. As usual, I can’t read him at all.)

It felt like I was solving a mystery.

As a fairytale writer, I started desperately trying to solve a mystery called “Harrison”.

…

Harrison: Liam. Are you not going to drink that strawberry milk? Give it to me, then.

Liam: Sure. Woah, you’re adding way too much sugar, Harry. Ugh, Just looking at it is enough to give me heartburn.

Harrison: Mm, delicious.

He was a huge fan of sweet food, and especially strawberry milk.

…

Jude: You’re reading a mystery novel again. Do you never get tired of them?

Harrison: I always end up reading what I like. Next time, lend me the book you’re reading.

Jude: If you pay for it.

Reading was his hobby, he especially enjoyed mystery novels.

…

Victor: And now, I shall show you a magic trick that will shock the entire world.

Liam: Wow— *clapping* Good luck, Victor.

Victor: Believe it or not, from this empty bag, I—

Harrison: You’re going to make it look like a dove, but pull out a piglet instead.

Victor: What was that for!?

Harrison: Who knows?

He was especially great at seeing through the tricks in Victor’s magic tricks.

And then…

…

(William told me to wake Harrison up…)

I knocked repeatedly on his room door, but there was no response.

(Oh, the door is slightly open. … It should fine for me to go inside, I guess.)

I went into his room.

≪ Setting: Harrison’s bedroom ≫

In the clean room, Harrison lay asleep on the pure white sheets on his bed.

(... This is the first time I’m seeing him look so defenceless. He looks much more youthful with his eyes closed.)

(W-What am I staring for? I have to hurry and wake him up—)

Harrison: You’re going to stare a hole into me if you keep that up.

Kate: Were you awake the entire time!?

Harrison: You thought I was asleep, so you stood there staring at me?

Harrison: … “What” were you trying to do by staring so hard at me?

Kate: Nothing in particular!

Harrison: Hmm?

He was also good at making my heart go crazy.

#ikemen villains #ikemen series #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #otome #ikevil main story #harrison main story

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freshlyrage · 4 months

Text

Running Like Water

Chapter 20

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: NSFW Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I'm bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

word count: 5.4k

a/n: I forget that the strip of time between midterms and finals is about A WEEK. So I have been manhandled and tossed around (not in a fun way) this semester. I finally have time to breath this break.

Please enjoy , this chapter is all love.

I have a surprise for you all soon.

Also, thank you @ficjoelispunk for the kind words about RLW, it inspired me to continue when I was in a rut because of finals. Thank you.

You overestimated how tired you were because you woke up with drool pooling at the corner of your mouth and the worst morning breath of 1986. The sheets were rustled and missing the body you clung to most of the night. Rolling your neck and stretching your limbs so tight you spasm a bit, you look over to the clock reading 1:15 pm. Yikes.

Yawning, for some reason. You slept for nearly 13 hours, there’s no reason for you to still feel-

Then, the loudest most earth shattering rumble from the pits of your belly shook your entire body.

“Well shit.” You mumble to yourself, pulling the covers up to conceal your breasts while you stretch over to the telephone on the nightstand. Eyes squinted you drag a manicured hand down the list of extensions for services. Maid service? Might as well.

Dialing the numbers you wait.

“Hi-Hello. Um could I please get um… whatever breakfast you have up to room 417.”

“Well we’ve got honeymoon eggs, croque madame, quiche Lorraine.” You roll your tongue against your cheek and smile to yourself.

“Could I just get scrambled eggs and a Belgian waffle. No syrup, just butter and uh...powdered sugar!” Your glance over to the space where Javier had been. “Get me beignets too actually.” Your lips quirking.

You pictured it so clearly, it was summer again and you were thirteen. There was a sheen of sweat on your forehead from biking uphill in 97 degree weather. Your brother and Genie up ahead talking about something important to them. Javi had been a few weeks from fifteen, the summer was ending. He paced with you every time you biked anywhere. I’m not laughing, he’d laugh as he waited for you to catch your breath at the new shop across town. It was rare for anything new to open up so the second your ragtag group got word of the bakery opening by the new 7/11, plans were made.

You remembered the air conditioning in the place being blasted so high you let out a joyful squeal when you walked in. Tall adults ahead of you in line covering the menu. Peering your neck to get a glance, getting frustrated at how packed the small bakery was. Guess they weren’t the only ones with a plan. Suddenly hands tuck under your arms and you’re being lifted. You gasp so loud your brother whips his head back in concern before breaking out into laughter while you’re held in the air by Javier. With your eyes blown wide and your stomach dangerously pitted, Javier grunts below you.

“A-alright make a decision I can’t hold you for so long.” He groans, “Although I know you’re just gonna order the beignets.”

You scoff and he puts you down. And he pays for an order of beignets, blowing powdered sugar in your face as you all sat and ate.

You wonder if he’ll remember when he comes back from his meeting. You’re giddy at the memory, the two of you were always sweet huh?

