#but I am here and season three didn’t come out too long ago

[sivler]

some varians for your viewing pleasure

[emo-batboy]

Things Battinson Totally Did During His First Year of University

Using Unhinged or Odd Things I Also Did as a College Freshman :D

Note: for this list, let’s believe Bruce was living in an (admittedly expensive and swanky) dorm because it is required for first-years, especially those entering at a young age, and Alfred told him he needed to make friends. Also yes I did every single thing on this list. I never claimed to be a role model

Bruce, to his TA: I’m so sorry I’m late to class. I gave blood a few hours ago and almost fainted on the way here, but it won’t happen again.

Signs up for a class called “Age of Dinosaurs” despite it not being required whatsoever and proceeds to work his entire schedule around it

Bruce: Your mental health is super important. If you think you should see the on-campus therapist, go see them. Friend: Fine. I’ll sign up for therapy if you sign up for therapy too. Bruce: Hold on-

Finds a loophole in his housing contract that allows him to get a pet frog, calls him kermit :)

Gets a second frog because Kermit was lonely, names it Constantine after Muppets Most Wanted, then realizes that they’re gay for each other. Wonders if the rainbow-colored rocks he got them triggered anything

Swings dramatically between calling Alfred every single day and ghosting him for weeks, cries when he realizes what he did

“Accidentally” joins the student body council, doesn’t know what he’s doing, gets re-elected anyway

Molds a dragon out of Laffy Taffy instead of doing his work

Bruce: *joins Honors, gets all A’s, takes the max amount of classes, has several minors, overachieves* Also Bruce: I’m a failure.

Breaks into a building after hours to study because NO ONE KNOWS HOW TO SHUT THE FUCK UP AT THE LIBRARY

Bruce: I will not get seasonal depression this year. Bruce: *gets real and seasonal depression that year*

Meticulously schedules his day with a color-coded planner because if he sits down for too long, the thoughts will consume him

Gives a presentation to his rhetoric class on how much he likes Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse (it is 20 minutes long)

Successfully allocates funding from the student body council to pay for free feminine products in the dorms OUT OF SPITE because someone said it couldn't be done. fuck you, Andrew

Bruce: It is not an all-nighter if I go to sleep before my first class. Friend: It is 7:30am, the sun is in the sky, and your first class is at 12:30. Bruce: But I am getting sleep.

Refuses to go anywhere without his backpack because what if he needs three notebooks at once

Loses over 20 pounds because ✨stress✨ and scares the shit out of Alfred when he comes home for Thanksgiving

Argues with his TA over the one (1) question he got wrong on his Dinosaur exam

Bruce, calling Alfred: Hello father figure. How do I do taxes? Do I have to do them myself? Also, I think I’m having a panic attack.

Joins in on a charity arts-and-crafts project that gives kids books with matching activities made by volunteers, proceeds to commandeer the project because “it’s not color-blind friendly” and rewrites the instructions for everyone

Makes a murder wall

Goes to one (1) sports game and proceeds to leave in the first ten minutes because it’s way too loud wtf is wrong with people

Professor, addressing the lecture hall: I dare you to write an essay about these two sentences. Bruce: *writes an essay about six words, gets a 100, never even read the book*

Crawls into the ceiling for some alone time

Ghosts someone after a date because he’s too scared to tell them he didn’t know it was a date in the first place and now he feels bad

Classmate: How tf does he walk across campus that fast? I go in the same direction he does on my bike, and he’s always ahead of me. Bruce: *is gay sprinting to Dinosaur class*

Refuses to let others use his Favorite Pen TM

Constantly gets mistaken for a Grad Student because he is “so wise and mature” (bestie, that’s the autism)

Alfred: *casually mentions he got into a car accident through text* Bruce: *replies with a meme while hyperventilating because he doesn’t know what to do with that information??!*

Wears a suit to one of his finals

Regularly eats non-organic food for the first time in his life, proceeds to learn about several allergies Alfred forgot to mention he has

Writes “What is a Hot Pocket?” in calligraphy and proceeds to laugh his ass off alone in his dorm because he is so exhausted he’s reached the point of delusion

Locks himself out of his dorm right before class, frantically asks the floor group chat if someone can help, proceeds to tell the nice gay man on the floor who saved him “I love you” because his social skills have hit rock bottom

Makes a little music album display next to his desk for his favorite band (Nirvana) His friends call it a shrine, and they are technically correct

Has a blacklist of people he refuses to interact with because Reasons

Counselor: What do you want to do when you graduate? Bruce: *gestures vaguely*

Refuses to take the bus because there are people in there and he doesn’t like those

Loses one of his frogs, how tf did he do that, they’re fully aquatic, oh fuck, this is probably why they got rid of that loophole a year later because unbeknownst to Bruce, he accidentally started a frog revolution in the dorms, btw he SWEARS he did not mean to do that

Has two trash cans in his room: one for the Good Garbage, and one for the Bad Garbage. Only Bruce knows which is which

Bruce: *writes a creative piece about a ship’s final thoughts as it sinks, bringing its passengers down with it* TA: Absolutely lovely, Bruce, but are you okay?

Goes on Night Walks, keeps himself safe by maintaining a level 12 resting bitch face at all times

Earns the nickname “8th floor cryptid” after pacing the halls at 3am when it’s too cold for Night Walks (honestly tho how tf didn’t he get the nickname earlier?)

Bruce: Do you think a depressed person could do this? Bruce: *has a manic episode*

Okay that's all love you BYE

[dstryvampres]

Lab Assistant

MINORS/AGELESS BLOG DNI !

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader

Warnings: smut LOL, dub con, pnv, unprotected sex, use of fear toxin on some dude, he smacks your ass like once

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: this is my first time writing just pure smut, sorry if the set up is super long.

For the past week your heater had been broken, and despite multiple calls to your landlord which always ended up with the promise that he would come over to fix it eventually, you were still freezing. Though you could escape the biting cold throughout the day by taking up a second home at your university, you always had to eventually come back to your shitty studio apartment and suffer through the night. You’re excess time spent on campus was well spent, studying in the library, napping under stairwells or in-between shelves in the library, stirring around coffee you didn’t even like but knew you have to drink to stay in the cafe, or staring longingly at your psychology professor Dr. Crane. The lack of any privacy throughout your day had started to get annoying after the first three days, not helped by the fact that because you saw Dr Crane more than you usually do, leading to you feeling more high strung. Gotham was not treating you kindly.

“Excuse me,” a voice called out quite loudly above you, forcing you out of your final exam induced coma. You gritted your teeth, knowing that you were likely overstaying your visit to the campus library, especially since you had just finished your last exam of the season, who knows how many hours ago.

Looking up you were met with the face of your favourite professor, Dr Crane. Another horrible coincidence, it was embarrassing for someone so put together and professional to find you so vulnerable, especially someone who you had in mind when your hand was shoved down your pants most nights. 

“The library is closing soon, I would recommend getting your stuff and heading out,” Dr Crane says, his voice oddly empathetic. A jarring contrast to the usual mix of hostility and boredom his voice held during lectures. He sighs and takes off his glasses, pinching his eyebrows together, seeming conflicted over what he wants to say next, so instead you fill the space with your own voice.

“Of course, I’m so sorry sir. I seemed to lose track of time, and was too exhausted to walk home. Again, I am so sorry. I should have set a timer or just maybe not sleep in the library, that was so-“

“You have been spending a weird amount of time on campus for the past week,” Dr Crane interjects, giving you a once over. “Is everything okay at home?”

The question was so genuine it made your brain short circuit. Why would he even care about you?

“Not really,” you laughed, the two words coming out of your mouth before you had time to think. A habit only recently picked up due to sleepless nights.

A smile crept over your professor's face, one that didn’t seem to reach the rest of his face. You couldn’t tell if it was from the shock of your honesty or something more sinister. He sat down in front of you, scratching his nose, letting a silence stretch out. Just long enough for pricks of discomfort to stir.

“Well, I’m running a program here at the university over the winter break. Just need an assistant to help me over at Arkham for an experiment I’m conducting. The job would include housing closer to Arkham, since it’s a little out of the city, and it pays about a dollar over the minimum wage. If you’re interested,” he slides a business card over the table, smile now dropped, “just email me in the next 48 hours.”

Taking the card eagerly between your fingers, mumbling a small ‘thank you’ under your breath before pocketing it. When you look up he’s already halfway gone. Packing up your things as fast as you can, you leave the library and hop on the train back to your shitty apartment. An email is sent to Dr Crane that night, and the following day you are confirmed as his assistant for this experiment the next day.

𝜗𝜚

The space provided for your three week stay was slightly better than your studio apartment, mostly because it had heating, but also because you shared a wall with Dr Crane. Besides the housing, the internship also came with an average pay, some work experience, and enough credits to compensate for one class. Your first week there had mostly been mundane tasks, taking notes outside of interrogation rooms while Dr Crane interviewed patients, making coffee for the two of you, making patient profiles, and making sure no one took any of Dr Crane’s “special medicine” for the experiment. Despite the easy work and the decent benefits, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something more sinister that Dr Crane wasn’t telling you about the experiment. With a thesis based around the concept of fears, you had yet to notice any great dive into the topic beside a few one-off questions.

“Before we start this week,” Dr Crane starts, sitting down in the chair opposite to you, “I want to just warn you that this is when the experiment starts to become a little more intense.”

He holds a coffee mug in his hand, as he talks the liquid sloshes around the cup. It's all information you already know, you signed an NDA, he trusts you, do what he says, and that he needs you to stay out of the room no matter what. Last week you learned just how Dr Crane enjoys his coffee, no milk and one sugar, you can’t understand how he can drink it. One sugar can’t mask the bitter taste. He drinks it quickly though, remembering the taste makes you gag.

“Before we begin today, can you prepare the variable today in syringes? I will be introducing it into the experimental group today.”

He sets down the now empty mug, a loud thump echoes through the room, startling you. Dr Crane smiles at your reaction, it’s the same one he always gives you, the one that doesn’t reach the rest of his face. You ignore the stone that has formed inside your stomach, picking up your clipboard and pen.

“I’ll meet you in room 283B,” your professor puts a hand on the small of your back, leading you both out of his office. A shock is sent through your body at the contact, once out of the room you turn to look at him, but his hand is gone and he’s headed in the opposite direction as you.

Something else that you have noticed throughout this week is just how close Dr Crane is now. He’s more touchy than you would pinpoint him as. Which isn’t saying much, but the small lingering touches he lays on you, a hand on your shoulder, maybe on the small of your back, doesn’t seem to be too professional. One… two… three millilitres of solution per syringe. The questions he asks also seem to be a little weird, especially due to the matter of the study. A common thread being his prying into your fears, and a look of hunger when he asks the questions. Soft thud of the storage container hitting the ‘chemical waste’ bin. Though you can’t really complain, this past week has given you enough content for your late nights to satisfy you for your whole university career, Masters program included. Laying out each of the syringes in a row on the tray, and counting them out. Three syringes on the top tray, six needles on the lower tray. Rolling the tray out of the room and over to the elevator to head up to the second floor.

You softly knock on the door, waiting for Dr Crane to open up the door to the observer section. The door opens in a matter of seconds, only a crack for a couple more seconds, before it is completely opened. 

“Thank you,” Dr Crane says, looking down at the tray of syringes. He takes one in his gloved hand, holds it up to the light and nods, a stamp of approval given to your handiwork. “Remember: that if anything goes wrong, do not enter the room, just call security, and take as detailed notes as possible on the patient’s behaviour and the levels on the monitor.”

You nod, taking a look at the monitor set up beside the one-way glass, all vitals seem to be steady at the moment. The door to the room holding the patient opens up and shuts quickly, Dr Crane slipping in and greeting the patient, thanking him for his time. The patient seems to be a middle aged man, scars run across his arms, roughed up from whatever he did before his time in Arkham, he’s bald and seems to be displeased with his situation. Still, when Dr Crane comes to insert the syringe into his arm he stays still and takes it. The opaque liquid disappears as Dr Crane pushes down on the syringe, removing it once all the liquid has entered into the man’s system. A ‘thank you’ is expressed by Dr Crane before he exits the room, syringe in hand. Once the door is locked, Crane disposes of the syringe in the toxic waste bin in the observer’s room.

“The solution will take about five minutes to kick in,” he says, looking at you and it’s now that you realise just how excited he seems to be. 

The heart rate on the monitor starts to speed up, taking your attention away from Crane, and noting it down.

“Are you sure you estimated the time correctly?” You ask hesitantly, not wanting to offend your professor.

“I did. No worries. Injections can do this to people.”

The next five minutes pass by slowly, Dr Crane behind your chair, his breath tickling your ear. It’s almost impossible to focus like this, you just want to do something about the growing wet spot in your pants. Screaming immediately breaks through the tension you were feeling, you look at the patient. His eyes are wide, his pupils expanded, and his heart rate reaches around 140 bpm. Alarm sets into your own heart, you didn’t expect this big of a reaction from the patient. Dr Crane nudges your shoulder, reminding you to start writing your observations.

11:06: patient’s heart rate reaches 140 bpm

11:07: patient starts uncontrollably screaming at seemingly nothing

Your continued scribbling of notes doesn’t seem to discourage Dr Crane from talking.

“I didn’t know it would be this effective. I’ve been waiting years for this to be approved and this is better than I could’ve ever expected.”

Nausea settled from the mix of pleading for mercy and screaming from the patient, and Dr Crane’s glee from his reactions. Unsure how you could continue on with doing this almost every single day for the two weeks. Writing soon became sloppy due to your own lightheadedness and nausea, every moment you begged someone to make this stop. It was too much. It stretched on for over fifteen minutes before the patient finally came back from whatever drug induced hallucination he was forced into, yet he was still crying. Wanting to distance yourself so far from this experiment, you place the clipboard down.

“Wonderful isn’t it?” Dr Crane asked you, placing a hand on your shoulder. Whatever response you thought you could muster was stuck in your throat, so instead you nodded. “I call it my ‘fear toxin.’”

Once his hand left your shoulder, you immediately stood up, head spinning so much that you stumbled right into Dr Crane.

“Are you okay? Did the ‘fear toxin’ effects startle you?” He asks, putting his hands on your shoulder to stabilise you, his voice bridges between mocking and actually concerned.

“I just need to go to the bathroom,” You squeeze out, stumbling into the hallway and waving goodbye.

Stumbling around, unable to find the bathroom, you slide down the wall of an empty hallway. Sitting on the floor and curling up into the fetal position. Nausea slipping out of you slowly, eyes closed, just wanting to forget about the whole experience. What substance could even make a man react so horribly? Why would anyone make that in the first place? What purpose could a substance like that even serve? How will this even help-

“There you are,” a voice comes from above you, Dr Crane. You open one eye up, becoming flustered at your unprofessionalism, and enraged at the sight of your cruel professor.

He kneels to your height, offering you his soulless smile. “I’m sorry if that startled you, but I thought you would be better than them. I thought you could fully see my vision, look past the gruesome bits and understand what I’m trying to do here.”

His words both enrage you even further and make you feel even more embarrassed. He created a horrible substance, tested out on a man that, from what you know, didn’t deserve it, and essentially tortured him. On the other hand, this is a man who you have dreamed about and only want to please. For the past three years, you have sat in his class and dreamed about only him. For him to think that only you could understand his plans and dreams, is a flattery you could only dream of.

“Maybe I just didn’t prepare you well enough for this. Can I make it up to you?” Dr Crane asks, offering his hand to you. It takes a couple seconds, but you take it and he leads you upwards. 

His hand is oddly cold, his grip on your own hand is firm, but not harsh. His skin is smooth. It’s embarrassing that he has to lead you out of this room, has to coax you to continue.

“Let’s go to my office, hm?” Quirking an eyebrow, but not waiting for a response he led you down the hallway.

Everything seemed to blur together for you, the trip to the elevator, down the elevator, and into his office. He clicks the door shut, locking it, then turns to you. Stepping forward until he’s cornered you onto his desk.

“You think I don’t hear you at night. Calling my name. The walls in that place are very thin,” Dr Crane whispers into your ear, his hand slithering up your thigh.

A gasp escapes your lips, both at the hand now dangerously close to the warmth growing in your pants, and also because you didn’t think he would be able to hear your late night pleasure sessions. Soon he’s cupping your sex and you moan into his ear softly, earning a hum from him. Finger wander up from your sex to cup your chin, he brings you into a kiss. It’s bruising and hungry, he’s biting at your lower lip and you swear you can taste your own blood. His fingers make quick work unbuttoning your pants, sliding them down your legs until they drop to pool around your ankle.

“You're so wet already, how interesting,” He teases, tracing a finger over your clothed slit. Moaning in response you chase after his lips, but he pulls away. 

Your underwear is pushed over to the side, and his middle and ring finger breach your entrance. A loud ‘oh’ comes from your mouth, crane presses his lips to yours again to silence you. His fingers move slowly in and out of you, he catches each moan you let out with his mouth. His lips are soft, but the kiss is rough, his fingers speed up. They stretch you out so nicely it stings a little bit. It’s been so long since someone else has pleasured you, at all.

His fingers pulled out of your sex slowly, deliberately. A painstaking motion that left you close to pleasureless as he pulled out of your kiss. Quickly flipping you around and pressing you into his desk, the shock between his warm body behind you and the cold desk pressed against your front sent you spiralling. There was shuffling behind you, before you felt him lineup his cock with your cunt.

“Beg for it.” 

Your mouth opens and you spew out a string of ‘please’s and ‘need it’ that seem to satisfy him enough for him to push inside of you. He’s girthier than you expected, but not as long as you expected, which is fine for you. The stretch makes you ache and he won’t be bruising your cervix. Without giving you a moment to adjust he starts to move in and out of you.

