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ageofevermore · 6 months

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HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

SUMMARY — two years after losing natasha, the only thing you count on is having wanda home for christmas

WARNINGS — canon endgame events, death, grief, cute wanda moment, tony being sweet/sentimental if you squint

AUTHORS NOTE — @family-house-of-m hope this is what you wanted :)

The worst thing about life always happens when you’re doing your best. It happens when you're lying in bed at night left with nothing but your thoughts, when you're finally catching up on chores that had been sitting on a checklist for months, when you finally see the rainbow after the storm. Life doesn’t care about the little things you could be doing, it doesn’t care that you have a load of laundry in the washing machine, or that you're six feet off the ground trying to hang a star from the top of your Christmas tree on a rickety old ladder. It doesn’t care, because the worst thing about life is that it never stops evolving. The days never stop dawning, relationships never stop changing, and the people you know never stop leaving. Leaving. It’s inevitable, but somehow even knowing that fact, doesn’t make it any easier to heal from.

There’s a pile of presents on the ground that will never be opened. There’s a stocking on the mantle that will never be glared at. There’s an empty spot in your bed that will never be warm. There’s a hole in your heart that can never be filled. Life moved on after Natasha Romanoff sacrificed herself, but you stayed there. You stayed in her shadow wearing her clothes and watching her movies, and you held onto her memories because if you didn’t, life would plow right over them. Your other girlfriend hadn’t been much better. She’d hexed an entire town, she only spoke Sokovian – the language that was so similar to Russian that sometimes in the middle of the night you confused her for Natasha – and she only cooked her favorite food. Maybe neither of you had found the strength to move on, but keeping her alive was more important then going to bed knowing you were healing. You could never heal. You’d rather cry through her favorite movie and sleep in her favorite shirt rather than forget about the little things that were already starting to fade.

It wasn’t your first Christmas without her. Last year was the worst. Nothing felt normal, because nothing was normal. Not only was your bed 33.3% colder, but the living room was missing her laugh, the dining room table was missing her plate, and your heart was missing the woman that had seen the best in you when nobody else did. You loved Wanda, and she loved you, but Natasha was the one who brought you together. Natasha was the one that had trusted in you both, and while your love could prevail even after her death, nothing was the same. Your life felt like the barren cold of winter that not even a flower could survive in. There wasn’t snow, there wasn’t rain, there was just dead and empty nothingness that could make anyone go mad.

Christmas was her favorite holiday. You never cared for it much, not until you met her, but she loved everything about it. She loved getting you gifts, and she loved that mistletoe gave her an excuse to kiss you in a room of people, and she loved walking around New York just admiring the lights and inflatables that were put out. When it was Christmas, she wasn’t a superhero, she wasn’t a child assassin or a murderer, she was just a Russian woman who loved to give love to the people that had chosen her. That’s what you loved about the Avengers. They had chosen each other. With the worst parts of themselves beneath a microscope for anyone to scrutinize (and boy did they), they had to choose to see the good, and once they did, there wasn’t anything that could dissuade them from being a supporter and showing up. They would always show up for each other, even after death. You just wish Natasha could see that.

You wish she could see how Tony hung her stocking on the mantle. You wish she could see how Wanda only wears her favorite pajama pants to bed. You wish she could see how Laura and the kids always start voicemails with her name. You wish she could see that she had presents waiting for her beneath the tree. You wish that loving her was enough to bring her back to life. You couldn’t help yourself when you saw them in the shops, but now that they sit beneath the tree never to be opened, it only makes your heartbreak feel fresh. You can still see her broken neck and shattered legs on the bottom of that mountain. You can still see the way blood seeps from her midsection and how it blends in with her red mane that’s sprawled around her, too far away for you to fix it. You can still see the life drain from her eyes, and the very last breath she wheezes out. If love was strong enough to bring back the dead, there’s not a single doubt in your head that Natasha Romanoff would be eternal.

Sighing, you finish putting up the decorations in your bedroom just as Wanda comes in, already dressed for tonight’s event. It had slipped your mind, and even if it hadn’t, you weren’t in the mood to join her and socialize with Tony’s megarich acquaintances who didn’t know or didn’t care that half of your heart was decomposing at the bottom of a mountain on an alien planet, not even able to be properly laid to rest. On nights like these, you hoped to god that she found a way back to you and Wanda, even if her body was far away. You hoped that when you die, she’s waiting with open arms, but you can’t be sure that her soul made it off of Vormir when her body couldn’t. Every Christmas, Tony hosts a gala with all of his billionaire friends, although now it's more of an excuse to get shitfaced then it is to raise money for his projects, but no matter the reason, Wanda would be going alone.

“I’m leaving for Tony’s.” Her voice was silky like a piece of red satin fabric, warming your skin from across the room. She looked like a dream in her floor length black dress, cleavage on display for any man to drool over. You couldn’t help but feel proud of who she had turned out to be despite all of the challenges that came up, and there were plenty. Desperate to feel her, to ground yourself in her embrace, you opened your arms, silently inviting her into your touch. She closed the gap between your bodies in seconds, Natasha’s perfume clinging to her skin. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah.” Your voice quivered, your fingers twitched, but you couldn’t possibly get any closer to her than you already were at this moment. You wanted to bury yourself in Natasha’s scent, wanted to plant your roots and never leave it, but Wanda had to go, and Natasha wasn’t really here anyways. She hadn’t been in two years. “Are you going to be okay? You don’t have to go.”

The gentle smile that pulled at Wanda’s lips had your heart doing backflips in your belly, her beautiful green eyes admiring every naked feature of your face. She clasped your cheeks in her hands, so close you could feel the exhale of her breath against your lips. “YA tebya lyublyu.” Her nose teased yours, nudging against it for the faintest second before her lips were chaining yours to a breathtaking kiss that made the room spin, and for a single second, your heart doesn't ache anymore. She tasted like peppermints, a very specific kind that Tony kept hidden in the top cabinets behind a bag of flour, but you knew that she’d used her magic to steal one, and your heart stuttered thinking about how Natasha would’ve been right at her side being the lookout. It was true that some things never changed, but somehow that saying wasn’t true at all. Everything had changed in the last two years, even these sweet moments, but for Wanda you would push through.

“I love you too.” You whispered when she pulled away, framing her face with your trembling hands for one last intimate embrace before she really had to go. “Come home to me.” You dropped your hands, watching the muscles in her back contract as she walked to the door and grabbed her crossbody bag. Another artifact of Natasha’s, though it hadn’t ever gotten to see the light of day on the redhead's sleek figure. She’d died three days after receiving it, and for two years it had sat in your closet collecting dust. She was all around you. In the clothes that you wore, in the food that you cooked, in the music that made you cry without even being sad. You and Wanda embraced every miniscule thing.

With a flirtatious flick of her hair, Wanda’s green eyes met yours for a final time before she disappeared down the hallway and into the cold night where miracles happened and snow fell. “I always do.” The slip of Sokovian on her tongue made your insides weak, but before you could pull her into bed and ruin the sheets, she was gone.

🎄⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊

The compound felt empty as you wandered around aimlessly, wearing nothing but Natasha’s favorite crewneck and a pair of Wanda’s socks. She never liked to frolic around in her comfiest clothes, but since her death, you’d shown it around the entire compound like maybe it would bring her back. It hadn’t, nothing ever would, but still you hoped for a miracle. You hoped that one day she’d come waltzing through the front door wearing a snarky smirk. She’d have a new hairstyle, and a new wardrobe, but she’d still be your Natasha. She’d fall onto your lap, eyes teasing and bright, full of mischief, and the first thing she’d say would be, “Miss me?”. You wouldn’t have the heart to be mad, so you’d just hug her tight and never let go, and things would finally feel right again.