Well you feast and the housekeepers come in and strip the bed and dishes while you shower. You attempt to dress appropriately considering Javier hadn’t disclosed any details about what the day entailed. You opted for the orange ribbed tank top, a matching cardigan and a gray wrap skirt. And you knew how much Javier adored your hair wet in its natural state of waves so you hadn't bothered using the outdated hotel dryer.

Javier bursts into the room early at one pm, you're at the desk squinting into your compact. Removing the mascara that had spread to your lid. Rubbing your glossed lips in the meantime, watching him from your peripheral you could feel the stress expanding from him as he places his coat on the bed. Reluctantly you look at him as he rolls his neck, “Hi…” You croak, stupidly nervous suddenly. You can taste the bad mood. Your eyes avert and you open your compact again to look busy. He doesn't respond, just the sound of his shoes across the rug. Through the compact you see him crowd your chair and before you could look back at him he’s placing a kiss to your scalp. Closing your eyes to take in the gentleness your turn in your seat to look up at him as he’s hunched over, your palm closing on his cheek and kissing him tender.

“Hi.” he finally responds. Your eyes crinkle at their corners.

“I saved you something.” You kiss him again before reaching over for the plate of beignets. His eyes are bright and wide when he gets a glance.

“Jesus–thank you.” Setting the plate down, you stand, giving him your seat as you are done getting ready. He sits and grunts the second you attempt to give him space to eat, grabbing your waist and hauling you onto his lap. “Don’t you dare leave.”

You roll your eyes, picking up the doughy concoction and bring it to his lips with your hand cupped to catch the powder. Good thing you weren't wearing black. “Do you remember when we had these for the first time?”

Javi takes an aggressive bite and scrunches his brow before smiling as he chews. You liked to watch him eat, you think it had to do with the way his jaw strained, you desperately wanted to lick and kiss on his jawline. “Yes… There were so many people in that bakery. I remember that guy–”

“What guy?” Your brain starts indexing and filing the memory, you don't remember much after he picked you up you must have been in a blushing daze. Javier takes another bite.

Licking his lips, “The guy that elbowed you to get ahead in line– me and your brother flipped out on him–wait you don't remember?” He mumbles seems like something you’d remember, you pinch his arm with a laugh and it all comes back to you. You all had waited on the line and someone attempted to cut, elbowing your ribs in the process. You recall gasping and immediately gripping at your rib at the sudden bruise. Javi called the man some sort of dickhead while your brother asked if you were okay. Javier finishes the sweet, reaching around you to grab a napkin. “Thank you for saving me some but we have plans in 15 minutes.”

Your cheeks burn bright and you give him a small smile, “Oh do we?” You place a hand on his shoulder, dragging it down to his bicep. You watch goosebumps rise on the sliver of skin peeking from his shirt.

He grips at your waist playfully, “Yes we do. Now up–before I keep you trapped in this room all day.” He gives your behind a small spank, he mumbles, tempting me with that tiny skirt.

Javier doesn't tell you where he’s taking you. All you know is that it's walking distance from your lodging. He nods a tight lipped smile to a few colleagues in the halls of the hotel, his hand grip yours firmly. You knew he was protective of you before all of this, you hadn’t pictured he’d be this possessive in public. You absolutely adored it. You refrain from psycho analyzing your desire to be held and protected by your partner and opt to bask in the fleeting moment with your head leaning on his arm as you walk into the busy streets of New Orleans.

Javier wastes no time in using his left hand to fish for his sunglasses. Oh it was a gorgeous day, a rare breeze in June and jazz filling the air. You were beaming and walking ahead, dragging Javier with you. “Please tell me you’re taking me to the French Quarter, I’ve never been.” You drag him down the unfamiliar streets.

He chuckles, “We are but it’s actually that way.” His voice has a slight rasp to it, you wonder if he’s getting sick. He points and shifts his force, slightly pulling you closer to him as he crosses the street. The street off the Roosevelt wasn’t much, but to you it had been everything. You had been so used to the flat impossible to walk anywhere landscape of Florida and the too-small-for-its-own-good of your hometown that when you look up to see the buildings tall enough to block the sun you feel a wave of satisfaction. You were on vacation. You walk, taking in the streets, the architecture. The red brick sidewalks and the creole style buildings.

The colors so bright, your orange top matches a building you pass and you suddenly wish Javier took his camera. Javier eventually lets you go in the spirit of watching your wonder take control of your body. He watches every small bit of your reactions, he wants to tell you about the places he had been in those six years. Had you known he came down to New Orleans three times before, that he thought of bringing you here once already. His eyes crinkle at their corners when a woman carrying a small puppy in her hands stops to call you beautiful. Your face goes beet red as you thank her and ask to pet the tiny thing before she blesses you.

You look back at Javi, slowing to get to his side again. “That was the nicest thing to happen to me, ever.” You snake your hand into his and his chest fills with a warmth only you can provide. How scary is that?

“Well you do look beautiful, been watching you this whole time.” He admits, hold the shame-it’s just you. You smile a dimple deep grin and bring your conjoined hands to your lips, kissing him on the dorsal of his hand. Leaving your mark, your eyes flitting up. You gasp.