“You have to be quiet, okay?” He says, before picking up his speed.

He sets up a consistent speed, hitting a spot inside of you that makes you grip the edge of the desk so intensely that your knuckles are turning white. The desk creaks as he moves in and out of your cunt, his breathing speeds up, one hand twists into your hair pulling your head back and you can’t tell if it’s to ground himself or as a reminder for you not to be too loud. Another hand comes to smack your ass, it's a swift hit, but it makes your knees buckle. 

“You're so much better than I thought you would be,” Dr Crane strains out between grunts.

He presses his front to your back, the hand in your hair softening its grip but not leaving. His breath tickles the back of your ear, the grunting coming from him makes you bite your lip to suppress your moans so hard there will be an indent left there tomorrow.

“Dr Crane, can I cum? Please, I’ve been so good, please let me cum,” you babble, the side of your face pressed into his desk making your words slur a little bit.

“Cum for me,” he says, moving the hand not tangled in your hair to your clit. Pressing small circles into your clit, he starts to speed up. 

Soon the pressure in your stomach releases and it goes black for a couple seconds. You feel Dr Crane’s hand press into your mouth to silence you as your legs buckle. Once you’re conscious again, he has already pulled out of you and you can hear him zip up his pants. You stand on your shaking legs and follow suit, trying to press your hair down into a more professional shape.

“I would recommend you get cleaned up,” Dr Crane says, giving you a smile, “Was that enough motivation to continue aiding me in my experiment?” “Uh- Yes,” you answer, not fully aware of what you were even saying, too embarrassed and lightheaded to even compute anything he was saying besides ‘getting cleaned up.’

“Perfect. After you get cleaned up, please meet me in room 256B. We can meet again here tomorrow during our lunch break if you continue to need the motivation provided,” He pats you on the shoulder, and leaves you in the room alone.

[wosoimagines]

Captains - Leah Williamson/Reader

part one | part two | part three | part four

prompt: What happens when Captain America and Captain England are roommates?

warnings: none

words: 4317

(Y/N) POV

“I am not rooming with her,” Williamson said as she pointed at me. I rolled my eyes at that. It was true, the two of us had not gotten off to a great start when I joined Arsenal... and we still hadn’t been able to get along even though I had already been playing with the club for nearly two years now. “No way. I’m not dealing with the bad accent. Or her bad attempt at mocking my accent.”

“Listen here, doll, I don’t want to deal with your bad fake southern accent either,” I drawled out. I had purposely thickened my southern drawl for her. “There is a reason why Captain America and Captain England never do room together.”

“I understand that you two don’t get along,” Jonas started out as Leah sent me a glare, “but you’re both the future of this club unless either of you plan on leaving. Do either of you plan on leaving?”

Both Leah and I shook our heads. I knew that Leah was a die-hard Gooner since she was a kid, but I had been as well. It was a dream come true getting to play with Arsenal and I wanted to put them on top.

“Well then, you’ll both have to room together because I can’t have you two at each others throats any longer. While you two have shown that you can be great captains on the national level, I need you to show me that you can put your differences aside off the pitch as well. Especially if you’re both going to be here for the long run.”

All Leah and I could do was watch as Jonas walked away from us. The two of us turned to each other as soon as Jonas went into his own room.

“Look, he’s right,” I said causing Leah to raise a brow. “We should be able to get along. I mean, we work great together on the pitch, so why can’t we off the pitch?”

“You’re doing it again.”

I furrowed my brow in confusion. I had no idea what Leah was talking about.

“You’re mocking my accent.”

I hadn’t even realized that my southern accent had dropped much less that I was copying her accent.

“You ever thought that maybe I’m not mocking it?” I suggested. Leah scoffed as she shook her head at me. “I’ve lived here for the better part of two years now. The only time I go home is during part of the off season and when I have national team duties. It isn’t a stretch to believe that my accent is going to start to change eventually.”

“‘It isn’t a stretch to believe that my accent is going to start to change eventually.’“

I rolled my eyes at her as I pushed past her and into the room that we were sharing. Leah followed me in as she tried talking with my accent.

“You talk too fast,” I said as I turned to face her once I threw my bags on the first bed. Leah paused as she tilted her head at me. “You talk too fast to get mocking my accent down. Slow down how you talk and drawl out your vowels. It’s how to get the drawl right.”

“Whatever.”

Leah pushed past me as she crossed her arms and rolled her eyes but took a seat on the other bed. 

I shook my head as I stared at her. At least I was trying to be friendly. I made sure to grab my key for the room as I headed out. Even if I did have to room with Leah, I could at least spend my time around others who didn’t get upset with me for the slightest thing.

I ended up in front of the door that I knew was Beth and Viv’s room. I rocked myself on the balls of my feet as I waited for one fo them to answer the door. As soon as the door was opened, I pushed my way in.

“I can’t believe her. She seriously drives me mad,” I ranted as I paced in front of the beds. I didn’t pay attention as Viv joined Beth on the bed. “Who the hell does she think she is? I’ve been mostly nothing but nice to her since I transferred here two years ago and all I get in return is mocking? And when I give her some pointers on how to mock me better? An eye roll and a fucking pout. Is she a child?”

“Did Jonas bunk you and Leah together?”

I paused mid step to look over at Beth. I knew that I hadn’t said Leah’s name so I wasn’t sure how she knew that.

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“You two are so blind to your own feelings about each other all you two ever do is rant about the other,” Beth said with a small shrug.

“I do not.”

“Yeah, you do,” Viv nodded. I shook my head at that because it wasn’t true. “She gets you with a clean tackle and you complain the whole day that it was a foul. You trip her up with your skills and she complains that you get in close enough to knock her off balance.”

“That’s a bullshit lie and she knows it,” I said as I pointed at Viv. “I don’t even touch her.”

“Point is you two talk about each other all the time,” Viv said. That couldn’t be true. “No, I’m serious. All the time.”

“Well it isn’t like I haven’t tried to be nice,” I shrugged. I had made efforts to get to know her. “Leah doesn’t care.”

“She’s had a crush on you since the World Cup,” Beth said. I rolled my eyes at that. It couldn’t be true because if it was then Leah had a funny way of showing it. “And then you were kind of a dick.”

“I was not.”

“You kind of were,” Viv agreed. I huffed at that. “You came over and claimed you would be the best to ever play for Arsenal for a long time. Not only that but everything had to be about you.”

“Everything was about me when I came over,” I pointed out. It was a true statement. Arsenal had fought hard to get me to join them especially since I had been looking to play with other clubs overseas as well. “Everyone has always talked about me as if I’m some savior wherever I go. And if I can’t live up to that? You don’t know what it’s like. To be a kid and be the reason why the national team lost, it isn’t easy especially when you were supposed to be the saving grace. So yeah, it is easier to just give in and embrace the attention and the narrative and then deal with the fallout.”

“You were also pretty harsh to Leah during practices,” Beth added.

“And now she’s an even better defender.”

“That’s not how everyone is always going to see your approach,” Beth said. I shook my head at that because it wasn’t anything personal against Leah, but I needed the best defense to practice against or else I couldn’t improve as much. “Look, all I’m saying is that, to Leah, you’ve always been the cocky American who thought she was better than everyone else.”

“I am better than pretty much everyone else though.”

“That’s the problem,” Viv said. I rolled my eyes at that. It was the truth. “You’re too cocky about it.”

“If I don’t have that, then what do I really have?” I asked. They didn’t get it. “The World Cup? I won it because I’m one of the best. My family? They’re all shit and they kicked me out because none of their kids will be gay and if you are then you ain’t part of the family. All I have is being the best.”

“You could be nicer about it,” Viv said. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do because it wasn’t like I went around actively bragging about it. I just didn’t deny it. “I get it. Well, I don’t cause I hate exercise honestly, but you hold yourself to a higher standard. But you can’t hold everyone else to the same standard.”

“If you don’t want to be the best, then why are you playing?”

“They teach you that in the States?”

“No, Viv, my father drills it into each of our heads. Okay? All I have is being the best. That’s all I’m worth, so I have to make myself worth it.”

“That’s not all your worth.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t?” Beth asked. “I’ve seen you. You’ve worked with people who really need help. You think we wouldn’t notice that you took on a building project to build homes for people in need? You’ve gone and worked with kids who can’t afford club training. You’re more than just some football player.”

“Then why does no one else see me as more than ‘just some football player’?”

Beth went silent at that. It was also very true. I hadn’t been shy in raising money for charities or even going to help out when I could. I tried to put on as many free football clinics as I could and help where I could. But no one ever talked about that.

“You know how many people I run into that only see me as an athlete and not more? Everyone.” I shook my head. They just didn’t understand. “I went and helped feed those in need and asked one of the other workers if she wanted to go out sometime. She told me yes and then on the date all she tried to talk to me about was soccer. No one, outside of my national teammates could even tell me what my favorite color is.”

“It’s blue,” Viv said. I turned my gaze over to her. “It’s like a deep dark blue.”

“It’s forest green.”

“Okay, so we’re shit teammates.”

“You’re not shit teammates because you don’t know my favorite color, Viv,” I denied. None of them were bad teammates. Just because we weren’t friends outside of the club didn’t make them bad teammates. “But I ask you guys to come and hang out and those of you who do show up don’t try to get to know me. I get left alone to my own devices while the rest of you just invade my apartment to spend time with everyone but me.”

“We do care about you,” Beth said.

“No one said congrats when I won bronze at the Olympics, or when I won the golden boot, or when I won the Ballon D’or,” I pointed out. I hadn’t even received any texts from my teammates. “No one ever said it in person or over texts or anything on social media.”

“Your national teammates did,” Beth said.

“None of you did. The first thing I got asked when I went to the November camp and the first thing I get asked after the first game against Germany? How did I celebrate with my Arsenal teammates,” I explained. I shook my head at that. “I had to lie to them about that, but hey I don’t expect any of you to know that because I doubt any of you even watch my national games.”

“Do you watch ours?” Beth asked.

“Every single game. I congratulated you guys on social media and praised you guys when you won,” I said as I sent her a soft glare. “If I can’t catch them live, I record them.”

“You do?” Viv asked.

“Yeah, I do,” I nodded. Was it really that hard to believe that I was interested in my own teammates performances? “And I’ve made public comments about your performances. All praising them because you’re all amazing players.”

“You left Leah out of the post you made about the Euros,” Beth said softly.

“I took pictures with you and the others. Leah didn’t want a picture with me. That’s not on me,” I shook my head. “And I said congrats to all of my Arsenal teammates.”

“Well, Leah took it the wrong way.”

“Then that’s on her.”

“You should still probably have an actual talk with her. I mean, the rest of us get that you aren’t just some cocky asshole,” Beth shrugged. “But that doesn’t mean that Leah does.”

“And why should I? I’m not exactly craving the desire to get close to someone just to have them kick me out of their life.”

“(Y/N), do you want her to like you or not?”

“You don’t get it, people don’t like me. They tolerate me until I’m not worth anything anymore and then they leave,” I said. I didn’t miss how Beth and Viv shared a look between themselves. “I’m not the only one here. I’m not the only one who needs to make an effort.”

With that, I headed out. Even if I didn’t want to go back to my room, I could at least go hang out in the lobby.

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

“Here,” Leah said as she held out a bag to me. “It might have been brought to my attention that I should extend an olive branch and it shouldn’t be entirely up to you to make the effort.”

“Is it gonna kill me?”

Leah laughed as she shook her head. I hesitantly opened the bag.

“Viv might have told me that your favorite color was forest green.”

“You got me a hoodie?”

“You kept talking about how your old one was getting really old and it had holes in it and that it was mostly worn out,” Leah shrugged.

“So Beth and Viv told you what we talked about?” I asked.

“Well, not all of it,” Leah said. I looked away from her as I held onto the hoodie. “They really just said that I was kind of being an ass and that you aren’t always some cocky American. Which I’m not sure about that, but I figure that the least I could do was extend the olive branch.”

“I appreciate it,” I assured her. Leah softly smiled at me before I pulled the hoodie over my head. “So, how’s it look?”

“Not bad,” Leah said. I grinned at that. “It’d look better on me, but it doesn’t look the worst on you.”

I shook my head at that.

“And you can’t even compliment me.”

“Only in your dreams, (Y/L/N).”

“Oh, trust me, we do a lot more than compliment each other in my dreams,” I muttered under my breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing to worry that pretty little head about, Williamson.”

“You think my head’s pretty?”

I only shrugged as I got up. I didn’t mind as Leah followed me continuing to ask me if I thought she was pretty or not as I headed up to our room.

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

I groaned as someone knocked on my front door. I really didn’t want to get up. Besides, I hadn’t been expecting anyone since it was already so late at night. Plus, I had training in the morning, and I wanted to get in early so I could get some extra skills work in.

Maybe the person would just go away if I didn’t answer.

The knocking echoed through my house meaning that they were going away. I sighed as I pulled myself up from my couch where I had a random game playing on the TV. Once I got to the door, I pulled it open to.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked as I grabbed onto the blonde’s arm as I pulled in her inside my house.

“I-I don’t... I mean, I didn’t... I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot, Leah. However, you are soaking wet, so stay here.”

Leah nodded as I turned and headed to the bathroom. I opened the cabinet under the sink before pulling out a couple of towels. I walked back out to the door before giving one to Leah before I bent down to start wiping up the water that was on my floors.

Leah eventually pulled off her shoes and left them next to the door as I stood up. She was still running the towel over her hair trying to dry it off.

“You should probably get a warm shower,” I said. Leah looked over at me before slowly nodding. “Come on, you can use my shower. I don’t have any shampoo or conditioner or body wash in the guest bathrooms.”

Leah followed me as I headed through the house to my room. I let her into my bathroom before pulling out some fresh towels and sitting them on the sink.

“I’ll leave some clothes for you on my bed. You can throw your clothes into the wash when you get out.”

Leah nodded at that as she wiped at her eyes. It was obvious to me that she had been crying, but I definitely wasn’t going to point that out to her. I closed the door behind me as I exited the bathroom. I went through my dresser and closet before pulling out a pair of my sweatpants and a hoodie for Leah. I also left a pair of my socks on the bed with them. I threw a couple of different packages of unopened underwear and sports bras on the bed for Leah as well.

I immediately headed to my kitchen. I had a feeling that Leah might want some comfort food after all. It was a while as I made a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches as well as some crispy potato bites.

“I didn’t know you could cook.”

I glanced over my shoulder as I grinned at Leah.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing too fancy. Or too southern for Captain England,” I said as I plated the food and placed it in front of Leah. “Besides I was pretty much on my own at a young age, so I had to learn if I wanted to eat.”

Leah looked down at the plate in front of her before hesitantly lifted the top part of the sandwich.

“Those are obviously potatoes.”

“Obviously.”

“But what the fuck is this?”

“That? That? That is the best grilled cheese you will ever have.”

“This is not a grilled cheese.”

“That is not a grilled cheese. It is the grilled cheese,” I assured Leah. I motioned to the sandwich. “Feta cheese, spinach, bacon, and mac and cheese. It will be the best grilled cheese you have ever had.”

Leah raised an eyebrow, but she picked up the sandwich. I grinned as she took a bite from the sandwich before her eyes widened. I grabbed a plate for myself as I put my sandwich on it and some potatoes.

“That is really good.”

“I told you.”

We both fell into silence as we ate on the sandwiches and potatoes.

“So, is there a reason you showed up outside of my house soaking wet?” I asked, finally breaking the silence.

Leah stayed quiet as she picked at her potatoes. I sighed as I nodded my head at that. I truly hadn’t expected that she answer me, but it would have been nice to know why Leah had suddenly turned up.

“Jordan and I got into a fight,” Leah admitted. I raised my head to look at her. “I think it’s over between us. For good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I nodded at that. I knew how rough a breakup could be especially when you lived with your partner and you were the one being blindsided by it.

“You can stay here for as long as you want.”

“(Y/N), I couldn’t impose-”

“You wouldn’t be imposing. Not really,” I assured her. I motioned to the space around us in the kitchen. “It’s a big house.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Leah nodded as she went back to picking at her potatoes.

“Don’t worry about your clothes. We can go pick them up tomorrow. And I’m assuming your car,” I said. Leah looked back up at me and I only shrugged. “I assume you ran here considering you were soaking wet.”

“I just had to get out of there,” Leah admitted. I softly smiled at her. “I didn’t think about grabbing my car.”

“If you were that upset, it was probably best that you didn’t drive.”

“Why are you being so nice to me? I mean, we aren’t exactly friends.”

“Because there was a time in my life when I was alone and I had nowhere to go, and I refuse to turn someone I care about away like I had been.”

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

“You know, you’re going to have to cook for me more often now,” Leah said as she took another bite from her breakfast burger.

“It’s just a burger with bacon, egg, and cheese,” I pointed out. Leah rolled her eyes at me. “I mean, I don’t mind having someone to cook for. It’s just that it’s something simple to make that you could probably make it in your sleep. Well, so long as you can make a good burger.”

The two of us fell into silence as we both ate on the sandwiches that I had brought for us.

“You didn’t have to let me sleep in your bed last night,” Leah said as I went to take a bite from my burger. I paused as looked over at her. “I would have been fine on the couch.”

“Trust me, I’ve fallen asleep on the couch more times that I wish to admit. I’m quite used to it. I think I’ve slept more nights on my couch than I have in my bed,” I admitted. Leah raised an eyebrow at that. “Being in such a big house can be lonely sometimes. I don’t like having a TV in my room, so I fall asleep on the couch watching TV so it isn’t so quiet at nights.”

“Have you never had a TV in your room?” Leah asked. I shook my head. “Something else the States taught you?”

