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teapartyprincess4two · 1 month

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Parenthood- M. Sturniolo

pairing: Mom!reader x Dad!Matt

classification: SFW & NSFW headcannons

inspiration: request

warnings: some 18+ content, use of Y/n, established relationship, I didn’t name the children but Matt has a son and a daughter in this 👍🏻

summary: head cannons of dad!Matt.

Parenthood- C. Sturniolo (Chris’s Version)

—

☆SFW

From the moment Matt met you, he knew he wanted you to be the mother of his children. Both of your children were received with so much love and joy, but Matt still had to learn how to navigate being a boy dad and a girl dad.

☆ Your firstborn is a boy and Matt can’t contain the excitement he feels when he first finds out.

☆ He’s overprotective of you throughout the entire pregnancy, ready to take care of your every need.

☆ Your son is hyper, rambunctious, curious and a force to be reckoned with. He barges into the room with so much energy balled up into his small figure that he’s bouncing off the walls.

☆ When your daughter is born, she’s the complete opposite of your son. She’s calm, quiet, and docile.

☆ It takes Matt some time to adjust to having a baby girl, but as soon as he gets in the groove of it he can’t remember what life was like before having a daughter.

☆ Matt’s playing soccer outside with your son, playing pirates, boxing, and building elaborate Lego sets with him.

☆ “No dad! We’re pirates! We have to steal all the gold!” your son explains, adjusting his make-shift eyepatch.

☆ “I thought we were ninjas?!” Matt’s out of breath, running after a fast toddler was extremely tiring.

☆ “No! We just beat the ninjas! They tried sneaking onto the ship, remember?” Your son’s imagination was too fast for Matt to keep up with.

☆ “Argh matey,” Matt replies, ready to continue with the game.

☆ But when your daughter wants attention he’s playing dress up, attending a tea party, getting his nails and makeup done, and talking to all her stuffed animals.

☆ “Daddy Miss Twinkle is mad at you for eating her cookies!” your daughter whispers, almost like she’s gossiping.

☆ Matt has lost track over which stuffed animal is which, but he’s assuming Miss Twinkle is the unicorn across from him.

☆ “I’m sorry Miss Twinkle,” he apologizes, shaking the toy’s hand.

☆ “Dad that was Lady Unicorn. Miss Twinkle is the teddy bear in the pink dress,” your daughter slaps her forehead. “Oops,” he laughs, taking a fake sip of tea.

☆ Matt has learned to be silly, fatherhood softening him and allowing him to abandon all embarrassment.

☆ “What are you wearing?” you laugh, Matt’s serious face adding to the comedy of the situation.

☆ He’s fully decked out in a pizza costume, trying to make your children laugh. “I’m a piece of pizza,” he replies goofily, putting on his best Italian accent.

☆ “You’re so silly daddy,” your son giggles. In his eyes, Matt is the funniest person on the planet.

☆ Your daughter is not as amused, but she smiles nonetheless.

☆ Matt loves doing domestic things with his little family. He’ll randomly pull out a baking sheet, all the ingredients to make cookies, and throw on an apron.

☆ “You’re doing so good, baby,” he coos, watching as your daughter throws an entire, uncracked egg into the mixing bowl. He wasn’t going to use that batch, but the words of encouragement have her smiling.

☆ Children fight all the time, especially when they’re siblings, and your kids are no exception. The year age gap doesn’t help either, so you’ll often find your kids bickering over the smallest things.

☆ “It’s not your turn to play, though!” your son attempts to reason, yanking the controller out of his sisters hands.

☆ “You played all day bozo!” she replies, sticking her tongue out at him.

☆ Matt hears the fight from his room, reluctantly getting up from his comfortable spot on his bed and walking over to where his children are.

☆ “What’s going on?” he asks, arms crossed and a displeased look etched on his face.

☆ “She’s being so annoying, dad!” your son exclaims, and before Matt knows it his kids are pushing, slapping, and punching each other.

☆ “HEY! BEHAVE!” Matt pulls them off of each other, scolding them both without favoritism. He goes on to lecture them about the importance of siblings and doesn’t leave until they hug and make up.

☆ Matt’s entire camera roll is filled with videos and pictures of his kids. Kindergarten ceremonies, family vacations, first haircuts, candid photos; all of it is being documented by Matt at all times.

☆ If he’s ever away from home for a long time, he’s scrolling through his gallery and reminiscing on all his memories with his babies.

☆ Your son is obsessed with video games, something that he and Matt bond over. And although your daughter isn’t as invested, she’s still really good at them.

☆ Mortal Kombat is a game they all play and enjoy together.

☆ “Move over and watch the queen play,” your daughter jokes, taking the controller from Matt after watching him lose time and time again to her brother.

☆ “Yeah, you wish you could beat me,” your son scoffs, readying up for another round.

☆ Your daughter chooses a girly character, which has your son rolling his eyes, but as soon as the round begins he can’t get a single hit in.

☆ Matt is in shock at her level of expertise, she was using combos he didn’t even know about.

☆ “Okay my turn against you, babygirl,” Matt takes the controller from his son, ready to play all night long if he has to.

☆ Having teenagers is hard and tiring, Matt feels like he ages 10 years in just one day with the amount of stress his kids cause him.

☆ Your daughter’s brain is suddenly occupied with nothing but boys and your son is starting to take girls on dates.

☆ “That skirt is too short,” you warn your daughter.

☆ “It is not,” she fights back, genuinely finding nothing wrong with her provocative outfit.

☆ Matt doesn’t have to say anything, one stern look has her trudging back upstairs to change.

☆ “Dad can I borrow the car?” your son asks nervously, avoiding Matt’s eyes at all costs.

☆ “For?” Matt’s not stupid, he knows what teenagers do.

☆ “Nothing, just hanging with some friends,” your son replies, but it doesn’t take long for Matt to get the truth out of him.

☆ Overall, fatherhood has been extremely rewarding for Matt. He sees it in the way his children love and look out for each other and what a great mom you are.

☆ “I love you guys so much,” Matt gushes, pulling the three of you in for a group hug.

☆ “Dad stop being weird,” your son groans, your daughter seconds his statement, but they don’t pull away from the hug.

☆NSFW

Having two children can take up a lot of personal time, especially when your daughter needs you and your son needs Matt. There’s never really any time for you and Matt to just exist as a couple, but he works hard to make sure you feel special everyday.

☆ You’re cooking lunch, the pure domesticity of your actions being enough to turn Matt on.

☆ The kids are still at school and if he’s convincing enough, you’ll abandon whatever’s on the stove and let him please you.

☆ Sneaky arms are wrapping around your waist, rocking you back and forth to the beat of the music that plays lowly in the background.

☆ Matt’s lips find your neck, your head falling back onto his shoulder in pleasure.

☆ Before you know it, you’re bent over the kitchen counter and Matt’s balls deep in you. “Take it,” he grunts, his hands gripping your waist so tight there were sure to be bruises.

☆ The food on the stove burns and you end up ordering pizza.

☆ When the kids are old enough, you and Matt leave them at home alone while you run errands.

☆ Something as simple as a quick trip to the grocery store turns into heated, passionate car sex.