“We’re here oh my god!” ahead of you the time ceases to exist. The past in front of you, buildings gradually changing in style, some new in its classic Creole style and others chipping and rustic, the greenery. And so colorful. The sounds of street performers and parents positioning their kids for photos swarm you two. “We should pay one of those tourist photographers to take a picture of us.” You suggest,

Javi swallows thickly. He knew once he’s given the picture he’d carry it wherever he went, he imagines it taped onto his desk in Colombia. His chest aches at the idea.

He nods, and lets you drag him to a man with a large polaroid camera snapping a picture of an elderly couple. Javi checks his watch. He frowns, he had a plan for the two of you—it was important to him but he so desperately didn’t want to cut short the spark in your eye. You wait patiently with your hands behind your back and Javi thinks it’s the cutest shit ever. He places a palm right above your behind for attention, craning his neck to speak to you. “I told the man at Belle Form that we’d be there in 15 minutes.”

Your lips quirk in a little confused smile, your brows pulling together. “What’s that-“

“Does the lovely couple want a photo?” The man calls and Javi nods, taking your hand and walk the two of you in front of the pale yellow building, wrapping his arm around your waist. You blush furiously and lean your head against his chest. The man croons, lifting his camera to his eye. “Beau couple, bisous! Kiss! For the second one.” Your eyes widen but Javier doesn’t allow himself to think, he grabs your jaw and kisses you softly as the man snaps his second shot.

The two of you part and the man holds both images in his hand, letting his camera fall against his chest. He doesn’t shake it, Javi reaches his bulky pocket, fishing a ten from his wallet. “Keep the change, let’s go.” You smile at the man and take the pictures before Javier is hauling you along.

“God where are you taking me!” You exclaim, bringing the photos to the light, squinting to see the image slowly developing. Javier chuckles, his hand patting the box like shape in his pocket opposite his wallet, your brows pull together too curious to know what it is.

“I came to New Orleans by myself for work in 1982.” He states. It starts like all of his stories, sudden and straightforward. Your chest absolutely blooms, you loved kissing him, keeping him close but nothing came close to hearing stories about his life. Seeing things from his eyes. And maybe it had to do with the nights you spent in your dorm wondering just what he was doing at that moment. Over the bustling noises of Canal street. “I spent the whole weekend alone, I ended up at a museum. You know I expected paintings, maybe photographs—I hadn’t known that galleries displayed poetry in their exhibits.”

You frown, unsure where he’s going with the story. Something awful turns inside of you when you picture Javier alone in a place like this. You lean into him more as the two of you strolled. He continues. “My mother wouldn’t call herself a poet but she was. She came to America with just her poetry book and her copy of Twenty Love Songs and a Song of Despair. My mom was the biggest Neruda fan out there. And the exhibit had been an ode to Pablo Neruda.”

His eyes covered, they had been misty. He never got emotional over his mother, over the thought of her or the memory of her face. Instead every time he hears a poem he thinks of her, and for some reason that is what twists his insides. You look down at your feet, eyes glassy too.

“Anyway the gallery is called La Belle Form, it’s right up here.”

You give him a simple kiss to his shoulder and his tense form drops slightly. “So what exhibit are we seeing today?”

Javier chuckles, cutting the tension he created. Taking the photo from your hand, the small white border pinched between his thumb and pointer. His own cheeks redden at the sight of the two of you deep in a kiss. “We aren’t seeing their current exhibit.”

“Javier, it's been quite some time.” a man in a three piece suit opens the door to the dimly lit gallery. Your eyes widen and you look up to Javier, he had been here only once yet a local remembers him by name. The man looks late into his fifties, with dreadlocks pulled in a low ponytail with streaks of gray. He reminds you of a professor you had at Miami. The gallery is empty as you step in, only a few paintings hung and half written words stuck to the walls. Is this place even open?

The cold air from the air conditioning eases you though, the Louisiana heat was nothing to be played with. Javier holds your hand in his as you two follow behind the man before he stops in the middle of the studio. “I’m Edmond Marcel, this was my father's art gallery–I’m sure Javier here told you about how we met.” He glances at the brick wall of the man next to you.

You ignore his last bit and reach your hand out, “I’m Andrea Diaz, Javier’s girlfriend.” You wear the title with pride, you’ll entertain it for now, you know once you go home you could never use the thing. Edmond gives Javier an approving smile and shakes yours firmly. “This is beautiful real estate, my goodness.” It truly was, from outside it seemed like a small gallery but once you were inside the depth of the place went on, the ceilings high and there had been half walls creating canvases for exhibits.

Javier lets your hand go as you step closer to a wall with a painting of a man sitting on a stool cleaning his trumpet, attached to the wall was a shelf with two headsets and a cassette player. Just above the shelf is a label, Excerpt from L’il Liza Jane, 1916. Your eyes go wide at the date and you look back at Edmond, pointing at the display asking for permission with just the wonder in your eyes. He lets out a hearty laugh, “I’m still working on the curation for this exhibit, feel free to explore while I set up in the back. Keep her entertained.” He pushes Javier’s shoulder and walks off.