“No, not the States,” I denied. Leah tilted her head to the side. I glanced at the clock on my dashboard, we still had a little bit before training was supposed to start. “My... father. My siblings and I weren’t allowed to have TVs in our rooms growing up. We were only allowed to watch stuff approved by him too, so I’ve never exactly been too into movies and shows. So getting a TV for my room when I moved here seemed silly since I didn’t care for any shows.”

“That actually sounds kind of sad.”

“It’s just how he is.”

It didn’t bother me anymore. I guess you couldn’t really miss what you never had.

“What you said last night...”

I turned to look out my window. I wasn’t sure how I felt about Leah knowing about my past. Sure I had told Beth and Viv, but that was different. I didn’t care if they looked at me like I was messed up because of my past. I wasn’t sure if I wanted Leah to look at me that way.

“My parents and I... we had a falling out when I was a teenager. I had scholarships pulled because of how unstable everything in my life was, and every single one of my friends showed their true colors,” I admitted. I scratched the back of my head as I wasn’t sure just how much to tell Leah. “I was homeless for a little bit since I was supposed to leave for college. Then my Stanford scholarship got pulled because false reports about me were made. I immediately made it known that I was looking into going pro rather than college. My reputation was pretty damaged though. I was put on probation with the national team.”

“I... didn’t know that.”

“Most people don’t. All they see are the fancy awards and trophies.”

“I’m sorry it’s like that.”

I shrugged at that. I had grown used to it by now. Besides, there wasn’t anything anyone could really do about it.

“So the big house?”

“Just playing into the narrative, I guess? I decided somewhere along the way that if I was going to be painted as some selfish bad guy, that I could at least enjoy the stuff I was supposed to while I was still helping others.”

“Isn’t it lonely?”

“Sometimes. But that’s what teammates are for. They’re my found family. I’ll always have my national teammates. And I hope that Arsenal is going to be my home for a long time.”

Leah nodded at that. I glanced at the clock on my dash again.

“We should probably go in,” I said, causing Leah to look at the clock before she nodded in agreement. “Don’t want to be late.”

We both got out fo my car before heading in. Both of us still eating on our breakfast burgers. I wasn’t too surprised at everyone who was already in the locker room. I moved away from Leah as I moved to join Beth and Viv who were sitting near Viv’s locker. The two forwards were glancing between Leah and I as I dropped my bag in my locker.

“Hey, isn’t that your hoodie?” Beth asked. I looked over at her before looking over my shoulder at Leah. She was still in the hoodie I had left out for her last night. “The one that Leah gave you?”

“And you both came in together?”

“It’s a long story,” I shrugged. I turned back to my bag. “And it’s not mine to really tell. If Leah wants to tell you, she will.”

“I told you that Captain England and Captain America would get together.”

I rolled my eyes at that because we definitely weren’t together, but maybe this was a start to something that could be more than friends.

[luvtak]

birthday blues, psh

☆ pairing fratboy!sunghoon x reader

☆ genre/tw fluffy fluff fluff, a twinge of angst, sunghoon has a case of the birthday blues :(( i wrote the mc to be quite introverted, hand holding lmao, cheek kisses! a little miscommunication, a very sweet and soft getting together fic <33

☆ w/c 1705

☆ a/n happy holidays!! i began this fic on sunghoons birthday but because i am terrible at planning anything i just finished tonight lol, so heres a little present from me!! i hope you like it <3

masterlist

With the bad music and the smell of cheap beer, you find yourself regretting walking through the door. The house is bustling with conversation and rhythmless dancing–not a sweater in sight despite the frigid air outside. Not one person you know or like is occupying the four walls around you, and even worse, your drink is weak. 

The melting ice is enough to kick start a negotiation with yourself, you’ll leave after this drink… tell Sunghoon happy birthday, and then we’re gone. You’re not sure why you even bothered… you’ve been on three dates with the boy and barely kissed twice. While he’s handsome and funny, you don’t know if that's enough to endure another mindless frat party while your roommates are cozying up at home watching the new season of Love is Blind. 

While initially you held some reservations about going on another date with a frat boy, Sunghoon proved himself to be very sweet.

 The first date was nice, dinner and a movie (action which was ironically very boring) and a chaste cheek kiss that kept you up way past your desired Tuesday bedtime. His lips were soft and his eyes were kind–a sort of unfamiliar shy glimmer staring down at you. He was ever the gentleman, opening doors and making sure to tell you how pretty you looked… He was perfect. Which was odd for a guy who spent all his time with boys who carried a carousel of girls around. 

The second date was quick but sweet, a speedy lunch in between classes, leaving a smile on your face until you got home that night. He had asked about you the whole time, wanting to know how your day was, and if you had had a good time when you went out before. And finally, the third, wherein the very pretty boy asked you to come to his birthday party before placing a swift kiss upon your lips. 

It was almost like you were possessed. Feeling a great urge to be there to celebrate with him–very unlike the person you claim to be, but he asked so sweetly. His fanged smile was large and on display, and he had a look in his warm eyes that reminded you too much of an overloved puppy. Too much time with those eyes and you were agreeing before he could say please. 

Now, you wished you had the gift of prophecy. If you knew you wouldn’t see the boy once since walking through the doors 45 minutes ago you never would have said you’d come. Of course, it’s his birthday and you’re sure he’s busy being shuffled along friends and pretty girls who’ve long since held his favor, but he asked you to come and if you have to spend another minute listening to mindless chatter you might never speak to him again–no matter how much you like his company.

The boys next to you are crass and the girls much more indulgent than you feel prepared for. Enabling their counterparts with enough alcohol and shitty pick up lines to put you out for the whole year. And while listening in to others' conversations isn’t the nicest thing to do, the loud groanings of, “Hey, pretty lady…you’re heating up this whole place.” were just too nauseating to ignore. 

While slurred words are always swoonworthy, it may be time to head out. 

It is barely eleven, but you’re ready to go–ego bruised and brain ready to rest with some mind numbing television. Not too mention, phone long dead from too many tiktoks watched to pass the time. You can’t believe he didn’t even make an effort to say hello. You made it clear you didn’t like this sort of thing–would rather spend a Friday night away from the hubbub and cheer of a college party that lost its charm the spring of your freshman year. 

Whatever, if he didn’t care you’re just glad he showed his true colors sooner rather than later. While it sucks,  it’s no use crying over another too pretty boy. 

Peeling yourself from the back corner, you find yourself jostled this way and that until your skin meets the chilly December air. A momentary shock of relief rings through your gut, finally away from the rotten place a younger you loved, and an older you was over. 

The night for all its misadventures did end up being a pretty one; stars barely peeking through the light covered city and shining down on the car packed street. Straining your neck to see them for just a minute before making your way to your car, you eye a startling figure sitting on the frat house’s roof. 

A boy with a curious resemblance to Sunghoon, but why would the birthday boy be out here instead of at his own party? His hair is mussed and though he is far up, it’s easy to see the messy state of his clothes–sweatpants and a sweater one could only describe as something a grandfather would wear. 

“Sunghoon? What are you doing up there?” it's too far, but you think you can see the little lift of his lips, a look of relief gracing his features. 

“What do you mean? I’m waiting for you, didn’t you get my message?” His voice, while covered by the echoing party and the nighttime sounds, still carries over the expanse of the front yard as if he was in front of you–as confused as it was, it does little to ease the annoyance of before. 

“What are you talking about Park? I’ve been here for an hour and haven’t gotten anything from you.” 

“Oh I’m Park now? But it’s my birthday.” betrayed by your own temper, you can’t help but let your teeth show. His ever composed countenance running away as he whines his words. 

Maybe it’s dramatic and maybe he did send you a message, but the bitter pain of feeling ignored won’t go away just because he’s cute. 

Even if he is really really cute. 

“How am I supposed to know if you really did send me a message and aren’t just saying that now that you’ve been caught?” 

“Come on now, Silly, charge your phone.” he’s grinning now, tongue running along the points of his left canine. “I’d invite you up, but it looks like you may just push me off.” 

“Why are you up there anyway? There's a bunch of people in there waiting for the birthday boy.” 

It could be your imagination, or a trick of the shadows, but it’s almost like that one word made his whole body falter. Straight shoulders falling below his ears and long eyelashes hitting the peaks of his cheekbones. Eyes closed and figure sad. 

From a young age you’ve been rather curious; looking through hidden presents and asking too personal questions to the people around you, but you don’t think you’ve ever been more interested than now. Looking at this handsome boy–too early to love, but too late to ignore–sitting alone on his birthday is enough to make you pause. 

“Sunghoon? Are you okay? I won’t push you off if you help me up.” 

While he doesn’t answer your question, he does reach out a hand to show you the way. Laughing loudly when you stumble through the tree branches, and quick jabs at your obvious roof climbing inexperience. It’s only when you’ve safely landed next to him that you can really see the slightly blue expression on his face. Of course he’s smiling–you don’t think he’s ever looked at you without one, but there's something invading his form. An ever present dusk sitting along his spine. 

The both of you sit in silence for a long time, looking out at the street and laughing at the party goers retreating through the yard. Young men and women stumbling and giggling their way through another weekend. It’s only when the music changes from obnoxiously loud electronica to obnoxiously loud rap does he speak. 

“I’ve never really liked today, you know? I get so excited for it to come, thinking it's gonna be a magical day that changes everything. Then I wake up and it’s just another boring day. I guess I haven’t learned how to deal with the disappointment, 

I’m sorry you were in there alone, I– I wish I knew you went inside. I was hoping I’d catch you going in and bring you up here. I thought maybe if I spent it with you, it could be life changing. Exciting enough to be worth another year.” 

How interesting birthdays are, to be so momentous and yet so disenchanting. You wait 365 days for a moment to pass, another year older with no magic in sight. Although you can’t ignore that he believed you to be life changing. How sweet, to think after only three dates he’s already decided that you’re who he wants to spend his day with. Face warming and hands shaking, you’re able to let out a soft laugh, before finally answering, 

“Well, maybe we should just treat it like any other day. No cake or presents, I won’t even wish you a happy birthday." It's strange how this seemingly mean sentiment lights up his face: brown eyes becoming crescent moons, a goofy grin settling along his mouth. A look worthy of a birthday. 

“What should we do instead?” 

“Hmm, if you come with me right now we might be able to see the rest of Love is Blind with my roommates. Kazuha and Intak swore they wouldn’t watch the weddings without me… Only if you want to.” 

And the way you looked at him with wide eyes and a hopeful smile, how could he say no. How could he tell you that all day he wished he could spend it with you.

He helps you down and keeps your hand in his as you begin the trek back to your apartment. The night is cold, but his figure next to yours heats you right up–brightening the walk back to your apartment, and making you thank whatever power made you stop to look at the stars, never knowing the tall boy was wishing on every birthday cupcake that you’d join him on the roof and change his life.

© LUVTAK

[aziraphales-library]

Hi there! First off, thank you so much for y’all’s work here on Tumblr, def one of my main sources of fic recs.

I read Summer’s End by FeralTuxedo a while ago (lovely rec) and am definitely back in my TLOU-apocalyptic-setting-with-a-moody-but-calm/nature-esk-atmosphere-and-character-centred-plot era again. I just genuinely enjoyed the specific atmosphere that the apocalyptic setting gives works. Anyway, that being said, I would love any recs that would fit that kind of vibe (I would prefer less smut since I skip over it but honestly as long as it isn’t specifically plot-relevant its fine lol also not TOO much angst please, I cant deal with Az or Crow actually dying or something like that unless it is done in a comforting way).

ps: on a more specific request, if y’all know of any GO fics inspired by TLOU I would greatly appreciate recs (look, Bill and Frank’s episode in the tv adaptation is screaming to be written as a fic with Az and Crow instead- Bill and Frank’s deaths are wht I mean by deaths done in a comforting way I suppose, haha).

Wow, this is a long request, so sorry. Thank you so much for reading, have a great day and happy new year!

Hello! Pretty sure we've recommended almost all of these before, but there aren't loads of this kind of fic (and I could find no The Last of Us specific fics)...

Dead Genres by A_plus_platypus (T)

The end is nigh when a zombie virus ravages the world. Luckily, there is hope yet in the form of pharmaceutical scientist Anthony "Just Crowley" Crowley. With his adopted younger brother Adam, his other three kids The Them, and English teacher Aziraphale Fell, he searches for the fated military base in Tadfield. There, they — along with the rest of the world — have a chance at survival. And also Crowley is a disaster, and Aziraphale is a disaster, and everyone needs a hot cup of tea.

what's to come by PepperPrints, restlesslikeme (M)

Post-Apocalyptic AU. Even without the Antichrist, both Heaven and Hell insist on Armageddon. Aziraphale is missing and Crowley sets out to find him, driving through a scorched Earth with a witch in his passenger seat.

is there anybody out there? by theycallmeDernhelm (E)

Welcome to the zombie apocalypse. England has been overrun by walking corpses, everything's gone to hell, and the few survivors are scattered- among them, Crowley and his 11-year-old son Warlock. When Crowley's radio signal is unexpectedly picked up by another group of survivors, he finds himself falling, in a way he never thought he'd fall again, for the charming and kindly Aziraphale. Over three seasons and a tenuous radio connection, a romance develops between them, while a friendship grows between Warlock and Aziraphale's nephew Adam. Love isn't dead (or undead) after all.

Ouroboros Forever and One by iblankedonmyname (T)

An AU where the Apocalypse-Definitely-Did, Aziraphale is a cowboy and Crowley is on a mission from God to reboot the universe. “God gave you, a demon, a mission?” Aziraphale snaps his glass onto the table. “Millions of angels at Her disposal, and yet…” His eyes are sparkling again. It’s more refreshing than a glass of tequila in a waterless land. “You?” His eyes slip from Crowley’s toes up to the top of his head. “Well, I am certainly surprised.”

Zombie Apocalypse by AppleSeeds (T)

When a meteor strikes Earth carrying a virus that can 'turn people into zombies', Aziraphale finds himself responsible for a group of frightened teenagers at an airbase-turned-hospital in Tadfield. Aziraphale is terrified, but experiences some relief when the teens introduce him to Crowley, who has a plan to get them all to safety. When things don't exactly go according to plan and with the zombies closing in, Aziraphale must face his fears in order to protect the children from becoming infected.

My Favorite Ghost by cassieoh_draws, DiminishingReturns (T)

Decades after the world didn’t end, Heaven and Hell got their war — and nearly destroyed everything in the process. When Aziraphale finally manages to reacquire a corporation and return to Earth, he discovers he was gone longer than he thought and the planet has become unrecognizable. As he searches for Crowley and tries to figure out how he fits in a world that Heaven, Hell, and God have all wiped their hands of, nature works around him to reclaim the bones of an old civilization as the scraps of humanity build a new one. A lush and optimistic post-apocalypse story, told from the POV of an immortal who can't let go of the past.

And the one you mentioned...

Summer's End by FeralTuxedo (E)

2095. Britain is a post-apocalyptic wasteland ravaged by droughts, the collapse of civilisation, and hordes of the undead. Despite that, Aziraphale’s life is actually pretty good. He has his caravan, his books, and his work, offering his services to the men who stop by Tadfield on their arduous journey north. One day, a mysterious stranger knocks on his door. Crowley is charming and handsome and he appears to know his way around a vegetable garden. He comes with the tempting offer of a mutually beneficial arrangement. But it’s in Aziraphale’s best interest not to get too attached. A dystopian cottagecore sex worker AU.

- Mod D

[vodika-vibes]

Can you write a Crosshair x reader and him with his shaky hands like we saw in season 3 and maybe reader comforting him...

For The Love Of A Bounty Hunter

Summary: Crosshair goes missing while dealing with your family. You have opinions about it.

Pairing: TBB Crosshair x F!Bounty Hunter Reader

Word Count: 1919

Warnings: Mentions of torture

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: I decided to make this story a sequel to one of my Event Fics, I'll add the link so people can find it easily. Also, there are no spoilers here, because I haven't watched TBB at all. ^-^

For The Love Of A Sniper - Part 1 of this Mini Series

You stare, blankly, at the calendar on the datapad in front of you as you draw another red X over another day.

Three weeks.

It’s been three weeks since Crosshair went to deal with the PI who was looking into you on behalf of your family. Three weeks since he vanished.

You carefully set the datapad down on the table and release a shaky breath. Carefully shoving the burning rage down, for now.

Crosshair would sooner cut his own hands off than betray you. You know this. You know him. He would never tell your parents where you are. And, the fact that they haven’t shown up at your ship, is proof enough that Crosshair didn’t tell them anything.

The bigger question is, is Crosshair still alive.

Stars, you hope so. You’re not sure the galaxy will survive your rage if he isn’t. You’re not sure you’ll survive your rage if he isn’t.

You jerked out of your thoughts when your holo chimes. 

For a moment you consider ignoring it, you’re not in the mood for chatting. But, in the end, you cross the room and hit the button to answer the holo, “I’m not accepting any jobs at the moment.” You say bluntly.

“It is me.” Tech’s image flickers to life above the holo, “I have the information you asked for.”

You blink, “Oh. Sorry.”

“No harm done, I know that you are stressed.” He looks down at his datapad, “I am sending you the information I have.”

You pick your datapad back up as it chimes with the information he sent you. “Are you sure this is accurate?” You ask, as you see the information, “Last I heard the people who took him are wealthy.”

Tech sniffs, “Very sure. According to what I have found, they used to be wealthy. But then spent most of their fortune looking for their missing child.” He pauses, “That would be you, I am guessing.”

“Right in one, Tech.” You reply with a grimace.

“I am sure you had your reasons.” Tech says after a moment, “If Crosshair is anywhere, it is there.”

You scan the image that Tech sent you. Figures, it would be your childhood house. Not home. Never home. “Thanks Tech.”

“You are welcome.” He pauses, “Are you quite sure that you do not require aid? We can be there in a couple of days.”

“I have it.”