☆ The windows are foggy and the car rocks with each thrust, Matt’s arms wrapped tightly around your waist as you ride him in the front seat.

☆ “You’re so fucking sexy,” he grunts, falling more in love with you as you whimper out his name. It doesn’t take long for him to finish, a string of curse words falling from his lips.

☆ Most times you two just do it in the shower. It’s sweet and full of so much love.

☆ He’ll fuck you against the cold tile wall before scrubbing your back and washing your hair you.

☆ It’s the sweet moments like this that both of you cherish. “I love you so much,” he whispers, the warm water running down both your faces. “I love you too,” you reply with a smile, going in for a passionate kiss.

—

MASTERLIST

A/n: can I hear some commotion for dad Matt🎤

-L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

—

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cambion-companion · 1 year

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matey. I have this cute soft idea if you're interested in writing it ofc. basically fem reader where she's a lady of noble blood and knows aemond since they were kids. but there was always this awkwardness around them which slowly turned into disgust (lol bish why you lying, why you always lying) one day she's with helaena or lady friends and they ask her who she would marry from court if she had to choose which she replies with "I would marry aemond in a heartbeat" forgetting that she said that out loud with aemond overhearing it somewhere hiding behind a pillar or something lol. and the next day she keeps questioning herself why aemond is suddenly wearing his nice clothes, helping her with something? and then when she wants to bid him goodnight he replies with a sneaky "I would marry you too in a heartbeat" which ends with her all flustered or something lol. idk what this is honestly, It just popped into my head.

Hi dearest! I'd love to write a lil something based on this lovely prompt!

Aemond x reader | fluff | Aemond being as discreet as a car backfiring

Laughter surrounded you, the ladies you sat with in the fragrant gardens tittering to each other, blushes upon their dimpled cheeks. You set aside your book of Old Valyrian poems and leaned in conspiratorially. "Okay Rosaline, your turn. Who would you marry?"

Rosaline, a lovely curvy girl around your age with russet curls and a freckled face, laughed harder. "I cannot say, lady Y/N. Though lord Jason Lannister is rather easy on the eyes is he not?"

You shrugged. "If you go for that sort of pomposity, I suppose."

"Well, who do you fancy, Y/N?" Rosaline asked, huffing at you with slightly narrowed brown eyes.

You hesitated, all eyes now upon you, growing more curious with each second of silence.

"Well? Now you have to tell us!" A girl with straight brown hair piped up, her doe eyes mischievous. "You were so eager to hear our own secrets!"

"I...I've always. Well. Prince Aemond if you must know." Your fingers clasped together upon your lap, so tight your knuckles went white.

There was a beat of stunned silence, then the girls lapsed into another fit of giggles.

"Prince Aemond?" Rosaline choked.

"Haven't you been friends since you were children?"

"I thought they went for their siblings?"

"He doesn't have an eye, Y/N! How could you possibly think he's a suitable match?"

"Excuse me." You said rather flatly. "When any of you ride the largest dragon in Westeros, then you can talk."

"He is rather easy on the eyes." A Tyrell girl spoke in a thin voice. "Though I've heard rumors circulating he is rather callous and keeps to himself."

"He's not callous." You defended. "Though we do have our disagreements."

"Oh yes!" Rosaline tittered again. You fought the urge to smack her. "I've heard you two have been at odds the past few weeks. Lover's quarrel?"

"I-we are not-where did you hear...you know what it doesn't matter." You rose abruptly, forgetting the book beside you on the bench. "Aemond alone is worth a hundred times more than all of you put together. I would marry him in a heartbeat."

"What's under that horrid eyepatch he wears?" A sneering Lannister lady sniggered.

"Something far more interesting than what's under your garish skirts!" You shot back, a shocked silence following your impetuous outburst.

You cast one last scorching look over the gathered women, before gathering your dress and taking your leave of them, face burning.

You retired to your chambers, skipping the dinner feast, not wishing to see those girls again that day. You were still fuming. It was true, you and Aemond had not spoken since a heated argument a few weeks prior. However, this was not the first time you two had been at odds. Nor would it be the last, you reckoned.

A soft knock at your door roused you from your contemplation beside the fire. You rose from the sofa, crossing the carpeted floor and swinging the heavy oak door open to reveal Aemond standing in the doorway.

"Oh!" You said, too surprised to come up with anything witty.

"Walk with me?" Aemond held out his arm for you to take. His hair looked like it was freshly brushed, shining silver in the torchlight as he guided you down the hall into a deserted courtyard.

The evening air was alive with birdsong, the sky above a shock of orange and red as the sun made its western descent.

"I came to apologize." Aemond said as the two of you meandered out into the gardens you had spent your afternoon in.

"Apologize? You? Be still my heart!"

"Don't make me regret it, Y/N." The prince groaned, releasing your arm and turning to you, the vista of the city's red roofs and the sparkling sea framed behind him. "I behaved...rather appallingly and I regret not coming to you sooner."

"You were a bit of an ass, tis true." You smiled impishly at the way he fought down a grimace at your words.

"As if you were any better."

"I was right." You folded your arms across your chest.

Aemond clasped his hands tightly behind his straight back. "It is a matter of opinion whether Dorne is more progressive than us."

"No, Aemond. I'm afraid that's a fact."

Aemond breathed hard through his nostrils; you watched with interest as he collected himself. "I came to apologize not to argue further."

He opened his jacket and pulled out a small box from a pocket within. "And to give you this as a sign of my...remorse."

You squinted at him. "Did your mother tell you to say that?"

Aemond didn't answer, his brow raising at you as he gestured for you to take his gift. You lifted the box from his palm, undoing the string and opening it. A silver brooch lay within, bearing the insignia of your house. Small finely crafted letters spelled out your house words below the image.

"It's quite lovely, my prince." Your face softened as you took it out and fasted the piece to your bodice. "I will wear it with pride. Thank you."

Aemond graced you with a genuine smile, his eye lingering upon the pin now secured above your heart. You tracked his gaze with interest as it roved across your curves before snapping guiltily back up to your face.

"See something you like?" You teased, flashing a grin at him.

Aemond didn't answer, though he held your gaze as you stepped closer, noting how the breath caught in his throat at your sudden proximity. Your brow furrowed as you looked at the odd expression on his face, nothing you had seen there before.

"Are you well, Aemond?"

"No." Aemond shook his head. "Let us continue our walk."

The two of you walked side by side around the gardens, the deepening twilight enveloping you, stars unveiling one by one in the dusky sky. Your knuckles brushed against Aemond's, you extended your pinky, hooking it around his. Heat rose to your face as Aemond's fingers slid to tangle with your own, your hands intertwined as you strode along the path back to the Keep.

He did not break his grip on you, even as you stood again before your chamber door.

"This is where I bid you a good night, Y/N." He spoke softly.

"Yes, it is." You sounded breathless, not pulling away as he turned to face you directly, leaning down as he brushed his lips to the back of your hand.

"Y/N?"

"Yes, Aemond?"

"I would also marry you in a heartbeat."

You stopped breathing. He had overheard the whole exchange in the gardens. Blood rushed in your ears as, wide eyed, you watched as Aemond lingered long enough to take in your expression before he turned on a booted heel and strode down the hallway.