With everybody out for the night, you settled on the couch with one of your favorite books and a mug of tea, throwing a blanket over your bare legs when the outside wind made your bones feel cold. In a moment of weakness, you let yourself get lost in the sight of Christmas around you. The LED bulbs on the tree were a dim white, just bright enough for the sparkles on the wrapping paper to glisten, and when you looked to the left, her empty stocking hung perfectly at an angle. For that one moment, you let yourself believe that she was here, that her arms were wrapping around your belly and she was pulling you into her chest and reading the words of your book over your shoulder, even though she would insist that she wasn’t when you turned your head to ask. You didn’t miss the superhero, the reformed assassin, the hero; you just missed Natalia. The woman who had never been truly loved until she found you.

Pulling yourself away from that fantasy, you opened your book, starting from the beginning. It was a classic story, one that you read every year around this time, but you could never get tired of it. As characters came to life in your head and the words became something more than just black text letters, you blocked out the notifications spilling in on your phone, entirely content with your simple night in, longing for the minute Wanda came home and the two of you could fall into bed together and sleep away the heartache that came with every new sunrise.

You hadn't realized how much time had passed until you slammed the book shut and let your eyes wander toward your phone that was laying face down on the coffee table. You always hated the climax of the book when the main character refused to believe the Prince was in love with her, but right now you couldn’t force yourself through it, so you chucked it to the end of the couch and let yourself have a moment to breathe. Scrolling through your notification, your heart sank to your feet seeing hundreds of texts from Tony, Steve, Clint, Bucky, Maria… everyone you could think of that had been at Tony’s gala. Everyone but one. With frantic eyes and labored breathing, you threw a pair of shoes on and booked it out of the compound into the frozen night, not bothering to slip on a pair of pants or a hat like Natasha would’ve scolded you about.

Tony had rented out the restaurant down the street, and while it wasn’t the closest trek, especially in your lack of clothing, it was quicker than waiting for a response from the world's mightiest heroes. You didn’t have to go far to tell that something was wrong. Firetrucks and ambulances lined the main road, and the breathtaking restaurant that Natasha loved to order in from was left in shambles. The entire exterior was demolished, and in a circle stood your friends, all solemnly hanging their heads. From the distance, you could make out tears on Clint’s cheeks, the lights from the police cars reflecting off of his dampened face all too similarly to how he’d looked on Vormir. Your eyes searched for Wanda in the crowd, coming up blank everywhere you turned. The closer you got to the scene, the easier it was for you to tell that something bad had happened. Tony’s suit was ripped at every seam, Maria’s face was cut up and smeared with blood, Steve looked so defeated that even Bucky’s prompts to pull him away fell on deaf ears. Just when you were about to ask what had happened, close enough to hear Sam sniffling into his sleeve, your entire world fell apart.

Four black wheels almost blended into the asphalt, and they would've had it not been for the large metal structure that sat on top of it. A bulky black bag was wheeled out, haphazardly strapped to the silver metal contraption so it wouldn’t roll onto the ground with any minor bump or jerk. Again, your eyes desperately searched for Wanda, but all you found were the sorry faces of your friends who had already watched your world fall apart once.

“No.” You shook your head, stepping away from Maria when she reached out to touch your shoulder. Your voice trembled, your heart stopped beating, you were sure of it. All the blood in your body rushed away from your head, leaving your hands to tremble as you tried to make sense of what you were seeing, and who you weren’t. You couldn’t see Wanda. You couldn’t find her. How could you not find the only redhead on the property?! There’s no way your beautiful, fiery, stubborn, sensitive girlfriend who was absolutely fine and completely alive four hours ago, was inside of that body bag. There was absolutely no way you had just lost your entire world when you were just barely surviving at all. “No. No no no.”

Dropping to your knees on the asphalt, agonizing sobs ripped past your lips and flooded the block. Tony winced, Clint broke down, Maria tried to console you, but all you could feel was the complete emptiness of nothing. You should’ve gone with her, if she had to die you should’ve died with her. You never should've let her go alone. She never should’ve come at all. Why was this happening? Why could you never have just one good thing?

“No! It’s not her! It’s not h-her!” You sobbed, shoving Maria away from you, violent cries deafening the paramedics who approached cautiously. Everyone knew who you were. Everyone knew that the infamous Black Widow was so comfortable in her sexuality that she had two girlfriends. Now, everyone was aware that only one remained. Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff were no more, finally reunited but not complete.

You didn’t think it could hurt any worse, you didn’t think life could be any crueler, but then the words to Natasha’s favorite Christmas song started playing through the broken restaurant speakers, and Wanda’s face so full of life and brightness dawned on you. Just last night she had sung these words so goofily, twirling you around your dark bedroom in matching pajamas. Just last night she had been alive.

i’ll be home for christmas, you can plan on me. please have snow and mistletoe, and presents by the tree. christmas eve will find me where the love light gleams. i'll be home for christmas, if only in my dreams

#wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #wandanat #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wandanat x reader #wanda maximoff fluff #natasha romanoff fluff #wandanat fluff #wanda maximoff angst #natasha romanoff angst #wandanat angst #avengers x reader

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hussyknee · 1 year

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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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silassinclair · 2 months

Text

Introduction!!

Yandere Ghost x Reader

CW// Suicidal Thoughts, Paranormal Activity, Murder Mention

My other yand OC Maddox was a hit with ya’ll so here’s a short introduction of a new oc!! Hope you like him as much as I do. This is gonna be very boring because it’s an introduction but I’ll make a oneshot right after this one!!

Masterlist!!

“This key unlocks every door in the manor. Except the door to the attic for some reason, but there’s nothing of importance up there. Apparently it’s just some old junk the first owner left.” The agent said with a tight lipped smile. Her matte red lipstick was as bright as a stop sign.

Taking the key from her hand you’re surprised to feel how heavy it is. “Thank you.” You mutter.

“All the legalities are settled so she’s all yours. I recommend blasting that ivy off the side wall of the house though. The roots can mess up the brick.” The agent adds.

“Alright, I appreciate the tip.” You say and shut the door in her face, leaving you alone in your new home.

Maria was a total pain in the ass, like all people who work with selling things. Oh and for the record, you like the ivy that grows on the side of your new home. Makes it look pretty and natural. Anyways, her being gone was like a breath of fresh air. All was good now that you finally had a place to call home.

Your Grandfather died and in the will he left you his summer home in Italy. It was a grand manor that was located on a hilltop surrounded by forrest. It was perfect for your hermit self. Never in your life would you imagine leaving the states to come live in Italy but here you were. After all the manor was handed to you on a silver platter, the offer would be foolish to refuse.

There was nothing for you in the states. Your life was miserable, draining, and filled with nothing but painful repetition. Being worked like a machine and stepped on like a doormat. Having a horrid and overly possessive ex boyfriend who was a serial cheater didn’t help either. You were so close to ending your miserable existence until a woman named Maria gave you a call.

And now you were here, standing in the foyer of your new home. Some work would need to be done. Floors needed polishing, corners dusting, windows wiping. Maybe you should make a checklist?

"This is gonna be a long day.." You think to yourself.

"There she is again. She must be the new owner." I think to myself as I watch the young woman clean the floor.

The past owner, Lorenzo, must have passed away and put the ownership of the manor into this girl's hands. It has been a while since I’ve seen the old man. But did he have to put my home in the hands of some uncultured American? I find this terribly irresponsible of him, I mean look at her!