“They are your family.”

“Not all families are created equal, Tech. And this,” You hold up the datapad, "has been a long time coming.”

Tech sighs, “Comm when you have him back. And if you should think that you need our help-”

“I’ll be sure to let you know. Thanks for the intel, Tech. I mean it.”

“You do not have to thank me. Crosshair is my twin brother. I want him safe just as much as you do.”

“Even so. I know you’re not my biggest fan.”

Tech is quiet for a moment, “I will concede that, perhaps, I was too quick to judge.”

“Yeah, well…so was I. Water under the bridge.”

Tech smiles at you, a small smile, but a smile all the same, “I think I am beginning to see what Crosshair sees in you. Happy hunting.”

You flash a small smirk, “Yeah. Right back at you.” And then you kill the holo. You look back at the datapad, and swipe through the information.

“Hold on, Cross. I’ll be there soon.” You whisper to the empty ship.

“It’s a simple thing,” Crosshair rolls his eyes at the massive Devaronian looming over him, “All you have to do is tell us where the little mistress is.”

“I told you the truth weeks ago,” He drawls, “I can’t help you.” He grunts in pain as a large fist slams into his stomach, “Kriff-”

“Mistress,” The guard says with a frown, “I’m beginning to think that he’s telling the truth.”

‘Mistress’ is a slender woman with white blonde hair and piercing green eyes. Though slender isn’t really the right word. Crosshair would personally call her skeletal, but the first time he asked how they managed to make a corpse walk and talk, he was electrocuted, so he’s learned to hold his tongue.

“He has to know,” The woman’s voice is cold. “Why else would he have gone to the PI?”

“Because you’re offering a hell of a lot of credits, lady.” Crosshair lies.

“You do not speak to the Mistress,” The guard snaps, taking a menacing step towards Crosshair.

“No. Leave him. I tire of this.” The woman says, before she turns to the side, “What do you think, darling.”

‘Darling’ is her husband. Just as thin and skeletal as his white, though his hair is more of a golden blonde than the silvery blonde of his wife. If Crosshair had to guess, one of them bleaches their hair, though which one isn’t something he cares about.

He’s also crueler than his wife. 

Crosshair will likely have scars from the stun batons that ‘Darling’ used against him. If he hates ‘Mistress’, then Crosshair absolutely despises ‘Darling’. How either of these people could parent someone like his Princess is beyond him. Maybe she’s adopted.

He glances to the side when the door to the dungeons slams open and a trembling twi’lek hurries his, “Master! Mistress!” He gasps, “The Little Mistress is here.”

The room falls silent, “Are you quite sure?” The Mistress asks. 

“Yes ma’am,” The Twi’lek bobs into a bow, “She consented to a DNA scan. It’s her. Would you like me to bring her down?”

“No, we’ll-”

The door slams open again, “No need. I thought I’d come and say hello.”

Crosshair has always thought that his Princess is stunning, but seeing her standing in the doorway, clad in tight leather, and with her short hair falling into her eyes…she looks like an avenging angel and he’s never been more attracted to her in his life.

Impressive, since he can hardly keep his hands to himself as it is.

“Sweetheart!” The Mistress takes half a step towards her, “Your hair…your face! Why are you so fat?”

Princess closes her eyes for a moment, and then she turns and blatantly ignores everyone in the room, “Are you okay?” Her voice is soft, and for a moment, Crosshair can pretend that they’re on the ship and it’s just them. 

He slides his arms through the bars of the cell, and holds out his trembling hands, “Better, since you’re here.”

Her sharp eyes linger on his trembling hands, on the burn marks on his arms, chest, and stomach. Her gaze lingers on the bruises covering his face and his torso.

And her eyes go cold.

“Sweetling, why are you talking to that-” His Princess’ father says as he takes a step towards her, reaching out to touch her. 

There’s a flash of silver, only noticed because he was looking for it, and then there’s screaming as ‘Darling’ falls back, clutching his blood soaked arm. His Princess carefully uses a cloth to wipe the blood off the blade. 

“You took Crosshair.” Her voice is flat, emotionless. 

She’s clearly pissed.

“You know,” She continues, some emotion returning to her voice, and she directs her comment towards him, “I really only considered two options when coming here.”

“Oh yeah?” Cross asks as he leans against the bars.

“Hm. Option 1, they took you and killed you.” She continues lightly, “And if that was the case I was going to kill them all, burn this place to the ground, and then throw myself at the Empire until they managed to kill me.”

“Dramatic.”

She shrugs a single shoulder, “Option 2, is that they took you and were using you as bait to make me come here. In this scenario, you were uninjured, just annoyed, and I just threatened great bodily harm and we carried on our way.”

She casts her gaze over him again, “Somehow,” She continues, “The idea that they might torture you never crossed my mind.”

“They are still your family, Princess. I’m not gonna blame you for not wanting to believe the worst of them.” Crosshair says lazily.

She turns to the cell door and effortlessly picks the lock and swings the door open, “Well, you’re the injured party, Cross. What do you want?”

“You have a blaster?”

She smiles and wordlessly passes it to him.

Even with nerve damage, and trembling hands, he’s still the best. 

Three shots. Three blaster rounds. 

Three dead bodies. 

His Princess takes the blaster back and slides it in her holster, before she helps him with a shirt she brought him, “Are you ready to go?” She asks.

“More than ready.” He leans against her, needing her support to make it back to the ship, “Let’s get out of here.”

A week later, you step into the bedroom on your ship, your gaze lingering on Crosshair. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, glaring at his shaking hands. Nerve damage takes weeks to heal, even with bacta.

His hands will be shaking for a while.

Maybe you’ll take Tech up on that offer for a 3 month long vacation on Pabu.

But first-

You enter the room and kneel in front of him, taking both of his hands in yours and pressing light kisses against the palms of his hands. “Do they hurt?” You ask.

“It’s mostly just an ache,” He admits, bitterly, “I’m not going to be able to-”

“Shh,” You release one of his hands and reach up to cup his cheek, “Crosshair, your only responsibility right now is to heal.”

He scowls at you, though you know he’s more annoyed at the situation than at you. “I feel useless.”

“Nonsense. You could never be useless.”

“You’re biased.”

“Mm, perhaps. A little.” You stand and settle on the bed next to him, “But I’m also honest. You will heal. You will get back to 100%. It just takes time.”

He scoffs.

“Don’t be like that.” You say as you lay your head on his shoulder, “After that Wookie broke my leg in three places, you didn’t accuse me of being a burden or of being useless, even though I felt like I was.”

Crosshair shakes his head, and then leans his head against yours, “You gonna use my words against me?”

“If I have to.”

He huffs out a laugh, “I suppose you did pay for the best doctors to see me.” 

“Yes, I did.” You reply smugly.

“Alright.” He turns to look at you properly, “I’ll be patient.”

“You’re a sniper, patience is your thing.” You tease him, throwing his words back at him.

His arms, strong and steady, hook around you and he pulls you onto his lap, “Yeah, yeah.” Crosshair leans in and kisses you hungrily, nipping at your lower lip roughly enough that you squeak, “So. You gonna tell me what you and Tech have been talking about?”

“...he’s invited us to come to Pabu until you finish recovery. I’m thinking that agreeing might be a good idea.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and then he sighs, “If you think it’s a good idea, Princess, then I won’t argue. But I refuse to stay with my siblings.”

“Of course not, we’ll be staying here or in an inn.” You brush your fingers across his cheek, “I’ll go let him know.”

Crosshair tightens his grip around you, “You can tell him later. I want you for myself right now.”

You beam at him, “I think that sounds like a great idea.”

[wardenparker]

Bright Lights & Broken Dreams - pt 3

Dieter Bravo x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+   Word Count: 17k Warnings: *Contains flashbacks*. Cursing, food/alcohol, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, shower sex, praise/worship, mention of underage drinking, soooo much fluff. Summary: The press junket for your film becomes a coming out party for your relationship, and awards season is another turning point worth waiting for. The future is every bit as bright as you had hoped it would be with Dieter there. Notes: I will never give up the chance to write about Dieter at the Oscars, so yes that is in this chapter. And no I am not sorry. Not one little bit.

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3

“Babe! The car is here!” For once, Dieter is the one who is on time and waiting downstairs, fiddling with his phone and reposting the trailer like the studio wanted him to.

"Junket tiiiiime." You swing down the stairs with a suitcase in one hand and your purse in the other, ready to spend an ungodly boring three days staring at the walls of one single hotel out in Newport Beach. The studio knows you only need one suite, but they had the presence of mind to book a three-bedroom villa for their two stars to share with their assistants. With you and Dee in one room and Sadie and Desiree share another, the third bedroom is superfluous. But at least it provides a sound buffer for everyone's vocal enthusiasm.

You've been careful. All of you. Nothing has been given away to the public over the last ten months, and your individual fan bases have no idea that you and Dieter are back together. Or that you were ever together in the first place. This has been going well and you have decided to keep it quiet for now, not wanting to spoil the happy little bubble you've both been living in. No one even knows that you moved into Dieter's Sherman Oaks mansion six weeks ago.

“God, you’re so late.” Dieter huffs at you, although his grin shows that he doesn’t mean it at all. “Why didn’t you have Sadie pack you?”

"I am not late. I'm exactly on time." Desiree may or may not have clued you in on her tendency to tell Dieter that he has to be ready for things a minimum of fifteen minutes earlier than is actually necessary, and you have to admit. It works brilliantly. "Sadie asked for some personal time before the junket to go home and meet her baby nephew. I figured that that trumped packing my suitcase for me. She'll meet us at the hotel, though."

His own bag is waiting by the door and it’s a junket that he’s not actually dreading. Feeling better because you are going to be there and because he’s got a ten month sobriety chip in his pocket with your help. He has been sober beyond drinking wine or champagne with you. Even weed has been off limits because he can’t regulate himself.

"Ready to go, Bambi?" He looks ready – bright eyed and smiling if slightly tired, but that's your fault. You kept him up last night. Not that you're apologizing.

"I need some coffee." Dieter admits. "Maybe we can stop by and grab some?" He asks, pleading with big pouty eyes.

"Drive thru, or are you pouting at me so that I'll go inside the coffee shop and see what cookies they have today?" The two of you head out the front door to the car sent by the studio with Desiree standing by.

"Cookies." Dieter groans. Since quitting drugs, his sweet tooth has gotten worse, but he begrudgingly sweats through the workouts with the personal trainer you had hired for both of you. Telling him that you wanted him healthy so you could keep him for a long time had done the trick so he didn't whine too much.

"I'm sorry, did someone say cookies?" Desiree, as magical as she is, is sometimes nearly psychic. She has a paper bag in her hand that she wiggles in Dieter's direction before reaching forward to grab his suitcase to load into the trunk of the Town Car. "There's only one each so you don't get in trouble with your trainer, but I did not hold back on your coffee orders," she promises. "They're in the cupholders in the backseat already."

"Des, I love you." The way you hug her is nearly reverent, and you absolutely mean it. As much as you sing Sadie's praises, Desiree might be the only assistant in the world to rival her. And together? They're unstoppable.

"God." He groans happily and nearly dives into the car so he can get to the coffee, a nonfat two pumps white chocolate latte with two extra shots of espresso. "I love her more!" He calls back, happy to have his coffee and the prospect of a quick make out session in the car before having to pretend to be just your co-star for the next few days around others.

"I made him get up early to work out before we left," you explain, sending his assistant a grin before tucking your own suitcase into the trunk and climbing into the backseat after him. You've been on a cinnamon latte kick lately and the shop by his house – your house – makes an amazing one with just a touch of brown sugar steamed into the milk that tastes like heaven. The two hour drive will be a lot less tedious with Dieter in a good mood, and you have to admit that you could use the little caffeine boost as well.

"This is just what I needed." Dieter groans, sipping the latte like it is the key to eternal life but he picks up your latte to hand to you as you climb in beside him. He doesn't mind waking up for sex, he's always up for it, but he also knows he has to be on his A game to make sure he doesn't say anything. Dieter's management team has been ecstatic about the change in behavior of their client and doesn't want to break your good girl image with his still tarnished reputation.

“Thanks, love.” In the back of the car with the divider up, it doesn’t matter what you say. The only person back here with you is Desiree and she knows everything. Well – mostly everything. There are some details even she doesn’t need. “And thank you, Des.” When she climbs in after you and shuts the door, the car takes off right away. This weekend is running on a very tight schedule and LA traffic can be brutal, so there’s no time to spare.

"I hate press junkets." Dieter grumbles as the car speeds towards the freeway. "It's the same damn questions over and over by different people." The monotony of it bores him, wanting to be challenged by the questions rather than just trying to come up with new ways of repackaging the same shit.

“I know.” She sat through a hundred of these things with him, always hustling around to make sure things go smoothly, but she knows this time will be better. “At least you have good company this time.”

"That's the only good thing about this." Dieter winks at you. "As well as the soundbites for when we win our Oscars."

“You’re feeling very confident about that.” Comfortable enough to lean against his side as the car glides along the highway, you have to smile at his positive attitude. “Maybe this won’t be three days of torture after all?” The thing you always look forward to most is the cocktail party on the first night, usually because you get to mingle a little and spend time with your costars. This time? As long as Dieter is there, you’re game.

"I know you are going to win." He's confident of that, having watched the rough cut in its entirety. It was raw, real. The type of story that the Academy loves. "Hopefully the rumors that swirled during filming aren't brought up."

Unfortunately, it seemed like every kind of rumor was attached to you at some point during filming. You hated Dieter, you hated the director, you were dating your other costar, or you were dating your assistant – that one was immensely funny to Sadie, who thinks of you as a sister. “If they are, we’ll take them in stride. It’s nothing I can’t handle.” Rumors are only rumors, after all.

"I know." He murmurs, reaching down and threading his fingers with yours gently. "I just don't want my shit to splatter onto you."

“Your shit is my shit, babe. They just don’t know that yet.” Not having decided when to reveal your relationship to the world, you just know that for now, the key is to respect each other as much as possible in front of the camera.

He chuckles and sends you a grin. "Doesn't Kevin Hart have a bit that is something like that?" He asks, remembering some kind of standup special he had watched when he was baked a few years ago. "But it was like 'your bullshit is my bullshit, motherfucker'. Or something like that."

“I think it was about best friends, but this definitely applies.” You lift your joined hands to press a kiss to his knuckles and grin. “Your bullshit is my bullshit, baby.”

"Anything you want to do after the first round of interviews?" He asks, wanting to take his mind off of the upcoming questions.

“You.” The beaming grin you aim at him is unapologetic. “I’d be more graphic, but Desiree doesn’t need to be any more traumatized by our sex life then she already is.”

His chuckle is dirty and he sneaks his hand down to your thigh to give it a rough squeeze. "After the party, right? I know you want to go to the party."

“I always like to go to the party.” He knows that about you – that you don’t always like a lot of social situations but that you love a good party.

"Then we are going to the party." Dieter decrees, like he had never not been going to go to that party with you. "We just have to survive the first round of interviews."

“I promise that I packed something skimpy.” You shoot him an evil grin but just sit demurely in your seat and sip your coffee like a perfect angel.

Groaning, he rolls his eyes and huffs. "That's just mean." He pouts and crosses his arms over his chest.

“It’s not mean when you get to be the one who peels it off me at the end of the night.” It’s too cute. You can’t help but giggle, and even Desiree snickers in amusement.

"What happened to your good girl image?" Dieter asks, lifting a brow. "You know the press is going to be at this party as well and I'm going to have a hard time keeping my hands off of you."

“There will be swirling rumors that you’re desperately in love with me.” You tease, knowing that the dress you packed was chosen specifically to make him drool.

"That's not a rumor." He reminds you with a grin. "I am hopelessly in love with you. Desperate and hopeless. Never wanting to be out of love again."

“Well then, for once the Hollywood press corps will actually be telling the truth.” It’s not as though that’s a common phenomenon, so it’s worth teasing about. “I love you too, baby.”

“You know that story about the squirrel was totally fake, right?” Dieter frowns, leaning in to kiss you.

"Of course I know the squirrel thing was fake." You promise him, leaning into the kiss and relishing the small moment of tenderness. "That would be utterly ridiculous."

“Good.” He’s relieved you don’t believe that and kisses you again before snapping his head towards Desiree. “Cookie?”

"Cookie!" She hands over the bag with a flourish, knowing that getting Dieter in a good mood before a junket is vital. "And while Cookie is happening, maybe you'll let me go over your schedule for the day?"

Dieter huffs. “But that ruins the taste of the cookie.” He grumbles, perking up slightly when he sees it's a peanut butter chocolate chunk. “Fine.” He whines when his assistant doesn’t respond but just stares at him like a disappointed mother. She’s really good at guilting him without saying a word. Especially now that he’s sober, which is complete bullshit in his opinion.

The lemon shortbread cookie with lavender sugar makes you hum in contentment when you see it, and you sit back to listen dutifully. Sadie had already emailed you your itinerary and it is mostly the same as Dieter’s, but you’re still going to listen. These women take extremely good damn care of both of you and the least you can be is respectful.

******

The lighting in the room is bright, making Dieter wince and slip his sunglasses on. He’s not as sensitive to the light as he once was but the damn rings are making him see halos. “Ready to get this show on the road.” He huffs, fiddling with the water bottle that was already halfway empty.

“Let’s get started.” Your nod of agreement has the production assistant by the door moving, and you adjust in your seat slightly. At least the chairs they have for you in this place are comfortable upholstered ones and not like when they try to artistically arrange actors into director’s chairs for the aesthetic of it all. You have a cup of herbal tea on a small table just out of sight of the cameras thanks to Sadie and you’re ready to dive in. But mostly because she’s withholding baby pictures until the lunch break after you deal with the first round of interviews. The first woman who walks into the room looks nervous but bright eyed, and her credentials lanyard is a website you don’t recognize. She’s obviously a fan of Dieter’s, unconsciously focusing most of her attention on him, but you don’t mind.