Gathering your wits once more, you shouted after him just as he reached the corner. "Aemond!" He halted, looking back at you with ill-concealed amusement. "Get back here or so help me..." You pointed to the ground in front of your door.

"We can continue this discussion tomorr-"

"No. No, you don't get to say something like that and just walk away." You hissed, leaving your chamber open as you stomped down the hallway to where he stood waiting, his lilac eye sparkling with delight.

Aemond took your forearms in his hands when you reached for him, pulling you in so quickly you stumbled, falling against his chest. "You overheard me today?" You asked, looking up at his angular face as his fingers traced your jaw.

"Mmm. I did indeed. You're quite the sight in your anger." His eye glittered. "Even more enchanting when it's on my behalf."

"They were wrong to say such things." You breathed, your voice only a whisper as the distance between your faces slowly closed.

"I rest easy knowing I have a champion in you, to defend my honor." Aemond chuckled, his breath tickling your lips.

You weren't sure who moved first, or if it was simultaneous, but you felt the press of his mouth against yours, your eyes fluttering closed as your hands buried themselves in his silken hair.

He moved against you, backing you up until you hit the wall, a gasp at the impact opening your mouth to him as he began exploring you with his slick tongue. The scent of him surrounding you, the feel of him caging you in, pressing his knee between your thighs, drew a soft whimper from your lips that he drank down with relish.

"Do that again." He murmured, tugging your hair until you exposed your throat to his touches.

"Make me." You smirked at the arched ceiling, quickly losing what little composure you had won back as he took your challenge to heart.

Aemond made you emit many more sounds of pleasure throughout the course of that night. Stifling your cries with his large hand at one point so as to not alert any nearby guard patrols. With the promises of a lifetime together to come he claimed you as his own, swearing in return to be yours until his dying day.

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shemarmooresfedora · 2 years

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Bad Excuses & Blue Slushies

Summary: After playing hard to get for so long, you finally agreed to go on a date with Steve. When he stands you up, he comes back with the strangest excuse as to why.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Content/Warning: no season 4 spoilers (season 3 spoilers though), fluff with some angst, swearing

Word Count: 2.9k

You hastily tied your red bandana around your neck as you ran into Starcourt Mall.

Your scuffed converse skidded along the tiled floor as you sprinted into Scoops Ahoy, headed to punch yourself in before you were late.

“I already punched you in,” Steve spoke from the register, handing change back to a customer.

“Thanks,” you heaved, hunched over and trying to catch your breath, “My. bike. broke. Had. to. run. over. 2. miles. in. this. stupid. fucking. uniform.”

Steve grinned, “Well, at least you still look as gorgeous as ever.”

“Ha-ha, very funny” you deadpanned, “I do a nice thing and agreed to cover Robin’s shift and this is how I’m repaid.”

“Wow, I’m hurt,” Steve clutched his chest in fake agony, “I pay you a compliment and I’m met with cold sarcasm.”

“Sorry if I find it very hard to believe that the Steve Harrington thinks a sweaty girl in an unflattering sailor’s costume is the epitome of beauty,” you retaliated.

“All the boxes on my dream girl checklist are ticked off,” Steve grinned, “What are you doing Friday night?”

“And how is that your business?” you inquired.

“Because I’m trying to ask you out,” Steve replied.

You let out an audible laugh, stifling it as a customer came into the shop.

“Ahoy there! What can I get for you today, matey?” you greeted them.

“Can I have a large chocolate overboard cone please?” the older woman ordered.

“Right away, ma’am,” you began scooping the ice cream.

“Come on,” Steve continued, “Give me one good reason you won’t go out with me on Friday.”

“Steve,” you chastised, “I’m with a customer.”

“She doesn’t mind. Do you?” Steve looked to the woman.

“Oh no, I’m loving this. Why won’t you go out with this hunk, sweetie?” she asked you.

“Steve, tell this woman where you were just last night?”

“On a date with Stacy Johnson,” he sighed.

“And two days before that?” you inquired.

“With Stephanie Williams but-”

You interrupted him, “I rest my case. $4.82, ma’am,” you handed her her ice cream.

“She makes a compelling case,” the lady handed you the money, “Have a good day, dears.”

“I can list more reasons if that’s not enough for you,” you grinned at Steve who scowled in return.

After cleaning up after the store had closed, Steve locked the doors as you waited for him.

“Until next shift, Harrington,” you waved goodbye to him as you entered the parking lot.

“Wait, your bike is broken,” he spoke.

“I’m aware,” you replied.

“Well, how are you getting home?” he continued.

“Walking, I guess. My parents aren’t home,” you shrugged.

“Let me give you a ride,” he offered.

“You live on the opposite end of town and we just worked a double, I’m sure you want to get home. I’ll be okay, really,” you assured him.

“I don’t feel comfortable letting you walk miles home in the dark. Just please get in,” he returned, opening the passenger side of his car

“Fine,” you sighed, getting in, “Thank you.”

Steve started the car and pulled out of the parking lot just before you added, “But if you try any funny business, I will snap your neck.”

Steve chuckled, “I’d expect nothing less.”

You rested your head against the window, completely exhausted after your shift. You hated to admit it but Steve was right. If you walked home alone in the dark, you probably would have fallen asleep in a ditch about half a mile in.

“Are you ready for the math test tomorrow?” Steve broke the relative silence of the car.

“I didn’t even know you knew I was in your class,” you snorted.

“Believe it or not, Y/N, I notice you,” Steve spoke.

You hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t believe it. Steve was popular, you were decidedly not. There’s simply no good reason he should have any interest in you whatsoever.

“To answer your question, no. I’m completely unprepared but I’m ready to wing it and hope for the best,” you responded.

“That's my strategy with everything in life,” Steve smiled.

He flicked on his blinker as he turned down your road.

“One chance, Y/N,” Steve spoke, “You go out with me Friday night and if it goes bad, I won’t ever bother you again. Deal?

“Why are you so hellbent on me going out with you? Have you seriously run out of all other options?”

“Is it really that hard to believe that I genuinely want to go out with you?” Steve asked, pulling into your driveway.

“Yes, very much so actually,” you spoke softly.

Steve put the car in park and turned to look at you, “I find you witty, intelligent, gorgeous, and overall remarkable. Yes, I do go on a lot of dates but that is because I’m trying to find the right girl for me. No one else makes me laugh like you do, Y/N. No one else could make me so excited to work an eight hour shift scooping ice cream in an overcrowded mall. Frankly, all the past girls don’t even hold a candle to you, Y/N. They’re boring and you’re so incredibly the opposite.”

You relented “Friday night?”

Steve smiled widely, “I’ll pick you up at 7.”

You opened the car door and slipped out of the seat, “I’m looking forward to being nowhere near how high your expectations of me are.”

Steve wholeheartedly laughed, “I’m looking forward to making you admit you actually had fun for once…and on a date with ‘the Steve Harrington’,” he quoted you.

“I’d. rather. die.” you grinned, “Good night, Steve.”

“Night, Y/N,” he waved and watched you until you were safe inside your house before pulling out into the road.

Friday night was finally here. You’d never admit it out loud but you were actually looking forward to hanging out with Steve. Even a bit nervous.