She's using a bleach based product on the hardwood! Lorenzo was a good owner of the Verona manor. He hired staff to keep it well maintained and he rarely ever visited. But this girl... she's an utter buffoon. Before she can torture the hardwood any longer I swiftly hover behind her and move the bottle a few feet away from her while she isn't looking.

"Huh?" When she reaches for the bottle she finds it has moved away. I snicker at her confused reaction.

"It was just right here..."

She reaches over and grabs it again but before she does I kick it, sending it flying across the foyer and hitting the front door.

“Any minute now she’ll run away screaming, she won’t even look back.” I think to myself with a devious grin.

But when I hover in front of her I only see an annoyed expression on her face.

“Uhm… Did I do something wrong?” She says.

I freeze, is she not afraid? Why was she talking as if she were talking to someone? Can she see me?

“I asked if I did something to upset you.”

And then her eyes move up and look right into mine. For the first time in centuries I feel as if I have ignited, that I am alive and that my heart once again beats like all other human beings.

“You… Can you see me?” I ask hesitantly, afraid that if I may speak too loudly she’ll scamper away like a mouse.

Her soft lips part slightly as she nods.

He told me his name was Dante Verona. He was the original owner of the Verona manor and he comes from an Italian royal family. But he was assassinated centuries ago in this very manor during a masquerade party. So I assume that his spirit is trapped here. He was wearing an intricate black, red, and white Venetian mask that hid his face. He wore matching black and red noble attire and his hair was a curly dark chocolate brown that went down to his neck.

Overall he was a total mystery. His entire existence was perplexing to me. Yes I do believe in the paranormal but never would I think I’d meet a real life ghost.

“I assume your grand father is Lorenzo? Has he passed on?” Dante asks, cutting through the thick silence.

I blink a few times, maybe if I blink hard enough he’ll disappear and that’ll confirm that this was all just my imagination. So I blink, but Dante’s translucent self is still hovering in front of me. The blank expression of his mask makes me slightly uneasy. I couldn’t get a read on the guy at all.

Coughing, I finally answer, “Uhm yeah… He was my grand father. He left me this manor in his will. And he didn’t mention any ghosts or anything like that.” I add.

“Lorenzo couldn’t see me. You’re the first to see me actually.” Dante says. His voice sounded smooth but the mask muffled it slightly. But he also sounded like he was in pain. I wonder how long he’s been here, trapped in this manor.

“So this whole time you were all alone?”

“Yes.” He softly replies. “Just me. Only my spirit is here.”

“That must be hard.” I say, but not in a pitying sounding way. The last thing he wants is pity probably.

Dante hovers away and I follow him into the living room. Looking up I see him hover up to the chandelier. He looks down at me, I can see his dark green irises through the black holes of the mask.

“Every day is hard. God has cursed me, rejected my entry into the heavens.” His voice cracks. "My death occurred in the very room we are in."

I look around the oriental room we are in. It has been modernized over the years, but I can imagine how it looked in his century. The masked party people, music, drinks, lies and deception. All of it in the room we are in but centuries before.

"My killer has not been found but I know they are long dead. Knowing that they burn in hell brings me peace. And I have learned to accept that I am to remain here.”

Then he rambles on about his life story. The tragedies he lived through, the friends he made and lost, wars and battles faced, and lovers went and gone. But I don't mind that this conversation is one sided. He has had no one to talk to for centuries so he deserves a listener.

"I apologize my lady. I have droned on for far too long. It's impolite..." Dante says in a dejected tone. But I reassure him.

"Y-You're okay! I understand. You haven't had someone to talk to in a long time I imagine. Besides, I found your life story very interesting."

Dante hovers down to where I'm sat on the couch. He also sits beside me. Leaning in close he tilts his masked face to the side as he comes closer to mine. I move away slightly; his body emits an eerie chill.

"Tell me about you. What is your name?" He asks, his eyes twinkle with an emotion unknown to me.

"I'm Y/n L/n. I originally lived in the United States, but I moved here as you know." I mutter. I've never been one to talk a lot anyways.

Dante looks me up and down. His fingers reach out causing me to flinch back, but he goes to touch the fabric of my black dress rather than my skin. To my surprise his fingers can touch the fabric, they don’t phase through it.

"Why do you wear black? Are you a widow? Has your husband passed on?" He asks softly.

I feel myself giggle slightly and he looks up at me with probably a confused expression.

"I've never been married silly, I'm only 23 years old.”

Dante’s emerald eyes widen. “23 and unmarried? Has the societal norm changed? Because my sister was married off to her husband when she was 16.”

I cringe physically. “Oooh yeah, lots of things have changed. But also I’m wearing black because it’s just my style. It’s called goth, it’s a music based style. I can tell you about it sometime.”

Dante looks at me like I’ve grown three heads. I can see it in his eyes.

“Ahem- Anyways. Why do you wear that mask?” I ask.

Dante breaks the eye contact and looks down at the side. “It does not come off. No matter how hard I try to remove it, it only stays. I cannot remove the clothing either.”

I nod. “Is it because it was the last thing you wore before you died?”

He nods in return.

“I assume so.”

He moves closer to me ever so slightly. His gloved hands caress my h/c locks of hair and then he brushes his fingers across my cheeks and jawline.

“What are you doing?” I ask breathlessly.

Dante’s hooded eyes shine with an emotion I cannot read. But I feel like my life from this day forward will never be the same. Can the living and the dead co exist?

Dante Verona. Will we be able to share the same roof?

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #x reader #yandere imagines #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #obsession #yandere ghost x reader #yandere ghost #dante verona

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i-mean-yeah-whatever · 14 hours

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The sun was barely out when his shift ended. A last look behind him just to make sure everything was in order before leaving and he was out of the station. Sitting behind the steering wheel, he checked his phone. He knew Evan was still sleeping at this hour and didn't expect a new message before a couple of hours. He opened their conversation and smiled at their last exchange. The first couple of months had been an adjustment for Evan, and he went head first in their relationship with a complete trust in Tommy. It was humbling and somewhat scary.

On the road home, Tommy made his mental checklist for the day to come after what he hoped would be at least 6 hours of sleep : first meal of the day, working out, some free time, laundry, dinner with Evan, then back on the night shift. It wasn't his usual routine but with a new baby in the team, he accepted to cover some shifts.

He parked his car in the driveway and waited a minute before exiting the car. The night had been calm but with Evan in a particularly good mood with Christmas around the corner, the nights with him asked him more stamina than he had to spare. And yet, he was happy to serve. Things were nice and easy with Evan, they understood each other sometimes with very little words, which was a feat considering how much Evan liked to talk.

As soon as he stepped out of the car, he heard like a small shriek coming from behind the big potted aloe in front of his house. He knew that sound but couldn't see anything.

"Pss pss"

The second time, it clearly sounded like the tiniest meow. Tommy slowly walked around the pots then spotted a ball of black fur with two piercing eyes.

"Hey, little thing! You're definitely too small to be alone around here."

He looked around the area, trying to find the mother or maybe other kittens but found nothing. The kitten then crossed the driveway, stopped just before the road then ran to the car, hiding behind the rear-left wheel.