Dieter straightens in his chair and the urge to reach for your hand is overwhelming so he plays with the edge of the chair he is sitting in. “Why did I choose this role?” He repeats the question and chuckles. “Contract obligations.” He jokes. “No, I liked the script. It was compelling and I knew that it was going to be amazing.”

It’s barely a joke, but you smile politely and don’t fuss when the woman gets flustered and forgets to ask you the question or at least wait for your answer. You understand being flustered by Dieter, it happens a lot. He’s far more charming naturally than he knows. The second question is about travel, and this time you don’t hesitate. “London was heavenly, but the hotel where they put the cast up in the French countryside was stunning. It was really like staying in someone’s home, and they made the experience so welcoming for all of us.”

Dieter smiles and nods, not expanding any more on the topic since you had answered. You had both talked about that hotel extensively and his own opinion mirrors yours.

The rest of her questions are fairly mundane, and you wonder if she was given first in as a warm up. Not wanting to hit you and Dieter with anything too thought-provoking right off the bat since Dee isn’t exactly famous for being a morning person. The next two people in ask requisite questions about working on a period piece and what it was like to work with the singer who played the third lead. The next seemed enamored of the fact that you had a very well behaved trained dog on set and wanted to know all about acting with an animal.

On and on it went, round and round again until even your break for lunch was a blur. The food was good, at least. That’s not always true at these things. A dozen or more interviews into the first day of the junket, Sadie brings you a fresh mug of tea and promises that the end is in sight. Just two more hours of this and you can go and wash off the tedium of interviews and get ready for the party.

“I’m so ready to stop smiling.” Dieter complains under his breath, his own refreshed latte in his hands as he watches yet another reporter bring in their equipment to set up. “Can I get some booze in this?” He begs Desiree, tilting his head. “Just a shot? Hell, even Bailey’s. Just something.”

“What happened to not drinking until the party?” His assistant asks with a raised eyebrow, having every intention of enforcing the deal they made yesterday.

“I got bored.” Dieter huffs quietly. “It’s the SSDD theory.”

“You’re done in two hours, and then you get a whole cocktail party to drink at.” Desiree reminds him. “You just need to survive a little bit longer. I hear there’s even cocktails named after your characters.”

“There are?” Dieter perks up tremendously at that idea and grins. “Okay. I’ll wait. But can we please have some interesting questions?” That part might have been a little too loud because the next reporter glances up from where they are setting up their camera.

There’s a flash of recognition on the reporter’s face. The look of someone tired who probably agrees that most of the questions they were asking aren’t worthwhile. He finishes setting up and sits down, but doesn’t open the small notebook that had just been in his hand. “So.” He smiles like he understands how tired the two of you must be, or at least he’s trying to be sympathetic. “This wasn’t exactly a run of the mill production process for you.”

Dieter glances over at you, seeing if you want to take the lead but your brow is slightly furrowed, so he answers. “If you mean the fact that we shot the emotionally tumultuous scenes first, yeah, I guess you could say that.” He chuckles. “Nothing like getting the shit slapped out of you on the first day to bond with your co-star.” He jokes, flashing you a grin. “Professionally speaking.”

"You didn't get along too well at the beginning of production, if memory serves." He shifts in his seat like a snake slithering toward a nest full of eggs. "The video of the two of you having it out in a restaurant in London made the rounds on the internet for weeks."

“Oh that….” Dieter chuckles and shrugs. “It’s me.” He deflects, pointing to himself. “Everyone gets pissed at me at some point.” He offers, like it would be unusual for his co-star to not be upset with him. “Emotions were high from filming that day.”

"But from someone so poised," he gestures to you, obviously hoping that he's poking a sleeping bear and trying to shake it awake.

"Unfortunately, sometimes being human is caught on film," you answer diplomatically. "As Dee said. Tensions were high in the beginning of filming. We had a lot of very high stress and high emotion scenes right in the beginning of the process and that really had us on our toes."

“Yes.” The reporter, Steven Someone, Dieter had already forgotten who he was with or his last name, nods in agreement. “However, from the video, it seemed to be…rather personal.” He continues on. “Did it have something to do with the production the two of you starred in together on Broadway together twelve years ago?”

“Actually?” No one has ever brought that up. It seemed like it had almost been lost to history. Your show and your history together seemed invisible to modern fans, and you’re honestly thrown a little off kilter by anyone even bringing it to the forefront. “No. It didn’t have anything to do with that. It was a misunderstanding on my part and I’ve apologized.” You’ve worshiped and posed for him since then, helping his sketchbook of you grow exponentially. But that is entirely personal.

“So the rumors that the two of you have an old spat are unfounded?” He asks, looking between the two of you. “Because the film almost seems to be an extension of that. Deeply personal.”

“I wasn’t aware of any rumours.” It makes you shift uncomfortably in your seat, the way this particular interview is turning out, but maybe it would be good to smooth this over. If there are rumours about you disliking each other, it would be good to gloss over them and make sure they’re ended.

“There’s reports that the set nearly shut down the first day due to an altercation and the table read was uncomfortable because of the tension between the two of you.” He acknowledges, without really asking a question.

“The beginning of this process was definitely tense,” you acknowledge, glancing nervously at Dieter who seems shell shocked by the way this interview has gone. “If anyone else in the cast or crew was made uncomfortable, obviously that’s something that was unintentional.”

“Obviously, there’s no tension now.” Dieter chuckles. “We are all temperamental artists at times, it plays well on screen but it can be uncomfortable until you find that niche.”

“No. In fact, now you seem quite cozy.” This reporter is smiling like he has a secret and your stomach rolls anxiously. “In fact.” The second time, the phrase almost sounds accusing. “You’ve been spending a lot of time together lately, haven’t you?”

Dieter gives a small shrug, as if it doesn’t matter. “We’ve known each other for a long time.” He tells the reporter, annoyed at where this interview is going. “Of course we are going to spend time together.”

“So there’s no truth at all to the rumor that the very same moving truck that was seen in Echo Park near the home of America’s Sweetheart,” he practically points his own at you. “Was unloading just hours later in Sherman Oaks at Dieter’s mansion?”

Dieter’s eyes narrow and he shifts in his chair. “Aren’t we here to talk about a movie?” He looks behind him at the banner for the movie and nods. “Yeah, that movie?” He hooks his thumb behind him. “Our personal lives aren’t on the table.”

“You’ve called this film ‘deeply personal’.” He changes tactics but doesn’t back down. “Apparently the beginning of shooting wasn’t the only time things got tense on set. The love scenes were also extremely intimate.”

“As intimate as having a roomful of people watching simulated sex can be.” Dieter laughs. “Takes away the fun if you’re the only ones exposed. But it was an extremely professional set.” He looks at the camera and playfully gives it a ‘sorry’ look. “Nothing is real.”

The production assistant nearby gives the reporter the signal to wrap things up and you shift again, picking up your mug to wrap both hands around it like an herbal tea security blanket. The reporter looks unhappy that he has to stop but he looks at both of you seriously. “The movie is a very poignant film and if emotions were high, they translated to a fantastic performance.”

“Thank you.” Saved by the bell, you think with an inner sigh as you paint a smile on your face. “We had a sensational script and a wonderfully supportive cast of costars. And Sam’s vision as a director really brings things together.”

Once that reporter is cleared out, Dieter shakes his head. “Can we have a break?”

“We’re on a tight schedule.” Desiree frowns, knowing the publicity team won’t like it. “I can stall for a few minutes.”

“Just a couple of minutes.” Dieter nods as Desiree moves towards the door to prevent the next reporter from coming in. “How are you doing?” He asks immediately, his eyes wide. “Do you think someone actually saw the moving truck?”

“They must have.” You can’t squeeze his hand without giving yourselves away, so you keep both hands locked around your mug. “I mean I thought we were doing really well but obviously somebody saw something.” You had agreed together that you wouldn’t come out as a couple for at least a few more months. You had planned to allow yourselves to be photographed on a very well-behaved and well-earned vacation where your publicity teams could control the message and how the information disseminated to your fans. Apparently, you may need to speed up that plan.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Dieter frowns, sure that this is somehow his fault. He was the one who insisted that Sherman Oaks was where the two of you needed to live. You didn’t own your house, so he had thought it made sense.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” It’s a reflex of his, to apologize even when he isn’t at fault, and you shake your head. “We should just…we should decide. If we’re still going to keep this under wraps or if we’re going to open up about it sooner than we planned.” It would be okay, either way. You could still control the flow of information. Sadie and Desiree would get the ball rolling with your management and publicity teams now instead of in six more months. “I guess…we could always use the junket?”

He frowns, knowing that you wanted more time, and it feels like you two are being pushed into a corner. “We could.” He agrees. “I’ll do whatever you want to.”

“If we deny it up and down here and then come out at the premiere, they’ll snag us for lying.” You point out quietly. “So far we’ve never said we aren’t together, and we can keep it that way. Everything on the up-and-up. And the press will be at the cocktail party tonight.” Having to play a strategy on your own relationship is difficult, but both of you have experience in this area. “We should just…just make sure Des and Sadie have everything lined up before we do this. The whole point was to have our teams ready to go. No scandals for either of us.”

“You’re going to be the one taking a hit.” Dieter reminds you. “But I haven’t had a scandal that’s come up to bite us in the ass.” He’s been on his best behavior, to the annoyance of some of the tabloids.

“They’re going to dig for a scandalous past that doesn’t exist. It’s fine.” Part of the point is that your team will be able to speak to your rekindled romance and touch on the fact that you dated years ago during your time on Broadway. Each other’s one that got away. A very romantic spin on the reality of an abusive father controlling his son from afar.

“Dear ole dad is spinning in his grave.” Dieter chuckles. “He never wanted me to have a squeaky clean image, said it was a direct reflection of him.”

“He wanted a product to sell, not a son.” It makes you sad, honestly, and you sigh into your tea. “He never saw how amazing you are all on your own.”

“Doesn’t matter now.” He knows that, although it still hurts. It had been one of the reasons that he had never had children. Never wanted to risk fucking them up.

“I love you.” It doesn’t cure the hurts, but the whispered words make him smile and that’s what matters.

“I love you too.” Dieter wants to lean in to kiss you, but he knows Desiree can only keep them out for so long. He smiles at you and nods. “Let me know when you want to do this.” He tells you before he calls for his assistant.

“Everything okay?” Desiree and Sadie appear together an instant later with concern on their faces.

“How long do you think it would take you to be ready to go with the photo leaks and press statements?” You ask them, barely raising your voice above a murmur. “If one reporter knows things, then I’d bet anything that more do.”

“Oh shit.” Desiree’s eyes widen slightly and she looks back at the door. “We have everything ready. Just whenever you are ready to push.”

"Tonight?" In a perfect world you could just be yourselves. Just cuddle up on the sofa and be together. But your lives are more complicated than that. "Use the cocktail party as the staging ground?"

Dieter nods. “I don’t have to keep my hands off of you.” He hums happily. Any time he doesn’t have to worry about not being able to touch you, he’s in a better mood. Even the interviews where the two of you playfully touch while joking were better in his book.

"If you're ready, we'll get the ball rolling." Sadie promises, flashing a proud grin at Desiree. This publicity roll out is some of their best work. "By the time the cocktail party starts, you'll be free to snuggle as much as you like."

“Okay, let’s get this next round of interviews done.” Dieter grumbles, like he wasn’t the one that needed a break. “I want to shower before the party.”

******

It ends up taking slightly more than two hours before you and Dieter can get back to your suite to get ready, but at least you make it through things without any more nasty questions or grouchy attitudes. The second you shut the suite door behind you, you go straight into his arms to claim a hug. "Well that's done," you huff with a half-assed chuckle. "Tomorrow we get to do even more of them."

“So what you’re saying is that I need to be drunk tomorrow?” Dieter huffs, squeezing you gently and sighing softly as he burrows into your neck and inhales the scent of your perfume.

“Tomorrow we’re going to get all the questions about us.” Considering you have the two most trustworthy and effective people you know working for you, you know that whatever they’re leaking or releasing, Sadie and Desiree are doing it at this exact moment. “It should be a much more interesting day.”

“Are you ready?” He asks seriously, pulling back to caress your cheek. “Soooo many jokes about taming me. Or orgies, or whatever.”

“Well, you’ve never taken me to an orgy, so I’m afraid I won’t understand those jokes.” You remind him, putting on your best innocent face. “I’m ready, honey. Honestly. I’m sorry that our hand got forced, but I’m proud to love you and I’m glad we don’t have to hide anymore.”

“I wouldn’t want you at an orgy.” He frowns just thinking about it and slides his hands down your sides. “It’ll make red carpet walks better.”

“So much better.” His hands land on your hips and you gravitate toward him instinctively. “Are you sure you’re ready?” As much as you’ll get a few jokes or comments about taming him, he’s going to get the brunt of it. The intimate details of his life have been much more on display than yours.

“You know I don’t care what the media thinks about me.” He does but it’s not like he can undo the damage already done. All he can do is allow his image to be shaped into something else.

“I know that you say that.” With two fingers you brush a stray curl from his forehead. “But you also can’t get bent out of shape if they say things about me. It’s their job to stir shit. Or at least to try.”

“You don’t deserve it though.” He pouts, frowning at you. “I won’t.” He huffs when you just stare at him with that ‘I don’t believe you’ expression on your face.

“We’re going to have fun tonight, and we’re going to be us. The real us.” You wrap him up in both arms and hug him to your chest, grinning when he burrows into your neck again for comfort. “Everything is going to be okay.”

“I know it will be.” That he’s certain of. The alternative is for the two of you to not be together and he’s not doing that. Not again. “Do you want to shower together, or do you want to wait until we leave the party?”

"Oh no, we're definitely showering together." The wolfish grin you throw him comes with a wink, and you pull away to head into the bathroom knowing that he's right behind you. "I want to walk into that party having been freshly fucked, thank you very much."

“Fuck.” Dieter grins, rushing to pull his shirt over his head and mussing his hair up. “What are we waiting for? Get naked!”

The vague sound of a snort from the other room tells you that Sadie heard that, and you can't help but giggle as you toss your blouse onto the long counter and reach into the overlarge stall to turn on the shower.

“Jesus.” Dieter can’t help but stop in his tracks and admire the beauty of you in front of him. Since moving in together, you have modeled several times and yet he still can’t help but stare. “I love you.”

You pause in your tracks, turning around to face him with your bra off and your hands on the fly of your pants – and a dopey, lovestruck smile on your face. He really is just sweet sometimes, and it's a side of him that almost no one gets to see. You honestly couldn't be prouder or more flattered that he is so soft and loving with you. "I love you, too."

Dieter grins and pushes his pants down, he had purposefully not worn underwear because of having to sit all day, so his hard length bounces out as he kicks off the pants.

“I’m gonna buy you silk underwear one day, and you’re gonna love how soft it is so much that you’re going to want to wear it all the time.” Not that you mind that he goes commando. It’s one less layer to strip away in order to have him inside you. He loves his little luxuries, though, and you know it would make him smile.

“Why, so they can remind me of how good your hand feels?” He smirks at you as you step into the shower. This is intimate and playful, the two of you falling into an easy comfort with each other.

“I told you that moisturized skin makes all the difference.” He had teased you about being so religious in your nighttime routine of moisturizers and cleansers, but he never argued with the results.

He grins, shaking his head and wrapping his arms around you. “We have about twenty minutes.” He hums. “It’s going to have to be a quickie.”

“Then you should decide if you want my front or my back pressed against that wall,” you hum, slinging both arms around him so you can drag him down for a kiss.

“Back.” He groans against your mouth. “Easier to kiss you.”

He’s always been greedy with kisses, much to your delight, and now he backs you up against the cold marble just as eagerly as he slips his tongue into your mouth revels at the needy moan it earns him. It takes no effort to melt into him and you reach between your bodies to wrap your hand around his cock and stroke.

The way you touch him makes his knees weak, sagging and leaning into you as he plunders your mouth with his own. Eager to be inside you again. It must be a symphony of moans and whines to anyone outside your little bubble, but all you can ever focus on is Dieter. He’s all you’ve ever wanted and still all you need, and when he picks your leg up to sit on his waist you shift forward with ease, eager to have him inside you again.

“Baby, you’re so good to me.” Dieter kisses down your neck and across your shoulder. “Best drug, you, you’re it.”

"Love you so fucking much." The way he nips at your skin leaves you breathless every time and you whimper softly. "Need you, Dee. Please?"

“Yes baby.” There isn’t enough time to tease you, to draw this out. Too needy for the solace your body gives him, he lines up and sinks in faster than both of you can inhale.

"Fuuuuuuck." No matter how many times you take him it's always a stretch, like a personal challenge to your dripping cunt to see if it will ever not make your eyes roll back in your head or your chest heave to draw him as deep inside you as possible. Tonight it's a gorgeous feeling of being split open as he braces your back against the wall and drapes both of your legs over his forearms to leverage you in between the marble and his body, impaling you on his cock so quickly that it almost makes you dizzy.

“Shiiiiiiit.” Dieter hisses. “How are you so fucking tight?” He whines. “I fuck you all the time.” He loves it, cock twitching deep and he grinds his hips to try to reach a fraction of inch deeper. Feeling like he will drive through your back wall with the first thrust.

"Kegels," you tease, diving forward to kiss him when it's truly the most you can do in this position.

“Keep doing them.” He groans against your lips, too busy trying to devour you to really talk beyond that point. You love making him crazy and everything you do accomplishes that. Especially the way you moan into his mouth.