You doubted any of your normal wardrobe was suitable for a first date so you bought a sage green skirt at the mall after one of your shifts that week.

You paired it with a plain white tank top and your usual black high top converse (you couldn’t stray too far from who you really were).

You straightened your hair and almost poked yourself in the eye putting on mascara.

“Not too bad, Y/N,” you surveyed yourself in the mirror once you were finally ready.

You grabbed your purse and sat on the front steps of your house, waiting for Steve to arrive.

Ten minutes late was excusable, his hair routine was quite complicated and thorough.

Twenty minutes, maybe there was just really bad traffic.

Thirty minutes was pushing it.

You called it quits when the clock hit 8:01. If he tried to show up any later than this, you wouldn’t be going out with him regardless.

You sulked back inside and stripped off your outfit, trading it in for pajamas. You wiped off your makeup and put your hair up in a ponytail.

This is how your Friday night was supposed to go anyways, minus the crushing disappointment of being stood up.

You pulled a pint of ice cream out of the freezer and clicked on the TV, trying to distract yourself from the pain of rejection.

You woke up in the same spot on the couch the next morning, the TV still on and your empty ice cream carton sticking to the coffee table.

You had the opening shift at work today so you forced yourself to get up and change into that god-awful uniform.

Luckily, you managed to fix your bike so you could get to work on time.

However, that didn’t seem to matter because when you pulled into the parking lot, the mall was completely burnt to the ground.

You set your bike down on the sidewalk and ran up to a group of firefighters who were chatting.

“Excuse me?” you asked, “What happened?”

“We don’t know much of anything right now, sweetheart. Just that the whole place set ablaze last night. Two casualties,” he reported.

“May I ask who?” you gulped, suddenly concerned for Steve’s safety.

“Chief Hopper and Billy Hargrove,” he stated.

“That’s awful,” you shook your head in disbelief.

Sure, you weren’t really a big fan of Billy but you didn’t want him dead.

“You should get back home. I doubt you’ll be working for a while,” the firefighter turned back to his group.

You biked home, trying to process all this information. You must have zoned out and gone into autopilot because when you looked up from your handlebars, you were home.

Except there was a very unwelcome guest leaning against his car hood in your driveway, waiting for you.

His face was clearly swollen and bruised.

“Don’t you look pretty?” you quipped, hopping off your bike and pushing it up your driveway.

“Y/N, can we please talk?”

“Let me remind you of our deal, Harrington. I give you one chance and if it doesn’t go well, you won’t bother me ever again. Suffice to say, it didn’t go well. It didn’t go at all actually cause you didn’t fucking show up.”

“Yes but I have a really good excuse,” Steve countered.

“Try me.”

“I was kidnapped by Russians who have a secret laboratory under the mall,” Steve spoke like it wasn’t the most bizarre statement ever.

“Yeah, okay,” you laughed, “So when’s our next date?”

“Really?!”

“No, moron!” you snapped back, “Clearly, that’s so made up. If you’re going to lie, at least make it something believable. Or, just tell me the truth that you didn’t want to go on a date with me! Or even better, don’t ask me out just to mess with my feelings if you aren’t going to fucking show up,” you yelled.

You could feel the tears of frustration welling up in your eyes.

“Robin was there too! You can ask her,” Steve insisted, “Or Dustin. Dustin Henderson who comes into the shop all the time.”

“Sure thing, I’ll just ask your two best friends who would clearly lie for you and just believe every word they say,” you sarcastically replied.

“You have to believe me, Y/N. I seriously wouldn’t miss this date if this didn’t happen.”

“Please just go home and stop bothering me, Steve,” the tears started to roll down your cheeks, “Please.”

“Alright, I’ll go,” Steve relented, witnessing the pain he was putting you through, “Um, you have my number if you ever wanna call. I guess I won’t be seeing you at work for a while.”

“I think that’s for the best,” you sighed, wiping your eyes against your sleeve.

You turned to go inside and placed your hand on the doorknob.

“Is there any way I can make this up to you?” Steve called out.

“Not unless you can actually prove you’re telling the truth,” you spoke before heading inside and locking the door behind you.

“That’ll be $11.37, sir,” you slid the box of cigarettes and soda back across the counter.

The man handed you a twenty and you gave him his change before he returned back to his car at the gas pump.

Since the mall was still in ashes, maybe never to be rebuilt, you had to look for work elsewhere. You got a job at the gas station convenience store in town.

Despite not having to wear that stupid sailor uniform, you hated it more than Scoops Ahoy. It was lonely.

You wished the mall hadn’t burnt down. You wish you could still be scooping ice cream with Steve. And you wish he hadn’t stood you up so you could still hang out with him.

I mean you technically still could, but your pride wouldn’t allow you to go crawling back to him, only to be most likely stood up again.

A familiar maroon BMW pulled into the gas station. Great.

The bell chimed above the door, meaning he had entered but you kept your head down.

You heard his footsteps stop when he realized it was you behind the counter.

He cleared his throat, “I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Got to make money somehow,” you replied.

“Twenty dollars on pump two,” he slid a twenty across the table.

“That all?” you asked.

“Add a large blue slushie and M&M’s too please,” Steve pulled out another five from his wallet before heading to fill his cup.

You handed him back his change as he set the cup back down at the counter. He pocketed the change and began to leave.

“Um, you’re forgetting your stuff,” you gestured to the counter in confusion.

“Oh, those are for you. They’re your favorites, right?”

“Yeah, they are. Um, thanks, I guess.”

“When does your shift end?” Steve asked.

You glanced at the clock, “An hour and twenty minutes.”

“Do you mind if I bother you once last time tonight?”

“I guess it couldn’t hurt, I’m already bored out of my mind. I’m literally counting holes in the wall at this point.”

“Okay, stay right there,” Steve spoke, “I’ll be back in 30.”

“It’s my job. I’m kinda stuck here,” you smiled ever so slightly.

“Right,” Steve remembered, “That was stupid. Anyways, I’ll be right back.”

You watched Steve run out to his car and swiftly pull out of the gas station.

“He forgot to get his gas,” you laughed to yourself as you refunded his money.

As promised, Steve was back in 27 minutes and 42 seconds. No, you weren’t counting.

He was followed into the store by a young girl who had her arms crossed.

“This is Erica Sinclair,” he introduced her to you.

“Um, hello,” you waved to her.

“Tell Y/N how you feel about me,” he prompted her.

“He’s a nerd who spends way too much time on his hair. He’s not very bright which might explain why the majority of his friends are like five years younger than him. And he wasn’t even that good scooping ice cream,” Erica sassed.

“So you agree she doesn’t like me?” Steve looked to you as you stifled a laugh.

“Yeah, I would say so,” you replied, giving Erica a high-five.

“Erica, what happened on the night of Friday, July 4th?” Steve asked her.

“I had to go through this tunnel in the ceiling at the mall because I was bribed with free cream for life. But then, we discovered this secret elevator and the older kids got captured. Basically long story short, we saved their asses from evil Russians who were trying to open up this portal thingy.”

“How do I know you’re not paying her to say whatever you want?” you asked.