Tommy knew he had no choice, he had to take the kitten in and deal with the situation later.

~~~

Evan arrived earlier than expected. He wasn't worried but his last message to Tommy was left on read and unanswered, which was very unusual. He let himself in.

"Tommy? It's me!"

"Close the door!"

The first thing he heard was Tommy shouting from the other side of the house. Evan closed the door behind him and waited for a moment.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, not knowing if he should come in or wait here.

Then it appeared just in front of him, from behind a small cabinet. The kitten froze in place, eyes and back round.

"What... is this?" asked Evan, his smile growing.

Tommy then appeared in the living room, clearly looking relieved.

"Ah, you found him."

"No, he found me!"

"Move slowly. He's scared and keeps disappearing behind the furniture."

Evan slowly moved forward, one step at a time. The kitten was soon trapped between the two men and Evan managed to pick him up without a fight.

"So, is he the reason why you left me on read?"

"What?"

"My last message. I-I was a bit worried, sorry. You always answer and..."

"Oh god, I'm sorry, Evan. I was... busy."

They both laughed and the kitten shrieked. Small but fierce!

"I found him when I came back from work. No mother, no siblings. I asked around but no one knows anything."

"So we keep him."

"Evan... I don't know, with my double shifts and-"

"I can take him with me when you're working. You're already spending so much time volunteering in shelters, maybe it's time you find your own pet?"

"But that's why I do that. It's difficult for me to keep an animal."

"Not anymore. Now I'm here, right?"

Tommy looked like he already gave in halfway into the discussion. The baby was busy trying to catch the drawstrings of Evan's hoodie hanging on his chest, all tiny white claws out. Evan looked at Tommy, closed the space between them, then kissed him.

"Hi."

"Hi, love," said Tommy, kissing him too.

Evan's smiled stretched then he took a better look at the kitten.

"You need a name, right?" The kitten wasn't paying attention to him and started chewing on the strings. "Why not... Soot. Sooty!"

#bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #bucktommy ficlet #911 #911 abc #in memory of my dear old black cat that i just lost #he was the best companion #i just wanted to put a bit of him in a cute little story

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daffi-990 · 6 months

Text

Tease Tidbit Tuesday

Tagged by the wonderful @thewolvesof1998

Have a small little something of Eddie and Chris from Rival Firefighters 🚒 .

Letting a seven year old plan an entire weekend probably wasn’t one of Eddie’s smartest ideas. Chris had made up a checklist (on a clipboard and everything) with the weekend's activities written down on it and was barging into Eddie’s room way too early for a Saturday morning asking Eddie if he was ready to drive them to Long Beach for their day at the aquarium.

Eddie rolls onto his back, hands coming up to rub at his tired eyes.

“Chris, the aquarium is like, 30 minutes away and doesn’t open until 9.” He leans over to his bedside table and grabs his phone to check the time. “It’s only 6:30.”

Chris gives him a sheepish smile, “Sorry, Dad. I’m just really excited.”

Excited is an understatement. Ever since they moved to LA, Chris has been dying to go to the aquarium and the zoo. But moving to a new city and starting a new job really doesn’t leave a lot of free time for day trips. Plus the move and buying the house really ate up all of Eddie’s savings, so he needed a few months of work under his belt before he could afford to splurge on a weekend extravaganza. Shannon was in a similar boat, but with the added stress and responsibility of her sick mother.

Chris had been incredibly understanding and when Eddie had come to him last week and told him he had the weekend off and they could finally do the aquarium and zoo, well it was like Christmas had come early.

No pressure tagging: @wikiangela @hippolotamus @jeeyuns @lover-of-mine @fortheloveofbuddie @monsterrae1 @exhuastedpigeon @callmenewbie @spotsandsocks @devirnis @loserdiaz @eddiebabygirldiaz @jesuisici33 @honestlydarkprincess @hoodie-buck @homerforsure @forthewolves @disasterbuckdiaz @athenagranted @wildlife4life @weewootruck @steadfastsaturnsrings @watchyourbuck @rainbow-nerdss and anyone else wanting to share something - consider yourself tagged!

#daffi writes #rival firefighters fic #buddie wip #buddie #hope this is good?#I feel like what I’m currently writing is just filler #but I’ve also introduced an OC who I’ve already grown attached to #she’s like barely in it but she runs a cafe and is just kind and lovely and yeah #I might post something with her in it tomorrow for wip Wednesday

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sciderman · 6 months

Note

is there an already thought out plot line? Like is there a list of things that you're going down as you make comics?

hooh! i always do have a checklist of little storylines and posts, but it's more flexible than you think, and sometimes i don't wind up getting to do all the things i planned (c'est tragique!)

two cancelled items on the checklist as of post-halloweeny (but i might do later along the line... or next year... maybe... maybe...) teen wade's halloweeny flashback spectacular (aka the first time wade wilson put on a mask) the six-armed spider-man arc (really sad about this one. the scripts are so. so so so so soooo funny) sad spaghetti boy hours (aka peter confides in wade how he's feeling after "going public") the resolution of the venom take-over (aka deadpool fails miserably at actually making any progress) couples yoga (aka wade and peter have a soul-searching conversation and actually do make progress) wade's next therapy sessions (heavy duty) wade gets a new tailor (and a new outfit) the boys are back in town (deadpool back in action) peter finally persuades wade to visit eleanor the boys move out of aunt may's house (and into the baxter building) wade realises he's really good with kids, actually peter parker goes back to midtown high spider-man has another britney moment (in the worst way) spider-man and deadpool break-up (for real) (not clickbait)

as for anything that comes further than that, you're just going to have to stay tuned...

#sci speaks #maybe i should write the six armed spider-man arc as a fic. all the dialogue is already there.#but god.. i was so looking forward to drawing peter all clumsy with all those arms.#one day baby... one day...#the arc really spotlights gwen she is so good.#oh to see the less-soft side of gwen stacy. a gwen stacy who has had Enough of peter's shit. and she stops babying him.

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sibylsleaves · 5 days

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Would you prefer for Buck to move into the Diaz house or for them to get a new, bigger place? with maybe space for the little girl they should definitely adopt

i think he'd move into the Diaz house to start with and then when they start talking about possibly expanding their family they decide to buy a house together. this DOES necessitate the return of Clipboard Buck like the man has spreadsheets upon spreadsheets and checklists upon checklists about what their future home need to have. Eddie, of course, is secretly pro-clipboard Buck but what he DOESNT expect is that Chris also gets in on the clipboard action and is somehow EVEN MORE annoying about it. "Dad, you cannot be serious, this house has a GALLEY KITCHEN. I told you, it's breakfast bar or bust!!!!"

And then. when it turns out that THERE'S NOT A SINGLE HOUSE IN THE GREATER LOS ANGELES AREA that fits Buck and Chris's Vision, they decide to buy an abandoned house in a great location and basically knock it down/strip it to the bones and BUILD SOMETHING NEW TOGETHER.

#this is maybe too similar to the madney house storyline but oh well it's a first draft #sibyl answers #screamatthescreen #buddie established relationship spec

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steddieas-shegoes · 2 months

Text

this place is such great motivation for anyone trying to move the fuck away from hibernation

chapter 9: after also on ao3 Rated E

🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰

“It’s not broken at least,” Wayne said as he turned Steve’s finger under the bathroom light. “Eddie’s gonna be pissed.”

“It was an accident! You saw how careful I was,” Steve argued as he held the ice pack on his already-swelling index finger. “The hammer slipped.”

“And you know damn well he’s already stressed tryin’ to throw together Mia’s birthday party. This’ll be the thing to set him off.”