Each determined thrust drives you firmly into the cold wall, pushing a moan into his kiss and making both of you grip each other tighter. His feet firmly planted on the shower floor hold both of you steady as he rocks into you and you do everything you can to meet him at every swing of his hips. It's a precarious dance but a rewarding one, letting him hit all the deepest, most sensitive places in your greedy pussy.

“Fuck, fuck.” Dieter groans, eyes fluttering and he tries to make sure neither one of you end up on the fucking floor. “Tonight–” he gasps. “Tonight, ride me.” He begs, knowing he will be needy and submissive after a night schmoozing. He normally is.

“Want to—” You gasp, whimpering when he hits so deep inside you that you swear you’re going to go permanently cross eyed from the way it jolts through your body. “Worship tonight, baby?”

“Yes. Fuck yes.” The way you make him feel like a god is addictive. To you– it seems like he is the best among all men. Desperately soothing the ego that loves to be stroked and it's different. He knows you mean it. The love you have for him makes it even better, making him crave it just like he wants to worship you.

Coming back to the depths of your relationship with Dieter has been easy in some ways. The emotional and sexual attachments that you had fostered years ago sprang back to life as though they had never once been doubted. Trust was rebuilt over time, through tangible examples of making and keeping promises and both of you speaking up even when you were uncomfortable or afraid of toeing a line. Moving in together has been the culmination of hard work and deep love, and you have both been so proud of your hard work. Tonight is another big step but right now you let yourself revel in what comes so easily to you. Sex is like your safe haven. The place where only you and he exist. And even though you’re a half dozen thrusts away from cumming at the very most, thinking of the next time you’ll get to be in his arms is absolutely thrilling.

“Love you baby.” Dieter groans, feeling you getting ready to cum, picking up your cues like it was just yesterday that he was introducing you to how wonderful sex is. “Cum for me.”

"Love you." It might be barely bitten out on a groan but you mean every syllable. In less than a minute you're spasming around him, tight walls pulling him as deep into your body as you can manage and hands clinging to his shoulders while you whimper in his ear and come apart for him all in one breathtaking moment.

He groans, rocking up onto the balls of his feet and scrambling back to press his lips to yours. Needing to kiss you will he tumbles off the edge after you. Only managing to thrust two more times before he is grinding deep and shuddering as he fills you.

You stay pinned together like that for as long as it takes to get your breath back, exchanging small kisses full of indulgence before he finally lets your legs down and makes sure you're steady on your feet. "We should wash up," you murmur unconvincingly, needing at least two more quick kisses before you even think of reaching for the soap.

“I think this might be the first time I’ve ever been disappointed to have a party planned for a night.” Dieter huffs, amused at himself. Normally he would already be getting hammered to pregame, but if you were to decide to stay in this room, he would snuggle up to you and order room service.

"It will be fun." At least you don't have to pretend anymore, and that is its own kind of fun and freedom. "You can kiss me in public now. Remember that."

“But no making out, right?” There had been a meeting with your own PR about what kind of PDA would be permissible to continue to craft your more respectable image.

"Right." A face cloth and body wash make it into your hand with the intention of each of you washing yourselves, otherwise you would never leave the overlarge shower. "And touching is fine but no groping. It's like foreplay for PDA," you grin at him, handing over the soaped-up cloth.

“What about a butt squeeze?” Dieter pouts, still not completely happy with these rules. “Just one! It will be tasteful.”

“How about resting your hand there for no more than five seconds.” While your publicist had looked at you like you have six heads when you told her about Dieter, she had since come to think of it like a challenge. A professional test, of sorts. Could Dieter Bravo be made to look respectable? Only time would tell.

“Only if I get to flex my fingers for the last second.” He compromises, grinning as he starts rubbing the soapy rag over his body. He knows how much you like his butt squeezes. And his boob squeezes, and it’s not like he’s trying to negotiate that for public spaces.

“Deal.” There’s a silly grin on your face as you put your hand out for him to shake like it’s some kind of shady business bargain instead of a goofy moment between lovers.

“Guys!” Sadie’s voice is muffled from the other side of the wall but still clear. “Rivkah and Monique are here to get you ready! No time for round two!”

“There’s always time for round two!” Dieter yells back, even as he steps out from under the water and turns off the shower.

It only takes a little while for both of you to get ready, thanks to your teams, and the all-black ensemble that Desiree had packed for tonight has just a few accents of blue to subtly match your dress. You hadn’t planned to come out tonight, but the decision to leave subtle little clues in your outfits for the weekend was a very good one after all.

In the elevator, you squeeze his hand and lean your careful coiffed head on his shoulder. “Are you ready for this?”

“As long as you are.” Your fame being impacted is the only downside of this in his opinion. He knows his own reputation. It will be met with disbelief and then there will be bets made on how long it lasts and if you try to hit him with a car when you inevitably break up because he’s fucked up. He knows all this. He just hopes you can put up with it and remember that the past is behind him.

“I’ve made my decision.” You tell him honestly and reach for his hand to thread your fingers together as the elevator descends to the first floor. “And if Hollywood makes me pick between it and you?” Exhaling softly, your eyes flick up to his. “The answer is you.”

That makes Dieter have to bite his lip, emotional from your confession. “I’d pick me too.” He teases softly, squeezing your hand.

With time enough to roll your eyes at him playfully before the elevator doors open, you smirk and return the squeeze of his hand. “Careful. Or I won’t stroke anything besides your ego tonight.”

“You love stroking Mr. Wiggles.” Dieter mutters under his breath, just to make you laugh before he steps out and pulls you out behind him. He hasn’t named his penis and if he did, it wouldn’t be Mr. Wiggles.

Thanks to the well-timed comment you’re choking on smothered laughter as the doors open, and the very first picture taken by a photographer of you and Dieter as an official couple has you beaming at him with a broad and honest grin on your face and laughter in your eyes as he holds your hand. It’s a beautiful image. The two of you are dressed immaculately and happy, the perfect picture of romantic bliss. You doubt either of your teams could have planned a better image.

Just like he would have with any starlet he was escorting to an awards show, Dieter is attentive. However, this time, it’s more intimate. His smiles are real and his hold on your hand never wavers for a moment as some of the reporters start to immediately buzz with excitement.

The ‘carpet’ you have to walk is actually the main hallway through the hotel which has been blocked off and styled as a greeting area so that no one not in attendance would have any idea you weren’t at an elegant party. The party itself, however, is outside. The entire patio and garden area of the hotel has been turned into a cocktail area with room for schmoozing and music for dancing. It will be fun, you just have to get to it first. The very first reporter to get your attention asks the standard questions about what designers you’re wearing, and you excitedly name names and give details so that the independent women designers you worked with for this event would get their due attention.

“Don’t ask me!” Dieter shrugs and grins. “I only know that the clothes feel really good and she looks amazing.”

“He’s wearing Gucci.” You grin, having gotten that tidbit from Desiree earlier. “Head to toe.” When he looks at you with surprise, you just shrug. “You look amazing, too. I was curious.”

Grinning, he winks at you and then back at the reporter. “She’s going to have me styled in Gucci all the time now.” He jokes. “But we’ll see, right?”

“Do you have a hand in his style these days?” The reporter asks, confusion indicating that she hasn’t picked up on what you two are trying to give away for free.

Lips quirked into a knowing grin, you nearly wink at the reporter on your own this time. “Most girlfriends do, don’t they?”

Dieter almost laughs at how wide the poor woman’s eyes get, nearly choking on air as she immediately tries to talk again through her excitement. He doesn’t though. He just gives her a concerned look as he stands beside you.

“This film was an adventure.” You tell the reporter with a smile. This quote will be used over and over again, so you have made yourself memorize something nice from your publicist instead of trying to improvise. “We were lucky to be able to have that adventure together.”

The reporter who had started grilling you during the junket nearly spills a drink as he starts jumping up and down. “I knew it! I fucking knew it!”

"Oh?" The amusement on your face is notable when you turn to find the man nearly flailing in your direction. "Then you should have asked directly." Not that you wouldn't have been a deer in the proverbial headlights if he had, but you can pretend otherwise.

It’s almost worth the annoyance Dieter had suffered earlier to see the devastation on his face as the reporter realizes he lost the exclusive scoop. It was now going out, might already be posted.

The next reporter on the carpet is a man you're familiar with. He's worked for his magazine for a decade by now and routinely does these junkets, but didn't sit with you today – his interview must be scheduled for tomorrow. "Hi Tom," you smile cordially as you and Dieter step over in line and you shake his hand warmly.

He's a nice guy. Likes to talk about his kids whenever he gets the chance, so you make small talk about little Ashley and Kaiden for a minute before he flashes a big smile at you. "I have to know how it happened," he insists with a breathless laugh of disbelief that you have a feeling is going to be the resounding reaction tonight.

Dieter glances over at you and smiles. “We’ve known each other for a long time. We did a play together twelve years ago and had a relationship then.” He shrugs. “I was an ass, she unbelievably decided to give me another chance.” He’s been willing to take the blame for the past and frame you as this saving angel if it helps. “The chemistry was still there.”

“Twelve years ago?” Tom sounds shocked but also soft at that revelation. Like it’s some kind of magical gift — and maybe for you and Dieter, it is.

“Not everyone gets a second chance,” you hum, still smiling, but this time that smile is gentle and aimed at Dieter before turning back to the reporter you have known for several years. “We’re very lucky. Why don’t we tell you all about it when we sit down tomorrow?”

“Absolutely. But for now, the two of you look happy.” He knows he will be up late rewriting most of his questions.

“We are.” That much is undeniable, bringing warmth to your cheeks. “We really are.”

“I’m sure we will talk later but the movie was excellent, enjoy the party you deserve.” Tom nods to you and allows you to move along.

Each short moment with each reporter is some variant of this, as most people are too flabbergasted to say much of anything right now. Tomorrow you’ll be bombarded with questions but for tonight you’re going to bask in the glow of not having to hide what makes you happy.

“Well no one accused us of lying.” Dieter chuckles under his breath. That had been something he had really thought would happen. People would claim it was a publicity stunt for the movie.

“I’m sure someone will tomorrow,” you laugh nervously as he guides you out, into the mood lighting and manicured decor of the party. “I think most of them were too shell shocked to even think of that.”

“Of course they are.” The bar is set up and he guides you towards it. “You – Hollywood’s dream girl – dating me.” He snorts. “Hollywood’s disaster.”

“You’re like the tornado from The Wizard of Oz,” you tell him, with a confidence that makes him snort but also look at you with a curiosity that asks why. “You swept into my life and made everything Technicolor. Sometimes it’s hard or even scary, other times it’s joyful and exciting. But either way, I wouldn’t be who I am without you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He can’t help but lean in and press his lips to yours in a chaste kiss. Not as intimate as he would like, but enough that he shows you how touched he is.

“It was meant as one.” Even a small kiss is a big deal right now, and you can just feel the sheer number of cameras pointed at you right now, but you still smile at him and thank the bartender who sets one specialty cocktail each in front of you - the ones named for your characters.

“To your first Oscar.” Dieter grins as he picks up the drink and holds yours out to you as a toast. “I will be proud of you and cry from the audience when you win.”

“To your second Oscar.” Gently tapping the rim of your glass against his, you can’t help the warm and cuddly feeling that all of this gives you. Like this is how it was meant to be so many years ago. This was the future you were always intended to have. Right here with him. “I will be proud of you and crying from the audience when you win.”

“Nahhh.” Dieter shakes his head. “Your performance is the stronger one. It’s your movie really.”

“We’ll see.” He has never really known what he’s capable of on his own, and is even worse at accepting a sincere compliment, so you won’t press the point. But the fact is, Dieter Bravo would have been a huge movie star even if his father hadn’t been one before him. “Let’s just go enjoy the party.”

“Of course.” He winks and throws back the rest of his drink. The next one will be sipped because he has no intention of getting too drunk. “You know how much I love to party.”

******

You had learned very early on that Dieter never threw parties, but he was always invited to them. No matter which castmate or crew member or artist friend or old school pal was having people by, Dieter was always on the top of the guest list. He was a bragging point as much as a fun guest, giving people the chance to proudly spout that a movie star had been at a party they gave. And whether he cared about that or not, he almost always showed up – and he always brought you with him. You were his devoted arm candy and proud of it, whisked around every party like a beautiful bauble. His energy had always been electric, and wherever he focused his attention was the center of the universe. And no matter how long it took to make his rounds and shine his light on everyone he could, it always ended up back on you.

“Hey Bambi.” He had gotten dragged away from you, pulled into a story telling time about his time when he was filming a nude scene at fourteen and the ethics of it. Now back at your side, he drops his arm over your shoulder and plucks the almost lukewarm beer from your hand to take a sip. He was thirsty and the buzz that attention gives him was starting to wear off. “You enjoying yourself?”

“I was just thinking of getting a new drink.” His arms rests heavy and enticing around your body and you move into him automatically to get a hint of the cologne he wears. You have no clue what it is, but it smells exotic and heady. “Wanna come with me?”

“Course I do.” Dieter finishes off your beer and leans in with a vicious smirk on his lean face. “And later, I want to come in you.” He teases in your ear before nibbling on it, just to make you shiver.

"Babe." It makes you completely weak in the knees when he does things like that – says things like that – and you've never been more convinced that starting birth control was the right move. "Does that mean you want me to stay over tonight?" You ask with a wide-eyed pout that practically begs him to say yes. In the months since you started working and sleeping together, you've barely ever slept apart. But you try not to assume.

“How are we going to go to a hangover brunch tomorrow morning where we eat wayyyyyy too many sweet and salty things if you don’t stay?” He practically pouts at the idea. Sleeping better with you beside him, though he’s never told you that.

"Let it never be said that we don't take our two-show days very seriously." A solemn nod makes you giggle, knowing full well that doing two shows each day on the weekends is something that is equal parts exhausting and exhilarating. This is your craft, and you relish the opportunity to flex all of those muscles that you have been honing since you were just a young teen back in Washington. "I'm happy to stay, babe. I just didn't want to assume."

He huffs and rolls his eyes, wanting to ask you why you don’t assume, everyone else does. No one actually ever asks Dieter permission. They just assume he will want to be at a party or go out to the bar. You constantly not knowing if you aren’t spending the night has him thinking about asking you to just give up your apartment. But he’ll wait until your lease is coming up. No need for you to pay a penalty.

You don't tell him that you're terrified that he's going to get sick of you. That being too clingy or too emotional or too anything will be what makes him decide that the novelty of you has worn off. Telling him that would surely be the last nail in the coffin of a relationship that has come to mean so much to you, so you just smile instead and sidle up to the kitchen counter at this house party that has been transformed into a bar. "What are you in the mood for?"

Immediately distracted, Dieter strides up to the bar and reaches for the harder liquor. “Do you want me to make you a drink?” He asks. “It’s the very first drink I ever had.”

"Sure!" Of course you're always going to say yes to him. He's had such a wonderful breadth of experiences already and you hate how naive or sheltered you can feel sometimes by comparison.

“You will find that these are somewhat of an acquired taste.” Dieter hums as he adds scotch whiskey and vermouth into a shaker and walks over to the fridge to get some ice.

"Now I'm nervous." You lean on the counter while you watch him, biting your lip and not disguising the fact that you're watching his hips move as he walks. "What exactly are you making for me?"

“A Rob Roy.” He hums as he grabs some ice and turns around to wink at you. “A very classy cocktail.”

"Trying to class me up, Dee?" A little nervous that you won't like it, you put your nose up in the air and affect an air of absolute class and sophistication to mask your worry – and hopefully to make him laugh.

Dieter snorts and sticks his tongue out at you. “I’m just hoping you snort it up your nose choking on it like I did.” He scoffs playfully. “But– to be fair– I was eight.”

"Eight?" Sometimes when he mentions things from growing up they're cute stories or funny anecdotes. Sometimes they're downright disturbing instead. This qualifies as the latter.

“Yeah.” He shrugs as if it’s no big deal and slaps the top on the shaker to start shaking it. “One of dad’s parties.”

"Of course." The first time you ever went to a party with people drinking or smoking was probably halfway through college, but that just makes you feel ridiculous next to him. He calls you Bambi for looking innocent, but sometimes you wonder if he knows exactly how deep that side of your personality runs.

There isn’t a martini glass to strain the drinks into but the plastic cups get three dashes of bitters in the bottoms before he starts to evenly divide the liquor between the two. That was his father’s secret to a good Rob Roy. The bitters are only added at the end and never stirred in. He fishes out the ice with a spoon and hands you a cup. “To your new favorite drink.” He teases, sending you a small wink.

The first sip burns, almost sending you into a coughing fit that would assuredly be the least sexy you’ve ever been in front of him, but you manage to get yourself under control enough to take a second sip and that tastes delicious. Once you get past the initial shock of strong liquor, there’s something nuanced and addictive about the drink. You flash him a grin over the top of your plastic cup and count yourself lucky that you only coughed a little and your eyes only watered a little at the first sip. The last thing you want is for Dieter to think you can’t keep up. “Actually? It’s really good.”

Laughing, Dieter takes a sip of his own drink and grimaces slightly. “Glad you enjoy it.” He hums, wanting to tell you that you don’t have to like it, not if you don’t want to. “I got trashed off of them and threw up in the pool that night.”

“Sounds…fun?” Sometimes when he tells you things like this from his childhood you really just don’t know how to respond. Without being able to relate in any way, you usually just listen and tuck the information away for later recollection. He is a puzzle, and you’re slowly starting to put the pieces together.

“Yeah.” Dieter snorts and shakes his head. “Dad was disappointed. Said a man doesn’t quit until he’s thrown up for the second time.”

“You were eight!” That isn’t the definition of adulthood in any culture you’ve ever heard of, and you immediately move to put your arms around your boyfriend. “I’m sorry, honey. I try to be supportive, but that’s bullshit.”