“Oh, I’m being paid to come here,” Erica answered, “Erica does nothing for free. But I wouldn’t lie on this guy’s behalf just to get him a girlfriend who is way out of his league.”

“Okay, that’s enough from you,” Steve handed her a twenty, “Please go wait in the car.”

Erica happily skipped outside.

“I can’t say I believe it but I guess I’ll just have to trust you on this,” you spoke.

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

“Should I not be?” you questioned.

“No, you definitely should be. I’m 100% telling you the truth here,” he answered sincerely.

The more that you thought about it, it was way too crazy of a story to make up as an excuse. Plus, that would explain the bruises all over his face that morning. And the reason for the mall fire was still a mystery so you couldn’t exactly disprove him.

“One more chance, Harrington. I’m serious. No excuses this time, not even evil Russians.”

“Yes, thank you! I promise you won’t regret it,” he smiled widely.

“I really don’t know why this was worth all your trouble. A date with me already cost you twenty bucks in bribe money.”

“Worth every single penny,” Steve replied.

You just stared at him. How was he so damn charming all the time? You hated it. That was a lie. You were a sucker for it.

Your eyes flickered down to his lips. He noticed and smirked.

“Do you want to kiss the Steve Harrington, Y/N?” he spoke smugly, leaning over the counter.

“Nope.”

Such a lie.

“That’s a real shame cause I really want to kiss you,” he answered.

You blushed, finally giving in and leaning to meet him halfway. It was gentle and deliberate, as if he was scared one wrong move would have you disappear from his life again.

His hands came up to cup your cheeks, his fingers tangling in your hair. He tasted like peppermint gum and cherry chapstick.

When he pulled away, you felt like you were floating. Your lips tingled with a fuzzy sensation.

He leaned his forehead up against yours, “I have to bring Erica home before her bedtime. Lucas is covering for her.”

“Don’t forget to actually get your gas on the way out this time,” you whispered, smiling.

“Give me another blue slushie. I think they’re my favorite now too,” he grinned.

A/N: sorry if you were expecting a spencer reid fic lol. i tried writing for a different character, i would love to know what you thought <3

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington hurt/comfort

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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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itsscromp · 6 months

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Foxy the pirate x reader

For one reason or another, since watching the fnaf movie, Foxy has slowly become my favourite animatronic, So here I have the most wholesome story possible. Word count:1.3K

1981: You celebrated your mom's friend's daughter's birthday at Freddy Fazbear's pizzeria. As much as you tried to have fun, being the toddler you were, you got bored quickly, so your mom decided to help keep you entertained by bringing you to the stage where the animatronics were. Seeing Freddy, Bonnie and Chica sing and dance as your mom gently bounced you. It was pretty fun, But you noticed another stage that had its curtains closed. The stage person then got on and spoke into the micrphone.

"Hey everyone !!! Freddy and the gang have a new friend, Please give a warm pirate welcome to Foxy !!!!!" They pressed a button and out came a pirate fox animatronic.

"Momma !!! Fox, Fox !!!!" You shrieked happily, Pointing to him.

"I know y/n, Isn't it exciting." She smiled.

"Yarr ahoy they me matey's, you be ready to dance the dead man's jig ??" Foxy said to the children, Responding with loud cheers as Foxy began to move and sing his shanty. "You can be a pirate but first you must lose an arm and leg" The children joining in soon after.

You even joined into the shanty, You loved Foxy and you only met him for 5 minutes, like if someone was to meet their best friend for the first time. This was you and Foxy. Once the shanty was over, he unfortunately had to say goodbye for now. But you were all allowed to give Foxy a hug and a picture with him, You begged your mom to go which she obliged. Bringing you over to Foxy which she then first took the picture and you turned to foxy.

"I liked... your... singing" You smiled at him, Looking up at the tall animatronic. To which he moved his ears and closed his eye, smiling at you. Leaning down and hugging you. You hugged Foxy back, He was so fluffy too.

Ever since then, you begged your mom to go see Foxy again. It was almost like you two would be inseparable. She did bring you again a year later after much begging. You immediately rushed over to Pirates Cove and waited for Foxy to come out. Excited to see him once again. Once Foxy emerged from the stage, he looked down and waved at you, immediately recognizing you as he began to sing his shanty. You were easily the loudest of the bunch singing his shanty. Oh, how you were loving every moment. Once it was over, he turned to you and invited you on the stage. Without hesitation, you climbed up as he gently placed his paw on you. "You be a fine member of me crew, We now be partners in crime" He said as he handed you a pirate hat.

"Thank you" You smiled and placed it on your head, giggling.

"Now give me yer best ARRRRR"

"Arrrrr" You giggled at him.

You hugged Foxy tightly as he leant down and hugged you as well.

"We be the best of mates to the very end of the sands of time."

2000: you were now 21 years old, The moments with Foxy was one you would always treasure. Freddy Fazbear's closed down in 1983 after a tragic accident involving a child being hurt by an animatronic. You missed the place, wishing to see Foxy again. Would he even recognise you as well ??

You still even had the old photo from your mom, you would look at it whenever you felt down and would smile every damn time. You decided to one day look around to see if the pizzeria was still their.

High and low you looked around town and you were beginning to lose hope, Maybe they must've demolished it after the incident. You started to grow sad.

"I'm sorry foxy..." You said to yourself. All you wanted was to see your friend again, Hopefully he is in a better new place, entertaining many more children somewhere in the country.

But as you were driving, you saw a familiar place, the familiar colours and then... the sign, Seeing the Freddy Fazbear logo. It was still here !! After all this time, It was still here. But it lost the TLC it was known for, The paint and signs were grotty and gross. But still standing.

You parked your car at the front, and seeing the place again after all this time, was just nothing but amazing. your childhood was back. But you knew you couldn't get in, *sigh* Ah the hell with it you only live once.

So you went around the place and found a wooden panel. Seemingly open to reveal an open vent. Beginning to crawl in to reveal the vent lid inside. As hard as possible you pushed as hard as possible until it then fell to the ground.

Crawling inside, you got up, dusted yourself off and looked around waiting for your eyes to adjust to the darkness. Seeing all the familiar sights. It was a trip down memory lane. You then looked around and then found the power box. The place springing to life once again.

Walking back to the main area, seeing everything again. Your smile widened even bigger. Everything was still here, The games, the decorations. Hell, even the ball pit was still there, you turned around and then saw the stage. The curtain's closed. So now your mission was to get them open., You then found the showtime button and then pressed it.

"Please work please work."

The curtains were pulled and the music started to play, and there they were. The animatronics, Singing and dancing again. They looked a little dirty and dusty from being stuck there for a long time. You then looked over at the stage next to it, the curtains opened up revealing him... Foxy... You were so overwhelmed with emotions seeing him again.

Although he looked a little more damaged, his body had holes in it and his legs were now fully metal. But you didn't care, he was there !!!.

"Hello again old friend" You said quietly as you walked up to the stage.

But one thing that you noticed once the song was finished, Foxy was still moving around, and then... he started to move, looking over at you... his eye glowed red. Like if he was ready to defend himself. You were growing scared, wondering what to do.

"Fo... Foxy It's me..." You said to him.