Wayne left the room to finish fixing the railing on the porch stairs, a project that Steve had been adamant he could help with for weeks. He’d been plenty of help with finding the right supplies and handing things to Wayne, but the moment he tried prepping a nail in one of the 2x4s, he misjudged his grip on the hammer. He missed the nail entirely.

Luckily, he didn’t have much force behind the hit, so he’d just have to deal with it swelling up and possibly bruising a bit.

But the timing wasn’t great.

Eddie had been working his ass off all week preparing for Mia’s first birthday. He invited everyone to their house, despite the fact they were still in the middle of some pretty major renovations. If Wayne hadn’t agreed to come a few days early to help finish up the porch and fence, Steve was pretty sure they would’ve had to cancel the party.

And Eddie would have lost it.

Steve had never seen him so strung out.

He snapped at the smallest things, including one instance where Mia had pulled her dinner plate off the table while trying to stand. He didn’t yell at Mia. He yelled at Steve. Mia had started crying all the same. Eddie started crying because he felt terrible. Steve started crying because he didn’t know how to help Eddie feel better about everything.

It was a hell of a week so far.

This injury would just be icing on the cake.

Shit, I hope he remembered to get the cupcakes with chocolate icing for Dustin, Steve thought to himself as he made his way back towards the kitchen to get a glass of water.

Mia was with Robin at the park while Eddie finished all of his shopping for food and decorations. Even though he’d insisted she could go with him, Robin insisted on her not seeing anything until the party.

“She won’t even remember it!” Eddie had exclaimed.

“But it’ll be more fun if she doesn’t see it!” Robin yelled.

Steve let them argue about it while he played with Mia on the carpet a few weeks ago. Robin won. Eddie pouted.

Eddie’s been nonstop ever since, making sure everything was absolutely perfect for their princess. He even ordered her a special dress with a matching plastic tiara. He had a checklist on the fridge that seemed neverending; One thing would be scratched off only for something else to be added. He insisted on doing it himself, making things even worse for all of them.

Wayne made a joke on Wednesday about this being worse than a pregnant woman nesting and the look Eddie shot him nearly killed him.

He’d barely slept; Steve would sometimes wake up in the early hours of the morning and see Eddie sitting at the table, head in his hands, dark circles under his eyes, staring at a notepad full of notes and numbers. He was very cautious of the budget, spent hours searching secondhand stores for decorations so he wouldn’t have to buy them new at the store for five times the price. Steve had offered a million times to use his tip money for it, but Eddie insisted on doing it himself.

They were still working on the whole teamwork thing when it came to finances.

“The princess is here!” Robin called from the front door, and Steve’s head turned to the clock on the wall.

“The princess is early!” He called back, quickly hiding the pack of balloons and streamers on the counter.

“The princess needs a nap!” Robin said from the doorway.

One look at her told Steve everything he needed to know about why they came back early.

Robin loved Mia, way more than any of them expected her to, and Mia loved her right back. Any time Robin got home from work, Mia waddled over to her or smacked at whoever was holding her until she could be in Robin’s arms instead.

But the current state of her hair, clothes, and face made Steve rush over to grab a very clearly grumpy Mia from her arms.

“Hi princess. What did you do to Auntie Robbie?” Steve watched as Robin went over to the fridge, grabbed a can of Coke, and chugged it. “You broke her.”

“Rara no,” Mia said as she nuzzled against Steve’s shoulder. “No no mama.”

Steve wasn’t quite sure what she was trying to say, but he could always play along. “Mama was busy helping Papa with something, honey. But you had fun with Rara, right?”

Mia didn’t answer, but Robin gave a thumbs up from where she was leaning against the counter.

“What happened?”

“She decided to be very adventurous and try to climb the jungle gym with the bigger kids. I tried to help and she was not having it. Tried to distract her and she looked at me like she was trying to kill me.” Robin stared off into space. “One kid laughed at me when she told me no.”

Steve resisted the urge to laugh.

Mia was in a “no” phase, one that was very normal for her age, but caused Eddie incredible amounts of stress. Steve liked to remind him that it could always be worse: she could be a biter.

Steve rubbed her back and felt her sigh. She’d probably fall asleep in his arms within the next 20 seconds.

“So you came home after that?” Steve asked quietly.

“No,” Robin shook her head. “I respected her need for independence. And then she realized how high she was and panicked and cried and yelled for me and I looked like a terrible parent and I had to explain to the other moms there that I am just her aunt and also that their judgment isn’t needed considering she’s a baby and their kids were all being assholes about letting her try to climb something.”

“So we can’t go back to that park?” Steve smirked.

“Give it a week.”

Steve snorted as he looked down at Mia, fast asleep on his shoulder, hand gripping his shirt loosely. He smiled fondly down at her before looking back up at the clock.

“I’m gonna go put her in her crib. Eds will be home soon if you wanna hide.”

“Gonna shower and take a nap. She wore me out.”

“I can see that. Thanks for taking her, Robs.”

“Anytime. You know I love riling up stuck up parents.” Robin winked at him before heading to her room to grab her clothes for a shower.

Steve was careful taking Mia to her bedroom, didn’t want to wake her up and ruin any chance of her having a nice nap.

Once she was settled in her crib, Steve went back out to check on Wayne.

Eddie was standing there, hands full of bags from various stores, evaluating the hard work they’d done. When he caught sight of Steve, his eyes immediately went down to his hand.

“Should we make sure it’s not broken at the hospital?” His voice shook with concern and Steve was quick to go to him, embrace him, not caring if any neighbors happened to be there to see.

“No, it’s fine, baby. How’d shopping go?”

“I went over budget.”

Steve nodded. “That’s okay. I kinda knew it would happen.”

“But I tried so hard!” Eddie groaned in frustration. “The lady at the bakery even gave me a discount when I explained everything. She said she remembered when she went crazy planning all five of her kids’ first birthdays. I haven’t even gotten the sandwich stuff!”

“Baby.” Steve kissed his cheek. “Charlie and Maryann agreed to bring sandwiches.”

“What? When? I didn’t ask them to.”

“When I asked them to because I knew you’d go over budget. It’s their gift for Mia. Well, we know they’ll probably also bring her a real gift, but that’s what they told me when I talked to them yesterday,” Steve shrugged. “Need help with anything?”

“The cupcakes are in the front seat.”

Wayne remained silent, but Steve shot him a look as Eddie made his way inside the house.

“Thought we weren’t telling him,” Steve huffed.

Wayne failed at trying to hide a laugh. “He saw me workin’ alone and asked if you hurt yourself. I said I wouldn’t tell him, I didn’t say I would lie if he asked.”

“Loopholes in the contract,” Steve sighed.

He opened the passenger side door of Eddie’s van to grab the cupcakes. The box was discreet, but he could see through the small window on the top that they were purple with sprinkles, just as he’d planned. The cake would be in the shape of a tiara that matched the one he bought for her to wear. It was extremely coordinated.

As he picked up the box, an envelope fell off the seat and to the ground.

Knowing Eddie’s organization system— mostly just keeping things in spots that don’t make sense until he needs them —Steve was quick to pick it up and put it back.

The front of the envelope said Steve.

His brows crinkled in confusion.

Why would there be an envelope with his name on it in Eddie’s van?

His birthday wasn’t for a month, so it couldn’t be that. Plus, they’d agreed on not doing gifts for either of their birthdays so they could make sure Mia’s first birthday was perfect.

He set the envelope back in the seat, even though it killed him. He could ask about it when Eddie’s stress level was no longer well above what was safe for his health.

Except he kept thinking about it constantly as he worked through his to-do list, as he made dinner, as he gave Mia a bath so Eddie could decorate the living room and kitchen for her party tomorrow, as he talked to Robin about her keeping Mia busy until everyone arrived for the party.

When Wayne went to bed on the cot in Mia’s room, and Robin went to bed so she could mentally prepare for the day tomorrow, Steve made his way to the kitchen to help Eddie.