He’s embarrassed for a moment. Wondering if you are right since he has zero clue what a normal upbringing looks like. “Doesn’t matter.” He shrugs it off and tosses you a charming grin as he slides closer to press his lips to yours. A distraction. “Just you matters right now.”

Though you can’t say you have a lot of experience with addiction, drugs, intoxicants, any of that - you do know what it is to crave. From the first time Dieter kissed you in your dressing room the day you met, you’ve craved him. Needed to have him near and felt like a piece of you was missing when he wasn’t. Maybe you know more about addiction than you think you do. You kiss him and kiss him in that kitchen, drinks forgotten until the only thing in your mind are the small sounds of pleasure coming from both of you and the way he makes you weak in the knees with seemingly no effort at all.

Dieter has you pressed against the counter, loving how easily you give over. There’s no rehearsing, it’s just natural. He’s more…dominant with you, although you do like to explore. You love pleasure and he loves giving it to you.

“God.” A voice from a few yards away rings out a groan followed by a disbelieving laugh. “Just don’t fuck in the kitchen, okay you two?”

“No promises.” Dieter jokes over his shoulder. “Not when Bambi is as beguiling as she is.”

When he breaks apart from you, you bury your burning face in his chest to hide your embarrassment and cling to his sides for that support you crave. He’s your shield against the world and the fact that someone as extraordinary as Dieter wants you is making you re-examine how you perceive yourself altogether. “Beguiling, huh?” You tilt your head back and beam at him.

“I said what I said.” He purses his lips at you playfully. “Besides, it could be considered performance art if we did fuck in the kitchen.” He’s joking, he knows you would never go for that, but it’s fun to see you squirm.

“It would only be performance art for you!” You giggle, trying to smother the giddy idea that he’s planted in your head. It’s so wildly outside of the realm of possibility, but a fun fantasy to hang on to. “If I do it, it’s indecent exposure.”

“Nahhhhhh.” Dieter takes advantage of your leaning back to laugh to lean forward and nibble on your neck.

“Deeeee…” His name is always drawn out when you whine it, and your fingers clutch the front of his shirt in fists to keep him close. You don’t want him to stop, you just want him to know what he’s doing is driving you crazy.

“I’ve got you.” Dieter chuckles and nips just a touch harder. He likes it when you are all whiny and needy for him. “What do you want baby?”

“You.” The answer is always the same. It’s always him, in some way, shape, or form. If you were back at his place already you’d be dropping to your knees in front of him. He’s barely left your neck to breathe and you giggle between gasps. “Swear to god you’re a vampire.”

“I vant to suck your bloooood.” He intones in a theatrical voice, as good as any Dracula of the old movies.

It earns him more giggles, and you reach up to thread your fingers through his hair as you find his eyes. “Vampires are sexy, ya know. It could work.”

“I’ll have to get a role as a vampire.” He grins and pretends to bare his teeth. “Just for you, Bambi.”

******

It's a touch-and-go night in some ways, as some people seem to be fascinated by the revelation of your relationship with Dieter and others seem almost agitated by it. The production team is delighted, knowing that all of the attention will only do good things for the movie. And your castmates seem relieved that they no longer have a secret to keep mum about. For you and Dieter? You've been sitting by the hotel pool chatting amiably with whomever stops by and nursing your drinks out over a long time so that you always have one in hand but never let your behavior get out of hand – which would lead to hands on each other.

One of the people you don't recognize – maybe a significant other you weren't formally introduced to or a bold reporter, you can't tell – is smiling brightly to Dieter. They're chatting away about a horror movie he was in a few years ago when you suddenly gasp dramatically and look up at Dieter with wide eyes. "You played a vampire in that," you blurt out, puzzle pieces clicking together in your head.

Tilting his head, Dieter shoots you a confused expression. “Yeah?” He asks, not quite sure what you are getting at. You had told him that you hadn’t watched many of his movies after he had left. He was surprised you knew that it was a vampire movie.

“Jessie’s house party.” It’s like an anvil dropped on you, or a house, and you can feel yourself just staring. Sure you hadn’t gone to see his movies in theaters, but you always eventually saw them in the dark secrecy of your own apartment. That one had just slipped your attention. “You said you were going to play a vampire for me one day.”

It clicks and he bites his lip. “Oh yeah.” He murmurs softly. “You haven’t seen it.” He motions towards the person he is talking to. “What’s the name of the vampire’s obsession?” He asks, not wanting to be the one to tell you.

“It’s…” The man looks between the two of you, confused. “It was some…bimbo name, wasn’t it?”

“Bambi.” Your mouth runs dry and you can practically feel your jaw unhinge at the same time that your eyes widen. “I—it…it was Bambi. Wasn’t it?”

“Bambi!” he explains, slapping his hands on his thigh. “That was it! Never understood why they named the lead ‘Bambi’.” He huffs, shaking his head. Dieter shrugs.

“I’m the one who chose it.” He says, remembering how he had insisted, even threatening to drop from the movie if ‘Deandra’ wasn’t changed to ‘Bambi’. The executive producer had accused him of trying to change it to some misogynist soft porn but he had been adamant and eventually got his way.

Your gentle hold on Dieter’s hand tightens immediately. You won’t start gushing in front of this stranger, but the silent signal to Dee is obvious. “I, um…I think it works well. Ya know…it codes the character as innocent. Naive, even.”

“It makes sense considering she was the one to destroy the vampire.” He reconsiders it, maybe even a little embarrassed that he might have insulted Dieter. “In that case, I like it.”

He wanders away before it can get awkward, making the excuse that he needs a fresh drink, but you just tug Dieter into your arms the second he’s gone. “Bambi, huh?” You murmur, holding him as tight as you can.

“Yeah.” Dieter shrugs slightly, embarrassed. “Got called a pig for that.”

“It’s a slightly unusual nickname.” If you weren’t wearing a delicate piece of artwork in the form of a full face of makeup, you would be burying your face in his chest immediately as you hug him. “I’ve always liked it, though.”

“I know you do.” Dieter hems and haws a little bit before he decides to ask. “You really didn’t know the name of the lead female character?”

“I didn’t.” You shake your head, shrugging guiltily. “It normally takes a while for me to muster up the courage to watch your movies…I always get nostalgic and it was a lot of emotions before. But I always do see them eventually. I know I said I didn’t…I just didn’t want you to know then that I…I missed you enough to watch them anyway.”

He can acknowledge that he was enough of a dick to deserve that. “I get it.” He promises quietly. “Maybe we’ll sit down and watch it together. I normally don’t watch my own shit, but I’ll make an exception for you.”

“Seriously?” He makes a rule of it. You know that. It was one of the wisdoms handed down from his father. “That would be pretty big for you, baby.”

“I’d do it for you.” He’s planning on actually watching the movie at the premier this time. For you. For your acting.

“I love you, too.” It’s nothing short of a miracle for Dieter to break his biggest rules and you know it.

******

“Don’t worry babe, you’re going to win.” Dieter hums, the buzz of the night not one brought on by chemical influence but by pure joy at the thought. As predicted, you had been nominated, for a second year in a row. This time Dieter is also nominated as well as the film itself. The red carpet had been trodden down together and the two of you had played your near year as a couple up slightly. Still shocking people that Dieter had lasted this long and that the two of you seem to glow happily.

“We don’t know that. We can’t know that.” After all, a Golden Globe win is no guarantee of an Oscar. You’d gotten one of those last year and not the Academy Award. Still, you clutch his hand as you sit down together in the front row and smile through the nerves.

“Please.” He scoffs and smirks. “They wouldn’t have put you in the front row so you can get on stage quickly in that dress if you aren’t winning.”

“Or they only put me in the front row because they wanted you here for your award.” You counter, not admitting that he has a point. The spectacular red and gold satin Carolina Herrera ball gown you have on is one of a kind and made specifically for you – and rather worth showing off.

“Nahhhhh.” He knows you are going to win. “They want me as far back as possible to keep my speech time short.”

“We’ll see.” You really have been trying not to jinx yourself, and you squeeze his hand tightly. “What do you want to bet?”

“If you win, you have to tell everyone up on stage you love me.” He teases, picking up your joined hands and kissing the back of yours.

“I would do that anyway.” His hand gets a kiss in turn. “Try again.”

He huffs, rolling his eyes and you and then leans in with a grin on his face. “You have to let me fuck you during the after party.”

“Scandalous.” But your tone makes it clear that you’re more amused than aghast, and you smirk right back at him while you enjoy the sparkle of mischief in his eyes. “Deal. Although this dress is going to be a challenge.”

“I rise to challenges.” He’s already though about how he would fuck you in this dress. “Or at least let me duck under it.”

“Whatever you want.” You promise him, knowing that he’s much better at self control these days when it comes to not doing anything reckless in public. This is…call it a treat. This is a treat for him. “But if you win?” Pretending to think, you tap your chin and grin. “We’re taking a little vacation. My treat. Anywhere you want to go.”

“That’s dangerous.” He laughs. “What if we both win?” It’s a possibility for sure this time.

“Then we do both?” It wouldn’t kill the two of you to take a break. In the year since the film you made together wrapped, you’ve both filmed at least one other project and done plenty of other professional work. You stay extremely busy.

“We could. Might be good to be seen ‘frolicking’ on a beach somewhere?” He hums in amusement. “Or we could do something really unusual. Normal, even.”

“What would we do that’s normal?” You emphasize the word, pretending to be disgusted by it.

“Why don’t we do a cruise?” His eyes light up. “Be completely cheesy and pretend we aren’t Hollywood stars and book a normal cruise. Pretend like we don’t know what’s going on.”

“Like a normal couple.” It’s quite sweet, actually, and you lean over to kiss him. “Alright. You’re on. We’ll go on a cruise and be totally normal for once.”

“But can we have a balcony room?” Dieter asks, pouting slightly. “I don’t like the interior rooms. Too confining.”

“I promise.” The grin you shoot him is beaming. “Whatever you want.”

“Ladies and gentlemen….” The announcer comes over the speakers and Dieter can’t help but bite his lip happily. “Showtime.” He leans over and kisses your cheek for luck.

It’s a long night, but awards nights always are. Waiting through all the other categories for your own is a special kind of torture, until the presenter for Best Actress finally steps out on stage.

“It’s going to be you.” Dieter repeats, completely sure of it. Of course the two of you have played up for the cameras but the night has been fun. “I know it.”

“Nervous.” One mumbled word comes through, and you squeeze his hands tightly in your own. You haven’t let his go for hours and you’re not about to now. You’re terrified, honestly, but mostly because you don’t want to disappoint him. He’s so sure and you’re so scared that you’ll fall short again.

“Don’t be.” Dieter turns and stares into your eyes. “No matter what, no matter whose name is called, I’m proud of you. I’m so fucking proud of you, Bambi.”

“You’ve got me.” He’s always told you he does, and always meant it, and the calm that knowing it brings to you runs so deep that you almost don’t even hear your own name being called. “I—what??”

“They just called your name.” Dieter beams and rockets you up out of your chair to hug you. He can’t get up on the stage with you, but his kiss can linger on your lips.

“They—” The camera that swings around you gets the perfect shot of the congratulatory kiss, but you don’t even register what’s happening aside from Dee being the one to tell you that you’ve won. He takes two steps forward with you to make sure you’re steady on your feet before sitting back down in his seat, but you swear you’re just flying. Making it on stage is a whirlwind, and you swallow thickly when the statue is placed in your hands before you turn to face the podium. There’s a time indicator just inside your line of sight but you look down, right at Dieter in the front row.

“Thank you.” You clear your throat, dabbing tears away and letting the smile on your face grow even larger. “Thank you to the Academy for this prestigious recognition and award, first and foremost. Thank you to my unbelievably talented cast mates, our phenomenal crew, our brilliant production team, and a grateful thanks to my family at home who still don’t quite understand why I do what I do, but love me with all their might anyway.” The audience laughs softly but your eyes never leave Dieter. “This is an honour that I’ve dreamt of for my entire life, and it is a validation of decades of hard work. I’m grateful.”

The speech you had written is still tucked into the pocket of your dress, left for a memory. You have something else you want to say in this moment, as your heart hammers and your pulse quickens to double time. “And thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to you, Dee.” The cameras that pan to Dieter now are intentional – not catching a fleeting expression but ready for whatever comes next. “Thank you for challenging me as often as you support me. For being the push I need to face my fears and the arms that welcome me home when things don’t quite go as planned. Thank you for the professional and personal growth that I know never would have happened without you. I love you, I will always love you, and I hope we have a thousand more adventures ahead of us.”

"I love you too! Finish your speech!" Dieter calls out towards the stage, his own face reflecting pride and love as he grins at the way the entire theater bursts into laughter and applause.

You can’t help but laugh, the beaming smile on your face coming with a shake off your head. “The end of my speech?” The little timer in the edge of your line of sight is almost at the end, and you swallow, looking back down at him with renewed courage. Didn’t you just say you wanted adventure? “It’s just one sentence, and it’s a question for you.” The whole room seems to take a breath at once, and you can see your co-stars turning to stare at him in the front few rows. “Dieter Bravo, will you marry me?”

His jaw drops in shock and it seems like the entire venue, maybe even the world are holding their breath as they wait for his answer. He can't believe that you just asked him to marry you, but your grin hides the slightly panicked worry in your eyes. As if he would say no. He stands up and huffs: "Took you long enough to ask!" He answers playfully. "Of course I'm going to marry you, Bambi!"

Disbelieving applause and hollers pulse through the crowd as you move to the edge of the stage to meet him for a kiss before being ushered backstage. You’ll see him again in just minutes, but for right now your heart is beating out of your chest. You actually just did that. And he actually said yes!

Dieter accepts the congratulations of nearly everyone seated around the pair of you, your little proposal almost overshadowing the most important part. Now he's going to ask you if you were serious.

You make it back to your seat after the next award, right as the commercial break hits. The statue that will bear your name has been handed off to be engraved and without it in your hands you can practically drive back into Dieter’s arms in the seats.

“Tell me that wasn’t just to be on every Hollywood and Academy Awards reel for the rest of time?” He begs, immediately pressing his lips to yours as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

“They just got the benefit of me finally getting the balls to ask.” One—two—three quick kisses shared between you leave the two of you grinning breathlessly. “I mean it, baby. You and me. Forever.”

“I want a marvelously tacky ring.” Dieter warns you with a waggle of his brows. “Maybe a different kind of ring of engagement.”

“I knew you were going to want something alternative.” Giggling into another chaste kiss, you slip your hand into his and squeeze it tightly. “You wanna go shopping tomorrow? Engagement rings of all varieties?”

“You think they have diamond cock rings?” He asks quietly as they announce the category for Best Actor in a drama.

“Already looked into it,” you promise in a whisper. Thank god for incognito mode on your browser, you’d thought it would be a silly birthday gift.

“Yessss.” He ignores the playback of the movie as he leans in to kiss you.

It’s the second time tonight that one of you hears the announcement before the other, and you pull back from Dieter with an excited squeak. “Baby, baby—” You grip his arms tightly. “You did it! It’s you!”

Dieter blinks a few moments and then he realizes what you are saying, pulling you up with him to kiss you again before he makes his way to the stage this time. He’s congratulated and hands are shaken, his only thoughts that nothing is going to top this. Not professionally, anyway.

“Tonight I thought that my co-star, my lover and my fiancée was going to win.” He starts out, shaking his head and looking down at the statue and then back at you in the audience. “I didn’t even have a speech prepared, I was so sure I wasn’t going to win. So yeah, I want to thank everyone on the movie, thank my fiancée for her performance and….”

Dieter bites his lip and looks out over the sea of people in the audience. He sees Dustin Mulray and Lauren Van Chance sitting together and acting lovey again for the fifteenth time and Carol Cobb is a presenter, not an actual member of the academy, but she is glaring at him from her seat. She still blames him for her bad press around Cliff Beasts 6. “I’m done.” Dieter decides. “Tonight, I am retiring from film. This will be my last one of these, so thank you.” He holds the golden statue up in the air and pumps it in gratitude before bowing slightly.

The ripple of a shocked gasp cuts through the crowd, but you feel a very different reaction for yourself – almost laughing in your seat as you clap for him. The people around you start to applaud slowly, and sure enough that ripple takes over the crowd instead until the entirety of the theater is clapping as Dieter is ushered off stage. Between the two of you, you’ve certainly made a splash tonight…

Backstage, it’s a rush to get Dieter back to his seat but everyone asks if he’s serious. He is. And now that he’s said it out loud, he’s almost….relieved. The idea has been talked about more but nothing definite had been done, now he’s taken that first step. Although he wonders what you think about that.

There’s a commercial break when he gets back to his seat, mercifully, and you grab his hands immediately. You’re with him, he must know that, but you search his face. “You couldn’t just say thanks and walk off stage?” You ask, stifling laughter at how shocked everyone is. “Do you…are you serious?”

“I am.” Dieter nods, giving you an almost relieved grin. “It’s not– nothing will beat this. Not in my current life. Winning with you– it’s the way I want to go out.”

“Well…” Lifting one of his hands to your mouth, you press a kiss to his palm and offer him a supportive smile. “Whatever you want to do, Dee. Full retirement, new career, house husband, whatever. Or if you want to start scouting theater locations, we can do that, too. As long as you’re happy.” He’s taking control of his life, which is something he’s never been able to do, and for that you have to be proud of him.

“I do want to do the theater.” Dieter admits quietly. “I don’t expect you to retire or give up your career. I just–” he sighs softly. “I hate film. Honestly. I always have.”

“I only care that you’re happy,” you promise him. “Whatever it is that's going to do that, we’ll do it together.” The grin you flash at him is a little guilty. “I might pop away once in a while to make a movie or I might not. We’ll have to see.”