But it wasn't working he raised his hook at you, and it looked sharp as all. You needed to do something as quick as possible. Think y/n, think. And then you remembered, his shanty.

"You... You... You can be a pirate... but first you have to lose an arm and leg..." You sang to him, looking at his face... it was as if he was recognizing it. You sang it again, but in it's more familiar tone. "You can be a pirate. but first you have to lose an arm and leg" You sang to him.

Foxy's eye stopped glowing red as he looked at you, his ears moving around a bit as he looked at you. You then took out the photo from your pocket and showed him it. "This is us... You gave me a hat... Made me apart of your crew" You pointed to your baby you.

Foxy looked at the photo and then at you again, his ears moving around and his mouth moving too excitedly, his voice box was unfortunately broken from the many years of neglect. But he recognized you, His loyal matey.

You smiled so wide and gently hugged him. Being mindful of the damage, He gently wrapped his arms around you too. His voice box sounded a bit glitchy but you could make out what he was trying to say. "My...M...y...My...Ma...Matey" He said.

"I'll fix you up pal... don't worry" You smiled at him.

You would be determined to help bring Foxy to what he was back in 1981. You were partners in crime through and through no matter what.

Taglist: @callofdudes @fun-k-board @gooptoshi

#platonic #reader insert #fnaf foxy #five nights at freddy's movie #five nights at freddy's #foxy the pirate #foxy x reader

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casmick-consequences · 6 months

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i rewatched the finale just now, and I have some thoughts.

mainly, i want to thank taika and david for this wonderful show that's brought me immense joy this last month, and i'll always take it with me no matter if we manage to get a third season or not.

did i like the finale? yes, i really did. did i think it was very rushed, had weird scene placements and could've gone with another episode to even things out? also yes.

as far as izzy goes (and this is where it gets extremely controversial knowing how much this fandom loves him); i am actually glad his storyline ended here.

this entire season, we got to enjoy him and we got to see his redemption arc. from someone who is obsessed with this monster of a being, to someone who learns to come into his own, away from all the toxicity and poison. he gets to find out more about himself, and with that grow closer to the people around him and allow himself to have friends. a family, even. would i have loved to see him live a full life like this? definitely. but story-wise, this is a perfect ending for him. "you born alone, you die alone" he said, and then he passed peacefully surrounded by his family and in the arms of not blackbeard, but edward.

i need the people of this fandom to understand that just because your favorite character died, doesn't mean that it instantly turns into a bad show/season/whatever. you have to look outside of your bias, and instead of going "no fuck this show because i did not want him to die" you could go "i am incredibly sad that he died but i'm so happy to have known him and to have him in my life". it's a show, the character isn't going away simply because he died.

but then again, izzy didn't mean as much as he did to the majority of you and i don't wanna go around telling people how to feel, because feelings and emotions are real and if he meant a lot to you then yes, of course you're hurt. and that's 100% completely valid. just don't take it out on the rest of the show and the show writers (saw some ppl say that nasty things were being tweeted at djenkins and that's not ok. at all.)

idk, even after watching it twice i feel kinda... weird.... like too much happened in little time. but i am OVERJOYED that lucius and pete got to have their little wedding <3333 they're mateys!!!! i just wish it wasn't over in 30 seconds, as well as completely overshadowed by izzy's death 2 minutes before.

but i do think the finale had some GREAT bits in it. even if most of it felt rushed, there was comedy, emotion, romance, GREAT kisses (the way gentlebeard was handled in this episode made me very giddy!!)..... it just always delivers.... and watching this with everything else that happened in s2 I can safely say that this might be my favorite season of any show out there.

once again; THANK you taika and david <3 love youuu

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd s2 #ofmd season 2 #ofmd s2 spoilers #izzy hands #taika waititi #david jenkins #ofmd 2x08 #ofmd spoilers #ofmd 2x08 spoilers

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smicksstuff · 1 year

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welcome to the land down under. home to the poisonous snakes and many creepy crawlies. piping hot tea has been spilt, its brown liquid staining everything it touches. can yn wash the stain away or has become part of who she is ?

The Pitbox Crew Series

read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 here

Upside Down, Inside Out

(f1drivers x yngasly)

⚠️ warnings: alcohol consumption, fighting, swearing, cyber bullying.

a/n: this is a work of fiction. i do not encourage this behaviour. also i apologise for the google translate french and spanish. please ignore the typos, i will edit them soon.

meanwhile on twitter .....

ynusername

Melbourne

liked by pierregasly, paulgasly, isahernaez and 739, 728 others.

ynusername im speechless. i have no idea what race i have just watched 😭😭😭

view 780 comments

scuderiapedrogaseoso i hope pierre is okay !!

yngaslyfans that race was a nightmare but you are still slaying in the paddock

gaslyfc can’t believe i woke up for this race !! all my guys are out 😫😭

formula1girls can we take a moment to appreciate the content provided by yn. girl gave us so many bts to cure our broken heats 💔🥺

formulauno her and danny ric !! we need more of them !!!

spicychilli i mean can we appreciate her and carlos too!!

piastrigirls miss gurl giving love to all the boys!! she and oscar is an unexpected duo. 🧡

oscarpiastri matey you need to learn how to send the photos 😐

yngasly i’ll send it now ! i promise 🤞🏼

oscarpiastri ill believe when i get it 😑

mickschumacher you post all this but not you surfing 🤔

yngasly you promised not to talk about it 🥺

mickschumacher just you wait till your birthday 😁

yngasly thats a threat !!! @pierregasly micky is threatening me with the surf pics 😠

pierregasly @mickschumacher i have more embarrassing ones, i will bring them to the next race for you 😝

yngasly HEY!!!! STOPPP

mickschumacher thats awesome! cant wait!!

pierregasly what are big bros for ❤️

f1fans i like how she is ignoring the obvious! why haven’t you acknowledged the tweets yet!!!!

username7 girl you already did all the shit why are you scared to admit it ?

yngaslyfc omg i made it! You made my year! can't believe I got to meet you.

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f1tea

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f1tea Pierre arrived in the paddock at 8.30am this morning. Melbourne walk was booming with fans having 1 last chance to get their merch signed by their favourite racers.

In non-driver news, the Gasly Princess - Yn Gasly arrived to the paddock at 9.00am alongside Joris Trouche and Charles Leclerc. As they walked through the Melbourne Walk, loud jeering and boos could be heard from the fans. Many were telling her to stay away from Formula 1 and its drivers.

Upon hearing the jeering and boos, Charles Leclerc alongside other drivers Alex Albon, George Russell and Lando Norris who were present at Melbourne Walk proceeded to try and defend their friend yn however their efforts were not enough.

Joris Trouche then took Yn tight in his grip and entered the paddock quick. Sources from inside the paddock say that Yn was in tears and Joris proceeded to walk with her to the Alpine Motorhome. Throughout the Race Day, Yn was not seen as much in the paddock.