Eddie was standing on a chair, hanging streamers from the cabinets, cursing when one fell as he managed to tape another one next to it.

“Need some help?” Steve asked as he leaned his hip against the counter.

“What I need is to never do this again. Next year, we’re going to a park and ordering pizza,” Eddie grunted as he tried to tape the fallen streamer back into place.

“We probably could’ve done that this year, baby,” Steve walked over, resting his hand on the back of Eddie’s thigh. “She isn’t gonna remember it.”

“I just don’t want her to look back and wonder why she doesn’t have pictures from birthday parties,” Eddie said without stopping what he was doing. “It sucks not knowing if your parents even bothered to care.”

It suddenly all made sense to Steve.

If anyone could understand parents who didn’t care, it was him. But it was also Eddie.

Sometimes, he forgot that Eddie didn’t always have Wayne around to make sure he was loved. He forgot that the first nine years of Eddie’s life were spent with parents who pretty much made sure they didn’t draw the attention of the law, making sure he got to school and looked fed and mostly clean. It would make sense that he didn’t really get birthday parties.

It broke Steve’s heart. Even his own shitty parents had spoiled him for the first decade of his life, before he became more of a hindrance than a gift.

“Eds, honey, take a break,” Steve tugged on his pants, ignoring Eddie’s groan. “C’mon. Haven’t hugged you all day.”

That seemed to win him over.

Eddie got off the chair and let out a sigh. “I’ve been overdoing it, haven’t I?”

Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist, tugging him closer so their faces were only a couple inches apart. “No, you’ve been doing everything just right. But you could ask for more help so you don’t feel so stressed about it.”

“I just don’t want anyone else stressed. She’s my daughter, so it should be my stress.”

Steve tightened his grip. “She’s our daughter, and she’s Wayne’s granddaughter, and she’s Robin’s niece, and everyone loves her and you. This doesn’t have to fall on you.”

Eddie leaned his head forward, kissed Steve’s lips once. “Sorry for being a little crazy lately.”

“Eh, I kinda like you a little crazy.” Steve nudged Eddie’s nose with his own. “We should go to bed. We have time in the morning to finish this.”

“You just want me to fuck you.”

“No! I want you to get some rest. And maybe I thought about getting my mouth on you while you relax, but that’s just a passing thought.”

“I’ve barely even touched you all week and you wanna take care of me?” Eddie shook his head. “How’d I get so lucky?”

“It’s not so much luck as I know I can’t be quiet enough for Wayne not to hear so you get the special treatment until he’s gone.”

“Fair enough,” Eddie laughed. “Oh! When you got the cupcakes out of my van, you didn’t happen to see the envelope with your name on it, did you?”

Steve was busted. He turned bright red as Eddie’s grin widened.

“Uh, I mean I noticed an envelope. Did it have my name on it?”

Eddie reached in his pocket and pulled out the envelope, folded in half. “You think just because I’m stressed and busy I didn’t notice you completely spaced out all afternoon? Give me a little more credit than that, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t mean to see it! It fell on the floor when I grabbed the cupcakes and I saw my name when I put it back. I swear I wasn’t gonna look.”

“I know, Stevie,” Eddie kissed his forehead and unfolded the envelope. “But since you know it exists, I think you should go ahead and get to see what’s inside. It was supposed to be for your birthday, but now I’m feeling a little impatient.”

“You weren’t supposed to get me anything for my birthday,” Steve whined. “Everything was gonna be spent on Mia’s party and our family trip to Hawkins.”

“I know. But the reason I was so strict on budget for this was because I’ve been working on something for a while. And it wasn’t just me!” Eddie pulled out a sheet of paper. “Everyone contributed. This wouldn’t have happened without all the kids and their parents chipping in. Oh, and Robin and Wayne.”

Steve’s brows furrowed as he unfolded the sheet of paper Eddie handed him.

Stevie,

You put your own dreams on the backburner so that everyone else can reach theirs. That doesn’t sit right with all of us, but especially me.

You wanted to buy an RV, road trip all over the country with your family, see things you’ve never seen before with the people you love. I wanted you to have that.

So this is the paperwork for the RV that will belong to us in two months. It’s not brand new, so we’re getting new carpet put into it and having a few mechanical things worked on. It sleeps 8, and there’s probably room to add in a cot if we need to.

I love you. I wanna travel the country with our little nugget and any future ones we get to have. I wanna love you on a beach, the mountains, the desert, the city. Doesn’t matter where as long as we’re doing it together.

Love, Eddie and Mia (and everyone else)

Steve sniffed, looking up at Eddie with tears falling down his cheeks.

“You got me an RV? How was that in the budget at all?”

Eddie wiped away the first tears, kissing the top of his head. “It involved all of us, and we got lucky that the previous owners were really not looking to make any money, they just wanted to pay it off. Wayne knew a guy who could do the mechanical stuff for free as long as he could do it in his spare time, which is why we won’t have it for two months.”

“But still, that’s a lot of money. You didn’t have to-“

“It’s worth it. You’re worth it.”

“I can’t believe you bought me an RV.”

Eddie took the paper from his hand and set everything on the counter next to them. “I can’t wait to fuck you in it.”

Steve groaned. “You’re killing me.”

“I’m just giving you something to look forward to.”

“I love you so much,” Steve leaned his head on Eddie’s shoulder, kissed his neck. “I’m so fuckin’ glad my car needed an oil change in Hawkins.”

“To be fair, your car needed an oil change well before it was in Hawkins. Your lucky it made it to Hawkins,” Eddie teased.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Bedroom?”

They both laughed as Eddie dragged Steve by his hand to the bedroom, trying to stay quiet so they wouldn’t wake anyone up. Wayne had already offered taking care of Mia if she woke up since he was in her room, but they didn’t want her to be up before she was ready.

Eddie barely had the door closed before Steve was pushing him against it, dropping to his knees and mouthing at his clothed cock.

“Jesus, sweetheart. Not even gonna take my pants off first?” Eddie gasped out, watching as Steve’s eyes rolled back and he let out a muffled moan.

“Want you,” Steve begged softly.

“You can have me.” Eddie reached down to unbutton his own pants, tugging them down enough to release his leaking cock. “Won’t last long, sweet boy.”

Steve didn’t answer, just licked at the tip of Eddie’s cock and wrapped his lips around him.

True to his word, Eddie only lasted another minute, too worked up from lack of touch for the last week and the hunger in Steve’s eyes as he maintained eye contact while he bobbed his head up and down his length.

Steve moaned as Eddie came down his throat, eyes closing as he swallowed it all.

Eddie’s legs felt weak, exhaustion mixed with overwhelming pleasure finally catching up to him.

He pulled Steve to his feet and guided him to the bed, pushing him down and shoving Steve’s pants down his legs to return the favor.

Steve lasted even less time than him, always so quick to fly over the edge when he’d been on his knees with Eddie in his mouth.

They barely managed to wipe themselves off and remove their pants before they were asleep, curled up against each other for the first time all week.

******

Mia was spoiled.

Everyone brought more gifts that they really had the room for, but they wouldn’t complain.

Jonathan brought his camera to take pictures, promising to develop them and mail them as soon as he got home.

The kids had all chipped in and bought her a playset for the backyard, but conveniently had to head back to Hawkins before it could be assembled. Steve didn’t really mind, though.

Mia’s obsession with Hopper continued throughout the party as she insisted on being held by him anytime Eddie set her down, tugging on his mustache and calling him Pa. Hopper couldn’t quite hide the smile he gave her when she did.

Robin and Wayne handled most of the cleanup so that Eddie and Steve could take Mia for a walk around the neighborhood to help her settle for bed. She’d been given more sugar than she’d ever had in her life, and it was certainly showing.

While on their walk, while the sun was setting and the streetlights were turning on, Steve watched Eddie talking to Mia in her stroller.