You stay in silence until you hear a room door shut from around the corner. Your eyes snap to Javier once it's safe, “Okay– how do you know this super cool old man.” You whisper, taking a few steps, your gaze meeting a drawing of Nina Simone. Javi laughs, slinging his arm over your shoulders while the two of you observe the beautiful penmanship of the all smudge ink drawing of the singer.

“I told you I visited his gallery four years ago.” He rubs his hand up and down your arm, he could always tell when you were getting cold. You had just been thanking the gods for the cool air of the museum but you chilled easier than a gold diggers heart. Your lips still purse in confusion, it just doesn't make sense. You could name 40 places you've been to in the past year and you doubt any of the workers could remember who you were.

“So you met him once and he's willing to open his place up for you.”

“Kind of– it isn't just that-”

“Romeo and Juliet, come back here.” Edmond calls from an unknown corner. Your brows pull even tighter and Javier sets off a pleased look at the announcement before taking your hand and bringing you to the back office where Edmond yelled from. You have a small smile on your bemused face, your eyes fall to half finished paintings and sculptures propped before you're at the doorway of an art studio. Edmond blocks any view with his eyes glancing down at his watch. The two of you stand in front of the man hand in hand. “I’ll be removing some vinyl lettering from the last exhibit by the Alyce Frank painting, be gentle, don’t mess with the prints. Getting reprints is expensive and it's just me, when you're done leave them there. I’ll clean them up.” He nods, giving me a smile and Javier a nod again, squeezing his shoulder and leaving once again.

The room is lit warm, open shelves and dividers holding older art line the walls. The walls painted a light gray. The rooms huge, years and years of work so meticulously separated and protected in the cases and shelves. But in the middle of the room lies a table. Your brows furrow as you approach the cluttered area. Your eyes straining to read the prints, your heart skipping a beat when you notice each print signed off the same.

Neruda

Neruda.

Your brain doesn't catch up with your heart, your body is on autopilot as you sit yourself on the stool. Your finger traces along the multiple poems laid out, the photos of him, his home, a tomb that isn't his. In the direct center is a case of pens. It was the exhibit Javier had seen all those years ago, maybe it wasn't everything but god were there a lot of poems on that table. Your eyes fall on a watercolor painting of a blue and red home.

“I was only 20 when I came here. I was miserable the entire week, I didn't find enjoyment in sight seeing if no one was there to see it with me.” You listen to Javier speak from behind you, you listen with emotion crawling in your throat but you also read.

So on the coast comes to light,

out of seething shadow, the harsh dawn,

gnawed at by the moving salt,

swept clean by the mass of night,

bloodstained in its sea-washed crater.

He knows you, he knows your silence is an invitation for more, “I strangely thought about my mother the entire week I was here. It probably had to do with all of the history, the culture, the folklore that surrounded this city. It was–it seemed like somewhere she’d run off to.” He admits. It's the first time you hear a hope in his voice, a small wish that maybe he'd run into his mother. You chew onto the inside of your lip to hide the tears that threatened to fall. He was just like you, wasn't he? “I thought of you too. At that point when I was in Houston, surrounded by work and Lorraine, I had tried to bury any thought of home. But I came here, alone and I guess it hit me.”

The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.

My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.

I love what I do not have. You are so far.

My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.

But night comes and starts to sing to me.

“Anyway I ended up here, and seeing the exhibit just set me off. It was after–”

Your eyes fall to the image of the tombstone, a poem engraved in spanish. “Pure your gentle name” You whisper, low enough for you to hear but you know he heard you because he sucks in a shaky breath. You read the rest in a whisper, translating in english because you had seen it before. You know it sat framed next to the bowl where the car keys went in the Peña house.

Pure your gentle name, pure your fragile life,

bees, shadows, fire, snow, silence and foam,

combined with steel and wire and

pollen to make up your firm

and delicate being.

“My father gifted my mother a poetry book with that poem engraved in it. He gave it to her in the hospital the day I was born. She took it with her when she left, my dad has a copy of it framed. The image of the grave was next to a painting of Tina Modotti. I cried for the first time in a long time in the bathroom.” You don't dare turn to look at him because you could hear the nerves in his voice and that alone is setting you a fine line of sobs of devastation and adoration. “Edmond found me in the bathroom and you know me–I don't just open to everybody but the second he asked me if I was alright…” Javier chuckles to hide a sniffle. “Ya tu sabes, I told him everything. About my mom, about my dad… about you.”