What are your thoughts ? Does Yn deserve the backing of the drivers? Let me know in the comments

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f1fans She had this coming.

username8 hate to break it to you but after what she did, how could they not boo her.

username7 she is a bad influence in the paddock. she should be removed.

lordperceval Yall HAVE TO STOP !! this is cyber bullying.

chillichicas i agree! she doesn’t deserve this. yall dont have to like her but at least acknowledge she is human too

spicylovers she isnt your human punching bag

quadrantmania for petes sake. she is just a kid trying to support her big brother at races and yall are coming at her like she committed a huge crime.

landounited lando should ditch her! he doesnt need friends like her

landino and who are you to decide who lando can be friends with

pedromyman what she did was to herself. It does not affect anyone of yall. You dont like it, dont follow her. I for one do not want her to disappear from the paddock again.

vroomvroom why are the drivers even trying to defend her. im sure their teams will not support it.

estiebestie she should just leave. she is not that important anyways.

yngasly

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yngasly i thought i would come here and address the information circulating online about me.

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pierregasly ❤️❤️❤️

charles_leclerc Ma petite sœur toujours ❤️ (translation: My little sister always)

lancestroll always gonna be here for you 💚

isahernaez ¡Mi mejor amigo! Estoy muy orgulloso de lo lejos que has llegado. ¡Siempre estaré aquí para ti! Te quiero. ❤️ (translation: My best friend! I am very proud of how far you have come. I will always be here for you! I love you.)

chloestroll love you baby ❤️

landonorris you can try to get rid of me but you will fail 🙃🧡

yngaslyfans i may not know you personally but im always gonna stand up for you. we all make mistakes in life. its what we do after that- the learning from it that matters the most.

paulgasly ❤️

arthur_leclerc Si heureux que tu sois de retour ! Tu m'as toujours eu ! ❤️ (translation: So happy that you're back! You will always have me!)

carlossainz55 Estoy muy feliz de llamarte mi familia ❤️ (translation: I'm very happy to call you my family)

estebanocon so proud of you 😃

alpinef1team we are proud of you Yn ! you will always have our love and support 💙💙💙

scuderiaferrari one of the strong ones ❤️

lewishamilton so proud of you kid! like i told you in the paddock “dont let the noise discourage you. they dont know who you really are!” ❤️

fernandoalo_official my kid 💚

pierregasly

liked by yngasly, charles_leclerc, f1, alpinef1team and 1,465,010 others

pierregasly Yn Julianna Gasly. My relationship with my baby sister is one of the most important in my life.

From all the pizza parties to celebrate karting wins and her football school team wins, to fighting over the PS3 controllers, to not talking to each other for months, we have gone through it all.

Yn has always been on my side through the thick and thin. At every race she be at the garage or along the fence cheering me on! (charles and anthoine too but thats beside the point) Good day or Bad Day she always made sure she was there for me. She even ditched playdates to travel with Maman to watch me race.

Anthoine’s Passing affected all of us differently. We handled our grieve separately. My biggest regret was pushing Yn away forgetting that she too was grieving the lost of her bestfriend. When I look back, i feel that the road she went down was partly my fault. But with an immense amount of help for her and the family, we got through it together. I hated that my sister was barely with us for those 4 months. But at that time i thought that was best. Looking back, I should have done more. But mistakes were made. Like I told Yn, “Mistakes are OKAY only if they happen once and you learn, and dont repeat it again.”

My sister made a mistake. It is something she cannot ignore. It happened. But she learned from it. We learned from it. Her past does not define who she is now. My Sister is my number 1 Supporter. She is my Person, My Best Friend, My Twin. What has been said online the past few weeks about her the jeering when she is out in public is simply unacceptable. It has to stop. Losing someone you love can make you do incredibly stupid things. But I know my sister, those 4 months was not her.

So please I am hoping that you can understand. The mistakes my sister made in the past is not who she was or is now. Please stop circulating the pictures and videos.

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taglist: @fangirlika @threedalla @sticksdoesart @ophcelia @gothicwidowsworld @nmw-am @h0e-xoxo @inthestars-underthesun @tyna-19 @champomiel @pitconfirmbutton @clcspeonies @67-angelofthelordme-67 @xcharlottemikaelsonx @fulla02 @mehrmonga

credits: all pictures are found from pinterest and instagram

a/n: thank you for reading this far !! If you have any suggestions send them to me!! I would love to hear them ◡̈

if you would like to be tagged when new parts are released, drop your usernames in the comments!! 😁

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hydrasra · 1 year

Text

"I am no god."

SYNOPSIS: keep on insisting that you're no god, maybe they'll understand? unless proven otherwise.

DISCLAIMER: ooc moment duh. NOT BETA NOR PROOFREAD (and probably never will). reader has no gender, matey. gold blood au, don't forget about that. part 3 of NOT FROM THIS WORLD. it's 1am and I should sleep early to fix my sleep schedule but my brain said, "fuck no." probably swearing here and there (asra says after swearing)

TAGGING: @sunsethw4 @neverlandlostchild @code-roevember

iv. THE WIND KNOWS

"yo, tao!" xinyan yelled as soon as she slammed opened the door of the wangsheng funeral parlor while followed by a quiet and smiling yunjin, startling meng, who was on his way to put the documents in his arms down on the director's office and earning a glare from the ferrylady.

zhongli and hu tao were the only one unfazed as they both finished their cup of tea before turning their attention to the two that walked in, "afternoon, how many I help you?"

that earned a frown from her friend, "hey, what's with you being so fo-"

"afternoon to you too, hu tao, mr zhongli and you as well mr meng and ferrylady," yunjin greeted, and was acknowledged by the two before they went on with their work, then hurried over to hu tao and pulling xinyan along, "we came here to ask you something, director."

the only answer she received was a tilt of the head from hu tao and a curious look on her face, "was there a funeral for the impostor?"

zhongli, who was busy pouring himself another cup of tea suddenly stopped and put the teapot down, attention now on yunjin, making her a little uncomfortable though she hid it well, "what impostor?" he asked, watching as she was about to talk but got cut off by xinyan.

"you know, the one that looks like our creator and is said to be claiming to be them according to the qixing," xinyan casually said before leaning on on the director of the yun-han opera troupe who didn't seem to mind.

"I'm sorry, what?!" hu tao gasped, leaning towards her friends with her eyes wide open.

xinyan and yunjin both stayed quiet for a few seconds, staring at her before their gaze went over to zhongli who stared right back, shock written on his normally calm face.

"'m assuming there wasn't."

a few days were now gone in the blink of an eye.

how quickly time flies.

walking through the corridors of the quiet palace with only their footsteps being heard was eerily disturbing to the tianquan and her three (3) most trusted secretaries, despite having the lights seeping in through the curtains of the windows.

however, they kept on walking forward, eager to reach a bedroom.

and once in front of the bedroom they were looking for, ningguang took a deep breath to calm her nerves, her secretaries doing the same, composing themselves before the tianquan knocked on the bedroom doors.

"come in," a voice they are familiar with, that, unfortunately, held no warmth replied.

now liyue's tianquan was hesitant.

seeing this, baixiao, after sending looks of uncertainty at baishi and baiwen, immediately opened the door, slowly, to make ningguang understand that there was no use in being hesitant.

and it helped her in recollecting her thoughts and composure.

once the doors were opened just enough to let the four of them in, they all simultaneously took a step inside and looked at the figure slouched on a chair by the window.