Mia babbled back, mostly nonsense with the occasional recognizable word, her responses getting quieter and less excited every minute that passed.

Eventually, she was asleep.

Eddie smiled over at him. “Should we head back, love?”

Steve stopped walking. Eddie stopped, too, confusion on his face.

“Will you marry me?” Steve asked.

Eddie’s hands dropped from the stroller, his mouth opening in shock.

“We- you- I.” Eddie laughed. “You’re serious.”

“I am. I know we can’t technically, but, if I got you a ring, would you wear it? Could I say we’re engaged to our family?” Steve grabbed his hands, lacing their fingers together. “I mean this is everything I want: you, Mia, this life. Maybe in the future we could actually get married. But I wanna be able to say you’re mine, even if legally we’re just roommates.”

Steve gave him a hopeful look, one that Eddie had seen a handful of times before when they made big decisions together.

“I’ll marry the shit out of you, sweetheart,” Eddie grinned at him, squeezing his hands. “I’ll wear a ring from the grocery store if I have to. I’ll tattoo a ring on me. Whatever it takes to be yours.”

Steve knew it was risky to even stand like this on the sidewalk of their neighborhood. While no one was out, a car could pass at anytime, anyone could look out their window. They didn’t want to bring too much attention to themselves. They were pretty sure the next door neighbors thought Robin and Eddie were Mia’s parents and Steve was the third wheel they were being nice to.

But they were engaged. He loved this man so much. This man loved him so much. They would get married, even without legal paperwork.

They could share a kiss, just one quick one.

When they pulled apart, Steve took a step away.

Eddie turned back to the stroller and turned it around to walk back towards the house.

“Done with our walk?” Steve asked as he followed.

“You expect to propose to me and not get fucked into the mattress tonight? You know me better than that.”

It was a damn good thing Eddie shoved Steve’s face into the pillow. The last thing they needed was having to explain to Wayne or Robin why he was nearly screaming as Eddie worked him over three times before they both passed out.

Wayne still gave them a knowing look the next morning and Robin rolled her eyes on her way out the door.

It could’ve been the slight limp to Steve’s walk.

Or maybe it was the ring Eddie had moved to his ring finger this morning.

“Mama! Dada!” Mia squealed from her high chair as they both prepped breakfast for all of them.

“Yes, princess?” Eddie asked her.

“Luh!”

“Love you, too, honey,” Steve walked over to kiss the top of her head.

“Luh! Luh mama.”

“And what about me, huh?” Eddie asked as he brought her dry cereal and cut up bananas and strawberries to her.

“Luh dada!”

Eddie kissed the top of her head. “I love you most, princess.”

A house full of love was all Eddie had ever wanted for Mia, and for himself, and now he had it with Steve.

He didn’t need more than that.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #chaptered fic #ao3 fic #mechanic eddie munson #single parent eddie munson #epilogue

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roxygen22 · 1 month

Text

Still Here (Chapter 4)

Summary: Timothée invites you and Madison out to the lake.

A/N: This Timothée variant is so dad-coded that I'm falling in love with him myself.

Catch up on previous chapters here.

You spent the next few days helping your mother clean out and rearrange your old room to be livable once again instead of a dedicated craft space. You checked your phone constantly the first couple of days after your lunch with Timothée, but slowly resigned yourself to the fact that he may not reach out after all. You wouldn't blame him if he had changed his mind. The two of you hurt each other pretty badly all of those years ago and were practically strangers again thanks to time and distance.

On the fifth day, as you were perusing job ads in the local newspaper, you heard your phone ding. You stared at the device for a moment in disbelief. Was it going to be a message from him, or just another spam text that gets your hopes up? You flipped it over and spotted:

"Want to go out to the lake on Saturday?"

You bit your lip and grinned, hugging your phone to your chest. Finally.

"Sounds fun! Let me see if my parents are available to hang out with Maddy." "She's welcome, too."

Wow. You weren't used to that. Your "friends" in California weren't much on kids tagging along on your outings. It got to a point where you didn't go out much at all because getting a sitter was too expensive.

"Really? Thanks! I think she'd enjoy getting out of the house." "Of course. Let's meet at my place early around 7am so we can have some fun before it gets hot. Do you remember how to get here?" "As long as you are still on Hawk Road, I can manage ;)" "Yep. See you in a couple of days."

<><><><><>

Saturday morning finally arrived. It was hard to convince Madison to get out of bed, but with some persuasion (i.e. favorite breakfast) she was up and dressed relatively quickly. You went through your verbal checklist to ensure you had everything you both needed for day of fun in the sun:

"Phone charger, check, snacks, check, cooler of drinks, check, sunscreen, check, spare clothes, check. Alright, I think we have everything. Let's load up!" As expected, you were able to find Timothée's place with ease. He had a small house on the same land as his parents. You had spent enough time there as a teenager that you still knew the route like the back of your hand.

Timothée was already outside packing stuff into the bed of the truck when you arrived. He turned and waved as he heard your car make its way down the gravel driveway. Once you stopped, he walked up and opened the door for you. Another gesture you weren't used to anymore.

"Good morning!" You looked up at him from your car's seat and smiled. He hugged you once you stood.

"Morning, [Y/N]." He pulled back to look at your face, smiled again, then looked to the side as he spotted movement behind the car. "Hey, Madison!"

"Hey," she replied flatly as she walked up to the two of you. You pulled the girl into your side.

"Mornings aren't her favorite. She'll warm up eventually." You looked down to give her that "mind your manners" look.

"That's alright. I'm not a morning person either, unless I'm up for something fun. Like today!" Timothée said cheerily. That's when you noticed something connected to his truck.

You leaned around him and exclaimed, "You have a boat now?!"

He chuckled. "I did grow up a little bit while you were away, [Y/N]."

You laughed awkwardly, but then quickly froze when you realized, "Oh no, we don't have life jackets. I didn't know, so I didn't plan for..."

"Don't worry, I already thought through that. I had an extra adult one on hand and borrowed a kids' life jacket from the neighbors. By the way, they have some kids around Madison's age. I think their youngest may even be in the same grade in the fall. They want to meet you both."

"Oh, it would be so great if Madison could at least know one other kid when school starts up. Are they new in the area?"

"Relatively. They moved in about five years ago," he replied.

"Ah, I see. I have a lot of catching up to do," you noted. You looked down at your daughter and squeezed her shoulder, "And we have new friends to make."

"I may not even still be here when the new school year starts, remember?" Madison grumbled.

"Well, it doesn't hurt to have some friends around when you come visit your grandparents, though, right?" Timothée chimed in.

She shrugged. "I guess not."

"Right, well, back to the fun at hand. Before I saw the boat, I was going to offer that we all pile in my car since there is more space. We can just follow you over there instead," you stated.

"Nonsense. We can all fit in my truck. Here, let me put your things in the back." You opened the trunk and allowed him to transfer your bags and cooler.

As he walked away, you bent down to talk to Madison quietly. "His truck only has one row of seats. Are you okay with sitting in the middle between us?" Just because you had known Timothée most of your life didn't mean she would (or should) be automatically comfortable around him.

"Sure, I've never ridden in a truck like this before, or in a boat!" You could tell she was starting to perk up. She ran over when Timothée opened the heavy passenger door of the old blue truck and climbed inside eagerly. "Whoa, we're so high up compared to your car, Mom!"

Once you followed suit, Timothée shut the door and ran around the front to the driver seat to join you. "Alright, everyone buckled up?" he asked. You and Madison nodded. "Then let's go!"