“Me?” You whisper to yourself, Javier grumbles from behind you and finally moves to sit with you. Hurriedly you wipe your eyes, strangely, yet so him… he holds your hand. Rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. “Was he-did he-”

“His father died during his fifteenth year of being a therapist, so he had useful advice to say the least.” His hand moves to the image of the tombstone, dragging in front of both of you. “I told him that this poem gave me bad memories, remembering when she left and how I tore the house apart looking for her poetry book and my dad found me in all that clutter– I was a mess.” You leaned your head on his shoulder, the small bits of his story came in slowly but you were all ears. A hand wrapped around his bicep for comfort. Javiers free hand comes up to pinch the bridge of his nose, a choke itching in his throat. Another sniffle and you could feel the embarrassment illuminating off him, you spared him a glance and thumb his arm again. “Sorry-I don’t know why–”

Your brows furrow, eyes watery. “Don’t apologize to me–is it why you stayed in contact with Edmond? Because of your moment in the bathroom?” You ask, steering him away from the direct thought of his childhood and you could feel the relief. Baby steps, you don’t need it all. You’re just so glad he’s opening up.

Brushing a tear that got caught in his mustache, he begins again. “He just listened and asked my permission—he asked if it was okay for him to give me advice which was appreciated. He told me to give it new meaning, to remember it as my mothers but also to remember it as the love from my father. Remind myself that he gave her the book out of love for her, out of appreciation for carrying his child. Out of love for me.” Javi exhaled a laugh, “Shit, I went straight to the print shop and framed the poem when I got to Houston and then I wrote my dad a note about my conversation and sent him his own framed poem. Who knew a little therapy was all I needed.”

You screw your eyes shut in a cackle that echoed the room, rubbing your eyes clean of tears. You haven't had many people who cared enough to tell you beautiful tales of their life, you’ll take Javi’s broken stories any time. You looked around again, reality setting in. Javier Peña had an entire art gallery archive pulled for you– just for your date, he had been so grumpy all day and last night when you teased him about his gift probably because he was anxious for your reaction to him opening his heart out in front of you. It was the most romantic gift you've ever received.

It’s him who makes you feel the most loved and he hasn’t even said the words yet. Maybe it’s you who must say it first.

“Javier Peña, you're a romantic.” Is all you can manage to say, you say it with a smirk on your lips nonetheless. Gaze flitting up to him as his lips turn upwards beneath that mustache of his. Eyes narrowing in a failed attempt to keep a straight face but they crinkle and shine beneath.

“Don’t tell anyone, it’ll ruin my reputation.” He mumbles and you roll your eyes, slinging your arms over his shoulders and kissing him deep. Soft lips against yours and that so familiar manly feeling his mustache tickling your nose. He smiles between the kiss, slipping a risqué tongue. Pressing so hard you nearly tip off the stool. “Tan bella, Andrea, perfect.” He murmurs as you part, your lips raw from the make out intermission. Dizzy, light headed, you lean your head on his shoulder once more and take in the place around you.

All soft light and all his personal history. And selfishly for a moment you envied him for knowing his mother enough to miss. You suddenly felt so silly for crying until you slept over someone who offered you nothing to miss. You want to pinch yourself to reprimand the silliness of it. Andrea, don’t you know you aren’t the only girl to have a dad up and leave? Why does your world have to end?

“I was having what seemed to be a panic attack when I called you Thursday night.” Javier admits in hushed tones, like someone was in the room other than you. Like he’s ashamed to be so vulnerable. “I had this date planned in my head after the night you begged me to be honest with you, when you walked in on me reading the details for this trip. I planned the whole weekend out just for us before I ever offered. I was a little nervous to ask you, figured you’d tell me I’m crazy and that the risk was too high.”

The crease between your brow deepens, “I’ll always say yes to you.” You whisper like a prayer, a promise.

He mumbles an, I know, “When your brother came over to talk to me about you, about your grandmother and the possibility of you seeing your father in New Orleans I panicked. I had this full body ache of knowing I needed to be there for you when you see them and a weird chest spasm when I thought of it going wrong, then you cried on the phone and told me all you wanted was a family.” He says the last part fragile, gentle and pure. Like him repeating it pains him just as much as you. Yet you feel embarrassment more than pain, embarrassed to have been so desperate and needy that night, and sure you felt it deep in your bones but verbalizing it to someone else—fuck did that make your cheeks heat.

You grimace, trying to conceal the genuine heart ache you felt hearing him recall that night. You offer nothing to say, afraid of speaking and breaking down on your first date with the boy you’ve dreamt of being with.

He spares you, shuffling in his seat, causing for you to sit straight as he fished in his pocket. While attempting to pull a box from his denim he talks, “But then I thought about how I had this planned—that it might help with what you might be feeling—fuck hold on.” He stands and digs his hands entirely into his trousers.

He pulls out a tiny box, your heart nearly falls until you realize it’s far too thin to be what you wanted deep inside—you abandon that thought. Not now, too soon. He sits again, and fully turns to you as the box lays unopened on the image of his mother’s favorite poem. “I told you on the phone that I was your family. Andrea, I really mean it. No matter what happens tomorrow—you are meeting them with a family and you’re leaving with one too.” He pats the box. And you tear your eyes away from him as they begin to well.

Your shaking hands fumbling for the box.

Thumbnail slipped under its lid to delicately open the thing. And your heart swells beyond its capacity, “Oh Javi.” You whisper, there sitting on a reprint of Neruda is a box with interior engraving.

Pure your gentle name, pure your fragile life,

bees, shadows, fire, snow, silence and foam,

combined with steel and wire and

pollen to make up your firm

and delicate being.