"greetings," ningguang bowed, "we come bearing news.

the figure slowly turned around, eyes showing now signs of emotions, making the tianquan falter for the second time in under less than a couple of minutes.

"I have received a response back from sumeru, the impostor has been captured and dealt with as per your orders."

"oh my!" happiness was evident in their tone, "you should have started with that as soon as you walked in, ningguang!" the warmth was back, though it wasn't what ningguang was used to. this warmth felt... fake.

fabricated.

she brushed that aside.

"finally, we can make my grand reveal come to reality!" they sighed dreamily, lost in their own world, "I was worried about that impostor! I'm so delighted that it's been done and dealt with~"

they stood up and twirled around, before going to stand in front of the four (4) ladies. all looking at them with small, gentle smiles.

"our plan was put to a sudden halt but now," they giggled, "it can keep on carrying!"

the person in front of the liyue qixing grinned.

with your face.

sudden thunder could be heard in the distance.

the tsaritsa could care less about whether the one that got captured was the real creator or simply an imitation.

though her only regret was not being able to find the 'impostor' and form an alliance with them to throw the whole of teyvat off balance. having them under her protection after claiming that they were the 'real' creator would have meant putting all six nations into shambles and for her to have them at the tip of her fingers.

though the thoughts of that 'impostor' being the true creator did come to mind. even so, that would have been a win-win situation for her. she reveled in her small fantasy.

both at the fact that the real creator would have trusted her more than the ones that would, in their words, "bend celestia" in order "befriend" the creator and to bring justice to their name but cannot discern the real from the fake and the fact that she would fave had them in her palms either way.

"a shame," her voice broke the silence as she walked away from the window she has been gazing out of, heels clicking on the solid ice flooring of her palace. the sound reverberating off the crystal-looking walls.

sumeru had way more details compared to what technology could show you, you noted. many more birds than just finches, pigeons and parrots. a few weird creatures oddly ressembling chimpanzees and what not dangling on trees, even daring to walk on the roofs of houses.

it was... fascinating.

no titles were ever used in your presence when lumine's with you.

she didn't believe in any gods after all, even you. she saw you as a friend, someone who had helped her when she needed it the most.

you have made it clear that you aren't anyone's creator nor a god, especially to lumine. most people were the ones that kept on calling you by such imposing titles that it made you lose all hopes of making them understand.

once people started using your actual name more and more, making the use of 'your' title sparse, only used by those that were seeing you for the first time or knew you not, it felt... better.

it has been a month since nahida has made a public announcement that you were their creator. it also has been a month of no sleeping and yet not feeling tired, though, fear not: lumine did not sleep as well. in her words, "the nights and days of teyvat are shorts. shorter than what they are back home."

and once the announcement was made, everything changed.

many came to you to seek for blessings.

others came to seek for forgiveness for their sins, whatever they may be.

few came to ask for you to heal their illnesses.

those were always harder to deal with... at first.

the first time it happened, a couple came to you while you were on a stroll alone through the city, wanting to see it with your own eyes and not through a screen, came to you while sobbing. they told you about how their youngest son was severely ill. they begged you to heal their son, crying and bowing to the ground in fron of you.

you knew you could do nothing, you had no power.

yet you asked them to take you to their son.

and once their, you could only think that there was no saving him. the poor child was whimpering in pain while sweating a lot. tugging and turning on his bed.

you couldn't bare to see it but you approaches his bed nonetheless and knelt down besides him.

"hey, buddy," you whispered, gently taking his small hand in your own.

"I'm sorry you're suffering," another whisper, "I wish I could help you," and an attempt at a gentle smile.

the boy turned to look at you, eyes wide in admiration as he saw your figure.

from his perspective, you assumed you looked like a mere creepy stranger.

how wrong you were.

he looked at you in fascination as your eyes seemed to hold the stars within them and your gentle yet teary smile made him feel warm. so farm that he almost reveled in it.

you could only leave a gentle kiss on the back of his tiny hand and he giggled, making his parents gasp in shock.

and when you left, telling them to prepare for the worst, you felt crushed.

what could you do?

you were no god after all.

they came to find you at the house of surasthana the next day.

seeing them was too soon for you and you had to mentally brace yourself for their spiteful comments that were surely to come after you could not save their little boy.

though it never came.

instead, they cried tears of joy, bowing repeatedly at your feet, thanking you.

"what are you thanking me for?"

"your grace!" the husband exclaimed as nahida walked through the entrance, "our son was saved! thank you! thank you so much!"

the wife repeated the same words as her husband.

the archon of wisdom watched from afar, smiling warmly.

you were confused.

they left soon after, crying still and saying 'thank you's as well as promising to spread the word that you're a kind divine being.

"how did you heal their son, [name]?" the archon asked as soon as they left, making her way over to your confused form.

"I..." at a lost for words, you looked at the tiny archon, "I didn't... I don't..."

nahida softly smiled, "maybe you have healing powers?"

you violently shook your head, "no... no! I don't," you paused after trailing off, head down and looking at your trembling hands, "do I? but..." your voice trembled, "I am no god..."

the sound of doors opening could be heard, then running footsteps and the doors closing back up.

"[name]! nahida! wanderer!" paimon yelled as soon as she got closer.

nahida gently grabbed your hands after telling paimon and a panting lumine to stay quiet and wait as you were not feeling okay, and gently rubbed circles with her tiny hands on the back of your hands.

whatever she was doing, seemed to help.

and after running in looking panicked, seeing you like that made the travelling companions even more distressed though they stayed quiet.

nahida nodded at the traveler once and, somehow, lumine understood.

she approached you slowly before gently wrapping her arms around you, prompting you to do the same thing to her.

"you're all right, [name]. whatever it is that you need answers to, we will all help," her voice was gentle, "whatever it is that got you feeling uneasy, you're not alone to face it," she didn't know what happened to you prior to her and paimon barging in but those words felt right to be said to you.

the news that they have acquired while in mondstadt can wait.

your wellbeing came first.

you could only sniffle as you hugged her tightly.

nahida soon joined in, hugging your leg.

whereas paimon hugged your head.

══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══

hellooo thank you all for the amazing support on this sudden idea turned series(?) story of mine.

if you have any questions about anything I have in mind for this series(?) go ahead and ask, my asks are open

if you wish to be tagged, let me know tho I'm not going to be tagging more than 30 people. already at 3 so far

and the next part might be the last part or at least a chapter before the last one, for now(!!!) at least as I want fontaine to come out before I even progress even further with this story.

yk, for spice ☺️

that and I can better understand where to orient this thing 🧍🏾‍♀️

(bet people think I have everything planned out for the entirety of this series but I do not. I just write on a whim and follow the flow my brain has set)

JUST LETTING YOU ALL KNOW, IF I FIND OUT SOMEONE STOLE/REWROTE MY STORY OR CHANGED UP A FEW THINGS AND IS CLAIMING IT AS THEIR OWN, THERE WILL NO LONGER BE UPDATES

and I hope that, if it does or did happen, you will let me know privately. people who steal other's original works deserves no exposure.

#sagau #impostor au #genshin sagau au #lumine x reader #genshin au #genshin x reader #genshin impact #sagau impostor au #sagau idea

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