As he drove, you pointed out some of the places from your childhood. This triggered some reminiscing on Timothée's part about some of the shenanigans the two of you got into, which made Madison giggle. She seemed to enjoy hearing about some of your irresponsible moments. Hearing her laugh again was like music to your ears. You looked over at the two of them as they laughed together. Even though it was at your expense, you couldn't help but smile. Maybe this is what it could have been like had you stayed, the two of you together with a child in between.

Your arrival at the lake interrupted your reverie. Soon the three of you were out on the water and heading for a cove Timothée liked to frequent. Madison sat at the front of the boat with you close behind. She was nervous at first, gripping the edge of the boat, but quickly loosened up. Her long blonde hair flowed behind her as she faced into the wind. She looked back at you with a grin and yelled, "It feels like I am flying!" You laughed and waved, then looked back at Timothée, who was watching the two of you with a soft smile...

...which quickly turned into a mischievous grin. "Watch this!" he shouted. Now out on open water, he opened the throttle on the motor. The nose of the boat raised out of the water with increased speed. This time, you were the one gripping the edge of your seat while your daughter screamed, "Woohoo!" with both hands in the air. You could hear Timothée laughing behind you.

Much to Madison's disappointment, Timothée had to slow down as you neared the cove. When you approached the shore, he turned the motor off and jumped out to drag the boat to the bank. The girl jumped from the boat to the sand. "That was awesome!" she exclaimed as she shucked her lifejacket.

Timothée offered his hand to help you down then grabbed the bags and cooler. "Glad you're enjoying yourself, kiddo. Now, can you help me find a spot to set up our stuff?" he asked.

Madison ran up a small hill and quickly spied a dry grassy space to lay out the blankets. "Over here!"

"That's perfect, Maddy." You laid out a blanket. "Why don't you sit here, take your shoes off, and put sunscreen on, then you can go wade around while I get everything else set up. But no swimming until one of us can join you."

Madison rolled her eyes. "Okayyyy..."

You raised an eyebrow. "Or I could make you sit here all by your lonesome while Timothée and I swim, if you're going to be like that."

"No, no, I'm good. Shallow water only." She gestured to cross her heart then ran back down the hill.

Timothée set the cooler down beside you. "I know it wasn't part of your plan years ago, but you're really good at that."

"What's that?" You gave him a questioning look.

"The whole mom thing. You seem to have a knack for when to give her space and freedom, and when to rein it in. Oof, and that eyebrow raise. Even I stopped in my tracks."

You laughed. "Oh just wait until I have to break out her middle name. That's when it's really serious, Timothée Hal Chalamet." He playfully shuddered. "But, uh, thanks. I feel like I fail at it all the time. Especially these last few months. Parenting is supposed to be a two person job, you know. Or more. Like they say, it takes a village." You dropped your head to prevent him from seeing the tears welling up in your eyes.

Timothée reached out to lift your chin. "I think you'll find a village here to help you, if you give them a chance." He brushed a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb.

Before you could respond, Madison interrupted with a squeal. He dropped his hand and cleared his throat as you quickly turned to investigate. "A fish touched my leg!"

You both chuckled. "I guess we better get down there," you said. You both undressed down to your swimwear and joined her. The three of you played and swam for hours. Once Timothée caught you by surprise by grabbing your waist, hoisting you out of the water, and throwing you back in. Madison giggled when you came back up spluttering, then asked to be thrown next.

This continued for several rotations until he was worn out. Both you and he needed a break. Madison was still going strong but was willing to come back into the shallows if it meant staying in the water.

Timothée sat beside you on the blanket as you dried yourself off. You could tell an idea dawned on him by the look on his face.

"Is it alright if I let her drive the boat around a little when we're back in open water? With help, of course?"

"Sure. That should be incentive enough to get her out of the water." You paused. "Thank you for today. I haven't seen her smile and laugh this much in months. It's all been so hard on her."

"Oh, think nothing of it. I come out here all the time to get away from life for a bit. Based on what you told me at lunch the other day, you hadn't had a chance to just stop and have some fun. I'm glad I could offer that."

"You...you're being so sweet to me."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, we never talked about the way we ended things. I'm sorry if I made you feel like you weren't important to me."

"No, I'm sorry. I should have been happy for you. Instead I selfishly focused on what I was losing versus what you were gaining. After some time, when I was able to see past my own hurt and look at things more objectively, I realized how incredibly brave you were to pack up and chase your dreams," he replied.

"I didn't reach them, though," you said sadly.

"Yet. You still have time," he said matter of factly.

You scoffed. "I appreciate the vote of confidence, but life is too crazy right now to even think about finishing school."

"Well, just don't lose sight of it. K?" You nodded. "So shall we pack up and head back?" He stood and offered you his hand.

"All good things must come to an end, sadly," you replied, allowing him to help you stand. The two of you folded up the blankets and hauled the stuff back to the boat.

As you predicted, Madison whined when she saw what was going on. "I don't want to go yet!"

You smirked and looked over at Timothée. "I got this," he muttered to you under his breath. "Hey, kiddo, would you want to go if I let you drive the boat?"

"Really?!"

Timothée nodded. "Only when we get out in open water, but yes, I'll show you how to steer."

Madison looked at you with big puppy dog eyes. "Can I really drive it, Mom?"

"Hmm," you put your finger and thumb on your chin to look deep in thought. "I suppose so."

"Yes!" She jumped up and down and pumped her fist in the air.

"Now go get your shoes and lifejacket back on," you instructed. You all loaded up in the boat and set on your way. Madison was visibly vibrating with excitement as she sat beside Timothée next to the motor.

"Ready?" he asked once out of the cove. She nodded emphatically. "Alright, we're not going to go as fast as we did on our way out here, ok? Now, you have to face forward, but put your hand here on the handle behind you. Good. You will need to push or pull the handle in the direction you want to go. If you want to head right, push right. Left, pull left."

"Got it. Right is right, left is left."

"Ok. I am going to twist the handle to get us going again. You focus on where we're heading." She looked at him very seriously and nodded. Timothée slowly increased the speed. Madison looked nervous for a brief moment as she experimented with how far to push or pull to get the boat to move.

"You're already a pro!" Timothée shouted.

"Look Mom, I'm doing it!" She beamed. It was a beautiful sight. You pulled out your phone and took their picture. You made a mental note to send it to Timothée later.

Madison steered the boat almost the entire way back to the boat ramp, then. Timothée took over. After he expertly brought the boat to rest at the dock, you and Madison unloaded your belongings while he got the truck. After loading up and heading out, Madison fell asleep against your shoulder before you even got to the highway. You rested your cheek on her head, reveling in the closeness. She didn't come to you for cuddles like she used to.

The girl stayed asleep even once you arrived back at Timothée's house. He gently picked her up and carried her to your car.

"Thank you for your help," you said softly as you stood by the car door. "And thank you again for today."

"I enjoyed it. Hopefully we can do it again sometime this summer."

"I'd like that, and I think it's safe to say she would, too." You grabbed the door handle and turned. "Hey, uh, want to grab dinner sometime this week?"

Timothée smiled. "Yes."

<><><><><>

Chapter 5

Masterlist

Tag List:

@croatianprincess

@bluizh

#timothée chalamet #timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet x reader #timothee x reader #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothée chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet x you #timothée x reader #timothée chalamet x you #divorce #single mom #single parent #single parenting #female reader #mom reader #angst #whump #eventual happy ending

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