And sat so perfectly in the box were a pair of earrings. Small gold bees, its wings spread and instead of a striped abdomen and stinger, in its place sat a red stone carved in a perfect shape for the little insect. Your heart is going wild, so filled with love and appreciation. You wondered if this was real, if he was real? Will this end with, and it was all a dream? Will I wake up alone again?

“Is-is that my birthstone?”

Javier nods, “I had it made on Tuesday when you saw me in the grocery store, I got nervous because the gift bag was in my hand.”

You chuckle between tears, your hands reaching to remove the bees from its plush purple hive. “I didn’t notice—Javi-“

“I gifted my dad the poem to show him appreciation for being my family. You’re the only person in my family missing an heirloom. So that every time you wear it you’re reminded that you have a family.”

Your brows quirk as you break out into tears, placing the jewelry back in its place and attacking your perfect boyfriend, your family, the hardest most aggressive kiss of all time. Nearly knocking him clear off his seat, you press into him so tightly you could feel his heart race against yours. And the kiss is all teeth and passion and frankly too charged for an art museum but you couldn’t care. You loved him so much, you cried hard like you’ve just been proposed to. Somehow this beats that fantasy.

And so unlike Javier who tried to keep his serious manly face when you were this eager, he smiles and chuckles against your thankful, thankful lips. Parting for a breath you realize there had been tears from him too, with blurred eyes his thumb finds your cheek and like always he pushes away his own tears to clean up yours. His own cheeks wet, he thumbs your tears dry. No longer do they have to dry on their own. You couldn’t do this anymore, you cannot bear not telling him.

“Javi— I lo-“

“My goodness did I just interrupt a proposal!” Edmond enters the room with a gasp, his eyes bouncing from a jewelry box, a pile of Neruda poems and a teary eyed couple inches from devouring each other whole.

Javier looks at you with an embarrassed smirk, his cheeks burning up under your own hand as you quickly wipe away his tears too.

"Actually this is our first date."

#javier peña #javier peña x ofc #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier peña smut #ao3 #fanfic #javier peña narcos #javier pena x reader

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ktarsims · 4 months

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Life Updates and Such...

Soooo.... many things! At the moment, I've finally pulled myself somewhat out of the doldrums caused by lack-of-job + job-search-sucks and am making all the preparations for celebrating the end of this year and the start of a new one.

I think I've binged something like 30+ anime series in the last month or so, along with reading many many books.

Today, I've finally got some bots working in the Creator's Cave discord, to make things a bit easier there. There are more updates I still need to do, but it's a start.

My hope for this week, is that in addition to my preparations for New Year's, I'll be able to actually finish my project of turning some of my flower photos into TS3 art. No promises, but I'm hopeful.

Below the cut, for the curious or nosy, the menu and preparations for New Year's.

Before anyone starts to wonder... two of the friends coming to my place for New Year's are really really into Pumpkin, so this is reflected here. Yes, this is probably too much food and drink for... 6 people, but hey... leftovers.

**Food** 1 frozen lasagna, family size 1 batch homemade mac&cheese (made by not me) Cheeses! (Extra sharp white cheddar, brie, various spreadables, 3 varieties of goat cheese) Crackers! (Ritz garlic butter, rosemary flatbread, 5 other assorted) Meats! (Summer sausage, dry salame, fig salame) Tea Sandwiches! (Cream cheese + smoke salmon or cucumber or jam) Scones! (I plan to make at least 3 varieties, but haven't yet decided which.) Oven ready appetizers! (Takoyaki, bagel bites, baked potato skins, loaded tater tots, mini quiches, mozzarella sticks, and more.) Shrimp Cocktail platter Veggie Platter Sweet Maui Onion potato chips Homemade snack mix (Corn Chex, Rice Chex, Pretzels, Cashews, Pistachios, white cheddar cheeze-its, white cheddar cheese puffs)

**Sweets** Pumpkin Spice Twinkies Iced Pumpkin Cupcakes (this is also hostess brand) Yackwa Korean donuts (gift from a neighbor) Assorted flavors of KitKats Pumpkin Pie yogurt covered pretzels Butter Rum Crunch popcorn Bourbon Crunch popcorn Milk Chocolate cherry cordials Other assorted chocolates

**Non-Alcoholic Drinks** Five different flavors of Martinellis sparkling cider Pumpkin Spice cold brewed tea (caffeinated) Pumpkin Creme Rooibos cold brew tea (herbal) Pumpkin Pie cold brew tea (herbal) Various Gatorade

**Alcoholic Drinks** 'Strong Mead' from a cider festival (gift from friend) Expensive bottle of Sake 'Demon Slayer' 1 bottle Louis Perrier Champagne for ringing in the new year Berenjaeger Green Apple Sake Peach Sake Umeshu Plum Wine Matcha Plum Wine (I'm really curious about this one) Butterscotch Shnapps Pumpkin hard Cider Dark Chocolate Cherry Moonshine Eggo Brunch Sippin' Cream A cupboard full of other assorted things that probably won't be looked at.

#non sims #nonsims #personal #life updates #new years is the only holiday we really celebrate much #and I'm so ready for this year to be over #I've been acquiring supplies for NYE for a month already at least #it's also the one day each year we throw out our alcohol limitations #mostly the friends who come over just plan to crash overnight and go home the next day

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homerforsure · 1 year

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Okay so for April's writing prompt in the 911 discord server, we had Buck & Chim — Buckley-Han Family on a Spring Day and this spilled out of my brain. It is deeply silly, but I tried!

Operation Easter Bunny

If Buck knew he was going to be reduced to bending forward and trying to ring the doorbell with his nose, he would have told Chimney to pick up his own damn takeout. His arms wrapped around three (three!) enormous, heavy, paper bags, one of which was almost definitely leaking something delicious all over the front of him. With his own bag in his hand, he couldn’t get even a finger free to push the button without risking everything toppling over, so Buck clutched everything tightly to his chest and leaned in, just managing to hit the doorbell with his face.

“Ow,” he said, wrinkling his nose as the pleasant chime rang out inside the house (one of four dozen rotating sounds available on the doorbell that Maddie and Chimney had picked out. Buck had never imagined the sheer number of decisions that would be involved in refinishing a house. Doorbell sounds!) and standing up straight again…

Only to find Chimney already standing in the open door with a smirk on his face.

“Dick.”

“What’s the password?” Chimney asked.

“Let me in before I drop your egg rolls,” Buck groused.

Chimney laughed, but he pushed open the screen door wide enough that Buck could catch it with his shoulder and make his way inside.

“You could have just made two trips.”

“I’m efficient.”

“That’s one word for it,” Chimney said. He reached out and grabbed one of the heavy bags from Buck’s arms and led the way to the kitchen. “Look out for baby debris. I put most of it away, but I think it spawns.”

Picking his way carefully through the house, keeping an eye out for Jee’s toys (and for random shoes, her new favorite toys), Buck followed after Chimney. Groaning dramatically as he finally set his bags on the counter, he said, “What did you even order all of this for? I thought the whole idea was that Maddie and Jee were going to be out all day.” There was nothing on his shirt, thankfully. Whatever moisture he thought he’d felt must have just been condensation from the hot containers inside. He set his other bag, a present for Jee, on the counter with the others and made a mental note to hide it before Maddie got home.

“You’re kidding, right?” Chimney replied, pulling plates and forks out of his cupboards. It took a few false starts before he got them. He and Maddie hadn’t quite settled on a home for the dishes yet. Except for the wine glasses. They’d needed those to be in easy reach throughout the whole process. “I’m not risking my life by ordering from your sister’s favorite Chinese place and not getting enough leftovers for her.”

“Yeah, but, this is like… leftovers for six.”

“Well, I invited a human garbage disposal over for lunch so I thought I’d err on the side of caution,” Chimney said, pressing a plate into Buck’s chest. “Load up, Uncle Buck. We’ve got a big project ahead of us.”

Right, the project or Operation Easter Bunny as Chimney had taken to calling it in the family group chat. With Jee-Yun officially old enough to hunt down easter eggs, Maddie and Chimney were excited to start the first of many traditions in their new house. Buck was pretty sure there was a little more to it than that for Maddie, who was still hesitant about overly formal, overly perfect holiday plans, but who also held tight to every first she still got to have with Jee and Chimney just wanted to make sure that both of them had a perfect day.

“So no pressure,” Buck had said, looking skeptically between the two of them at a dinner in mid-March.

“None at all.”

“Why would there be pressure?”

Still, one thing had led to another and soon they were staring down Easter weekend without a single Peep or chocolate rabbit purchased and with the homemade family brunch Maddie had been talking about rapidly devolving into a store-bought quiche and microwave bacon. She put a few window clings up and tried to get an Easter basket started, but with an inquisitive toddler underfoot, it was proving impossible.

“I’ll take care of it,” Chimney had promised when he found the two of them buried in biodegradable easter grass and Jee’s basket barely hidden from her under a quilt. And on Saturday morning, he’d called Buck.

“I did the basket after they left,” he said as he and Buck piled their plates high and each grabbed a beer from the fridge. “So that’s in the top of our closet and hopefully she doesn’t find her way in there while we’re sleeping.

“Or learn how to use a ladder,” Buck added.

“Hey do not think about teaching her that. The stairs are bad enough.” Jerking his head toward the back door, Chimney said, “I’ve got the rest of the stuff out here. It was the only place I could think to hide it.”

Buck was about to ask if Chimney was living with a toddler or a secret agent, but the question was quickly overwhelmed by a dozen others when they stepped out onto the patio. “Whoa,” was all he could manage to say.

An uncountable number of easter eggs spilled out of plastic bags on and around the new picnic table that Buck and Eddie had just helped Chimney move in the previous weekend. Giant ones, mini ones, sparkling ones, and neon ones. There were other bags too, filled with vanilla wafers and veggie straws and other baby-safe snacks that Buck could only assume they were going to use to fill the eggs.

“Did Maddie really want us to fill all of these?”

“What do you mean? She bought all of them. Of course she wants us to fill them. I was thinking Divide and Conquer,” Chimney said, finding a mostly empty spot to set his plate down in. “You can fill them and I’ll hide them around the yard.”

“Uh, are you sure the yard is big enough?”

As if thinking about it for the first time, Chimney took in the pile of eggs and the spring green of the backyard and tilted his head. “Maybe we’ll put some in the front too. I’ll text Maddie and tell her to pull Jee’s hat over her eyes before she brings her in from the car.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Pipe down and get to work, Buckley. We don’t have much time.”

The order had a hint of Interim Captain Han about it so Buck didn’t bother to argue. He grabbed a bag of eggs so he had a place to put his own plate and then got to work.

Two hours later, the patio was more of a mess than they started and Buck’s fingers were nicked from getting caught in a dozen slightly deformed plastic eggs that didn’t want to stay closed. The yard was more egg than lawn and Chimney still had two buckets of filled eggs that had to go somewhere.

“You think I can hang some from the trees?” he asked, staring at the pile and the four eggs he was already holding in his hands with dismay. “She can see them up there, right?”

“Not unless you want me to teach her how to use a ladder.”

“This is too many eggs. What was Maddie thinking?”

“Don’t ask me. You’re the one living with her,” Buck replied, around a mouthful of wafer.

The sound of a car pulling in the driveway brought an expression of panic to Chimney’s face and he started trying to shove the eggs into his pockets and down his shirt. “No! No, no, no. She wasn’t supposed to be back until six!”

“It’s six-fifteen.”

“Hide these!” Chimney shouted, picking up the buckets and shoving them at Buck. Eggs shook free as he did, falling to the cement patio and splitting open, scattering cookies and candy everywhere.

“Hide them where?” Buck asked. “You used up all the lawn!”

“Anywhere!”

“We’re home!” Maddie’s cheerful voice called from inside the house. “Someone saw Uncle Buck’s truck in the street and can’t wait to say hi!”

“Uh, Uncle Buck went home!” Chimney called back as Buck held up his hands and the buckets in a “come on” gesture. “He had to walk because he got very very drunk, but he’ll be back tomorrow. So there’s no reason to come out to the yard!”

“Howie?”

“I’m not here either!” Chimney shouted. “Daddy’s on vacation. No toddlers allowed. No. Stop! Don’t look!”

He flung his arms and legs out wide like a starfish and planted himself in front of the back door, eggs falling out of his clothes as he did.

“You went on vacation without me?” Maddie asked, appearing in the doorway without a baby on her hip.

Chimney deflated, dropping his arms, “Where’s Jee-Yun?”

“Trying on your slippers in the living room. What’s happening out here?”

“I think I’m getting easter egg elbow,” Buck answered. “Is that a thing?”

“It’s not a thing,” Chimney said.

“Are those-” Maddie frowned, opening the door to join them on the patio and get a better look at the yard. “Did you hide all of those eggs?”

With a sad sigh, Chimney said, “No. Not even close. Maddie, I know you wanted to make this special, but there’s just no way we can hide them all. We’d have to spread them out all over the whole neighborhood and you know I’d do that, but I just don’t think Jee’s got the attention span to-” He stopped, noticing the way that Maddie bit her lip to keep a smile from escaping and then looked again at the mess he and Buck had made of the yard.

“You didn’t actually want us to fill all of them, did you?”

Maddie shook her head and said, “They were on sale. I thought we could use some next year and some of them are always broken and, I don’t know. They were really cute. I didn’t want to choose.”

Coming in closer so she could take Chimney’s face in her hands and plant a kiss on his lips, Maddie added, “But I love how much you love our daughter. We are both so unbelievably lucky to have you.”

“I’m lucky to have you too.”

“Okay, but what do we do with,” Buck lifted the buckets again. “All this? Because I don’t really think they’ll keep until next Easter.”

With a shrug, Maddie said, “Take them to work? I’m supposed to bring something for the dispatch pot luck anyway.”

“I’m sure Cap will be thrilled if I hide some of these on the engine.”

“Hey, it could come in handy,” Buck said, cracking open a yellow one and eating another cookie, somehow without dropping either of the buckets. “Having a stash like this on back to back calls. It’s better than protein bars.”

The smile Chimney gave him meant nothing good for Buck as he pulled the few remaining eggs out of his pockets and dropped them in the buckets that Buck was holding and said, “That’s a great idea. Why don’t you gather all these up so we can take them in? Just leave like one or two dozen for Jee to find in the morning.”

“Hey wait-”

“Did you get extra Chinese food for me?” Maddie asked.

“Please, have I ever let you down before?” Chimney replied.

“Guys!”

The screen door slammed shut over the rest of Buck’s protests and he sighed as another egg rolled off into the grass.

“They are on their own for Halloween,” he huffed to himself, grabbing another egg to munch on.

#911 fic #9-1-1 discord: writing challenge #allison writes

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