“You should.” Dieter urges, bending down to kiss your hands, one then the other. “I love you. I don’t want this to just be about me. I’ve been selfish enough for my entire life plus twelve more.”

“I love you, too.” The two of you get to share one more quick kiss before the cameras whir to life again and the broadcast is back from commercial. Only Best Picture remains, but it doesn’t matter if you win. You have the best prize in the world sitting in the seat right next to you.

Watching you up on stage again, this time for Best Picture, Dieter claps and whistles from the audience, aware that you deserve this. His Bambi has become a certifiable star. One that he hopes never dims.

******

Jet lag is one of the worst feelings in the entire world, bar none. It sticks to you and dogs your brain and makes you ache, and half the time it even stops your thoughts from making sense. Right now you feel like a jumbled puzzle as Sadie presses a travel mug of fresh tea into your hands then bundles you into a car at the airport to head for home. Four months was a hell of a long time to be gone, and it feels like even more, but at least you didn’t miss any important holidays or birthdays this time. In fact – you’re ahead of the curve. It’s opening night of a new show tonight and there is nothing more exciting or enticing than getting to surprise your husband on the occasion.

Dieter rushes around, his headset half off as he shouts towards the stagehands. “To the left!” He orders. The thrill of opening night is only measured equally by the stress, but it’s honestly something he has come to love. The students have worked their asses off and they deserve tonight to go off without too many hitches. There are always issues in live performance, it’s to be expected and anticipated as much as possible. It’s his job to make sure that they are equipped with the knowledge and training to work through it and deliver a sound performance to the audience.

Desiree checks her watch discreetly, expecting to see a text from her wife when she gets you back in the car from the house. Just because Dieter had left Hollywood behind didn’t mean that she was going to leave his side — and now her job as a theater administrator means she’s his right hand in a whole other way. When the text eventually comes through, she grins and moves through the space to tap Dieter on the shoulder. “Keep going.” She murmurs conspiratorially. “I’m going to make sure the kids aren’t getting into any of the concessions candy.”

“You know they are.” Dieter chuckles, rolling his eyes at the antics that his children can get into. “They are mine after all.”

“Only two of them.” She flashes him a grin. She and Sadie had opted to adopt, and it means that those three kids have become a sort of whirlwind trio as the years tick by. “I’ll be right back,” she assures him before hustling out of the theater.

With Desiree off to wrangle the kids, Dieter turns back towards the chaos that is backstage before opening night. Putting out a handful of fires and drying a few anxious tears, most people who knew Dieter during his adult acting career in Hollywood wouldn’t recognize him. No longer the flighty, unpredictable actor, he had built this school with your help as one that would produce solid performers regardless of their background.

You don’t really get to sneak in this property – everyone who works or goes to class here knows you – but Sadie drops you off at the stage door of the main building with a grin and zips off to the main entrance to park the car and pop in on Desiree. You’ve showered, changed, and wrapped up Dieter’s opening night gift to be tucked into your purse. He’s done immense work here and you’re so incredibly proud of the man he’s become through all of his own hard work. If once in a while you show it with a gift, that seems completely reasonable, right?

He doesn’t have a chance to check his phone, too busy to even pull it out of his pocket so he doesn’t even know if you’ve texted him. The kids are cleaned up – two KitKats and a box of milk duds have been sacrificed to their sweet tooth – and they are eagerly heading off to sit in a box that is reserved for family and friends. A stagehand is sitting with them so they don’t run off, but he knows as soon as the lights go down, his kids will be glued to their seats.

Carefully slipping in through the side door of the theater, you tuck yourself into the crowd to watch the show. Eurydice is a brilliant piece of stage work in the right hands, and Dee’s deft directing combined with the raw talents of some of these kids is truly breathtaking. If you privately enjoy it a little more because it’s by the same playwright who wrote the show you did on Broadway together? That’s just a little extra nugget.

He knows that the kids are taken care of, so Dieter focuses completely on the play, every act, every scene perfectly coordinated and timed. He holds his breath when one of the boys stumbles, but he quickly recovers and delivers his line with the same tenacity that had come through in rehearsals.

It’s gorgeous, really, and when the audience gets to its feet during the curtain call you stand with them right away. Whistles and cheers come from every corner as the cast takes their bows. In the front row in the corner, you can see Dieter in this customary seat, waving his thanks in between giving his own applause to the cast. It takes a few long minutes before people start to file out of their seats and out to the lobby for the opening night party, but you have somewhere to be. Up some hidden steps and around the corner, you pop your head into the little box seat where Desiree and Sadie are sitting with the kids, ready to surprise them and bring them down so the three of you can congratulate their dad together.

Your youngest is the first one to see you. The movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. "Mom!" She squeals, jumping up and rushing over to throw herself into your arms.

“Hey baby girl.” At ten years old, she still likes big hugs and doesn’t mind you being a little mushy, but even her much-too-cool older brother pops out of his seat when he hears your voice. “Surprise, guys!” You laugh, bathing in the bliss of having both of your kids hug the life out of you. “Did you like Dad’s show?”

“It’s okay.” He shrugs his shoulders and gestures towards the stage. “Act two, scene one, they missed the queue and flipped the lines.”

You snort softly, leaning over to press a kiss to your son’s head. “You know you’re the toughest critic in this place, so only finding one thing to point out is pretty good.”

“Still–” at twelve, Diego Bravo was just as arrogant as his father in some aspects, having grown up in this theater and knowing the plays better than some producers. Whenever he wasn’t in school, he was here – when he couldn’t convince you to let him come with you on your film locations.

“Still, we should go say hi to Dad, yeah?” You squeeze them both tight again and grin when Mia clings to your side. She’s still young enough that she’s not going to let you go, and you’re going to cherish that for as long as it lasts.

“Dad doesn’t know you’re here?” Diego’s eyes widen and he grins. “He might cry, you know.”

“I came to surprise you two goofs first.” The tip of your finger bops both of their noses. “C’mon, let’s go down to the party.” Opening night and closing night parties are a beautiful example of when this theater really feels like family – they’re never a big deal but they’re always so much damn fun. Just some bottles of bubbly and some snacks for the cast, crew, and their loved ones with music pouring through the speakers in the theater lobby, but everyone always dances and it’s always a great way to celebrate hard work.

For a man who was very seriously into drugs, he keeps the theater drug free. Maybe it’s because there’s nowhere to hide things that he’s not already thought of or the policy of one strike and you’re blacklisted strikes fear into most of the student’s hearts, there are rarely incidents. He explains it every time a new class is on boarded. He was exposed to drugs at a very young age by the man who was supposed to protect him. While they are in his school, they are under his protection. There will be plenty of that shit available in the real world, but oftentimes, it makes you unusable as an actor. The only real reason he got away with the shit he did was because of his legacy in Hollywood.

He’s in the middle of having this conversation with a party guest who brought their vape when you come downstairs with the kids, so you steer them to the bar to get some ginger ale rather than disturb your husband. You’ve heard him give this speech plenty and it sounds to be nearly over, so you can happily wait. Sadie and Desiree have brought their daughter down as well, and she and your kids might as well be on another planet as far as paying attention to things anyway. Ginger ale for them and bubbly for the three adults, you grab a fourth glass to bring over to Dee as you can hear him finishing talking to the random party guest.

Dieter feels a hand on his arm just as he nods to the guest. “It turned out good, didn’t it, Des?” He thinks Desiree is touching him and when he turns, his eyes blow wide and his jaw drops. “You!” Speechless at the sight of his wife and all time favorite human besides his kids, in front of him. “You’re supposed to be in Jakarta!”

“Surprise!” You and the kids shout all at once, and you hold out a glass to him while they collapse into a giggling fit. “I raced through the last few days of filming to get home early. Congratulations, baby. The show was beautiful.”

“Oh my god, I–” Dieter rushes forward and wraps his arms around you. “You must be exhausted. Have you slept at all? You liked it? They did a great job. Best show yet, but don’t tell the last class I said that.”

“I won’t say a word,” you promise him, hugging him tight against you and breathing in the familiar, calming scent of his cologne. “I slept on the plane. Didn’t want to be too out of it so that I could change and come straight here after landing in Seattle.”

“I can’t believe you came.” He had talked to you yesterday but he knows that there are times where your filming schedule will interfere with the theater productions.

“I missed you.” It’s sweet to see that Diego was right – that there are soft tears forming behind Dieter’s eyes. The son is so much like the father in some ways that it makes sense when he can guess at those reactions. Thankfully, Dieter had made sure that your son and daughter grew up in a much more supportive and caring environment than he ever had.

“I missed you too, I always miss you.” He presses his lips to yours, not even minding the quiet groans that come from the kids. They can be embarrassed all they want. He’s not seen you in nearly two months.

“I’m proud of you.” When you finally part, you’re beaming at him with that same warmth that you’ve always had. The smile of a woman completely besotted with her partner. “And I’m so glad I’m home.”

“You will have to sleep when we get home.” He frowns slightly, knowing you must be exhausted. “We won’t stay long.”

“We can stay as long as you want.” No one who knew the Hollywood version of Dieter would believe it if they saw him now. Attentive and caretaking, he’s come into his own as a teacher and a father. Like he was always meant for this life all along. “You deserve to celebrate with your cast.”

“I’d rather let the younger kids celebrate their hard work while I celebrate in a bubble bath with my wife.” Dieter suggests, sliding around you and hunching around your back. “What do you think?”

“Mmm, that is awfully tempting, Mr. Bravo.” It sounds like heaven, actually. Especially after twenty-three hours of travel. “That sounds very, very tempting.”

“It should tempt you.” Dieter chuckles. “I have a bottle of that wine you love in the wine fridge. Found it last weekend.”

“So hot bath, naked husband, and my favorite rosé?” When you turn your head to kiss his lips again, he’s right there smirking at you and waggling his eyebrows. It works – it always works – and you giggle into the kiss. “Consider me seduced.”

“Yessss.” Dieter hisses under his breaths and then nuzzles his nose against your neck. “Go to bed kids, daddy’s getting laid tonight.” He doesn’t speak loud enough for anyone but you to hear.

“Oh yeah.” It earns him an amused giggle and another kiss before you turn around in his arms to face him. “It’s been months,” you murmur back. “You’re absolutely getting laid.”

“Video chatting just isn’t the same.” He hums. The sex drive has ultimately slowed down, he is nearing 49 this year, but he still wants you. Always wants you.

"Thought I might stay home for a while." The last year or so has been busy. You took a mini-series that had you filming overseas and then this last movie was a lot of stunts and action, which was fun but a lot more exhausting than it used to be. More and more you find that you just want to be home with your family. "Diego's gonna be a teenager this summer. I feel like that's just trouble waiting to happen." He is, after all, a whole lot like his father. Mischief runs in the Bravo blood.

“He’s asked if he can submit an application.” Dieter tells you quietly. “He wants to attend the theater.”

"How do you feel about that?" The policy of not letting anyone under teen age take classes at the academy had kept Diego at bay for the last few years, but you knew it was only a matter of time. The kid is ecstatic in the theater and has a real eye for it. But considering everything Dieter went through as a kid, it has to be his call. He has to be okay with letting Diego become an actor if that's what he wants to do.

“I don’t think it’s right to keep the kid from what he loves.” Dieter acknowledges. “But he has to keep his grades up.”

"Agreed." It's a very big step for Dieter to be okay with this, and your thumbs smooth gently over his arms. "And he has to audition just like everyone else."

“I’ve decided I’m not going to be the one to look over his audition.” Dieter murmurs quietly. “He’s going to be pissed when he finds that out.”

"I think it's a good idea." And actually? You're glad that you don't have to be the one to suggest it. "No favoritism that way. But you could help him prep a little. I bet he would love that."

"I'll suggest that." He smiles at you, grateful that you have the answer for what he needs to do.

"Do you want to give him the application for his birthday?" He seems a lot more relaxed after just a few minutes of talking about it, but it really is down to how much he loves his kids. Against all odds, Dieter Bravo turned out to be a great dad, and you hope his selflessness and his unconditional support is making Baxter roll over in his grave.

"I think he would like that." Dieter grins, and nods. He pulls you closer and inhales your scent, something so soothing to him.

"You're a good dad, Dee." Holding him tight against you, you press a kiss to his cheek and sigh happily. Being home a few days early was well worth all the extra work that you did to get here. "And your family loves you."

"That's all I could ever ask for, Bambi." He admits quietly, sighing as he relaxes for the first time since you left. His family and his theater are all that he needs. He still gets calls, directors begging him to work with them, to star in their movies. To come back to Hollywood. He turns them all down. He had said he was done. He had told his father years ago that he wanted to be on the stage, and he had meant it, he was just behind the scenes now and it was the most fulfilling work he's ever done. Besides winning you back. Without you, none of this was possible. You are his greatest muse.

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle    

My Masterlist!

[leveloneandup]

Christen Press trains with Angel City FC for first time since 2022

Two years to the day after tearing her ACL, Press returns to train after a lengthy recovery with four surgeries

Christen Press returned to training Tuesday morning with Angel City FC, a big step in her recovery after she has been sidelined since tearing her ACL two years ago.

The rehabilitation process has been long and included four surgeries.

Press’ last action for Angel City came in the game she suffered the injury, a 3-2 win over Racing Louisville on June 11, 2022. She scored in the 36th minute and was subbed off in the 66th after going down with a knee injury.

She has trained individually through the early months of the 2024 season, sharing updates on her progress through social media of her shooting, running and dribbling.

“I would say that the thing about recovery is it kind of goes really slow and then comes all at once,” she said after Tuesday’s session. “Today was a milestone and I was happy to celebrate that with my team.

“It was also a really small milestone because I didn’t actually do anything new today. I had been doing all the things that you saw me do today for weeks. I felt really prepared for the moment and it was the next step on. It’s still going to be a decent steepness to this journey and it’s been a long road.”

Press is still on the season-ending injury list.

Throughout the first months of the season, Angel City coach Becki Tweed said that it was “hard to put a timeline” on Press’ return, but saw Tuesday as a positive.

“I think it is another step in her rehab and her return to play,” Tweed said. “I think it is still step-by-step for her. Getting her back in with the team is really important. Mentally, for the team, for her, for everybody. Obviously physically too. She is checking boxes and moving along. It is exciting. Again, just the next step in her rehab process. Big for everybody and a good day to get back out.”

At the season-opening Fan Fest, Press said that she dreamed “of the moment I get to run out on that pitch for all of you (fans).”

“Every single time that I was told I have to have surgery from the first to a reconstruction and then the three scopes that I had, I always thought I would be on the quickest timeline possible,” she said Tuesday. “I always had some big milestone in my head that I was sure I was going to make. That’s part of who I am.”

“I’m just relentlessly optimistic, naively positive and just thinking that everything is going to work out for me. I never want that to change and I got off course of all of those timelines so many times that I finally had to actually relinquish that expectation of myself. So to be back in my team training, which is again like a small milestone, but one that like you’re all here for, feels like a full circle kind of moment. It feels a little poetic to hit it on the day precisely.”

[upontherisers]

what if I was crazy and asked for uhh

⁹⁹⁾ a cluttered bedside table

for the summer camp au 🫣

a/n: this was such a good prompt thank you love!!! no proofreading we die like men, i slammed an energy drink an hour ago can you tell, these two have issues, etc, etc. enjoy

Hazel’s bedside table is cluttered after just six days. How? She doesn’t know, but she maneuvers around her alarm clock, three half-finished bracelets, the itinerary from this morning—this morning? Yesterday morning? It’s 2 am so technically the time… you know… anyway—her journal, her book, the portable mug Ginny got her as a start-of-camp present, her water bottle with another half-finished bracelet tied around the handle, the penny she found in the parking lot, and a resealable bag of Sour Patch Kids to grab her glasses and her phone, and slip out of bed.

Her feet find her too-worn slides without her having to look down as she pulls her Lake Harding Lower Camp sweater over her head—the collar’s in shambles and it’s so faded that you can barely read it, but she loves the thing, okay? 

She takes a look around the cabin, serenaded by Ginny’s gentle snores from the bunk above her. Last night of quiet. The beds sit empty, awaiting the girls that’ll fill them with noise and color come morning. Her stomach flutters. It shouldn’t after all these years, but she can’t help it. Soon they’ll be here, with their faces another year older and all the stories that she didn’t get to hear over e-mail—teenage heartbreak, ice skating injuries, complaints about Mom and Dad—and so much hope, so much excitement to be home away from home for the next eight weeks.

She hopes the same thing she hopes every year, that they like it, that it lives up to their hopes and dreams, and thumbs the necklace Jack got her when she transitioned to Upper Camp, a small gold medallion stamped with the rising sun and evergreen tree of Lake Harding’s logo.

Jack, right.

Hopping the squeaky floorboard, she opens the door and pushes into the night-slash-morning.

He’s right where he always is, on the bench under the Great Pine in the center of camp, facing the Big House and the lake beyond. An arm is already thrown across the back of the seat and she sits quietly. He doesn’t move. 

It’s nice, early enough in the season that she doesn’t have to cover herself in bug spray for a quick trip outside, and cool. If they wait long enough, fog’ll start to pool on the grass as the day begins, dotted with dragonflies and early birds in the gentle morning. But for now, she’s content to sit with the wind and the stars and the lights shining from the cabin porches where her fellow counselors rest inside, some fast asleep and some as restless as Jack. 

She pulls her sleeves over her hands and tucks them into herself, leaning her head on his shoulder. He brings his arm around her and presses a kiss into her bonnet, but doesn’t speak as he slowly rubs her bicep. Tilting her head back, she can see his face, sober as the grave, and the straight line of his nose and his eyes, somehow still blue in the dark and a million miles away.

He doesn’t want to talk about it, she knows that. Two weeks on the Cape this year and any time she got close to hinting at his last summer, he changed the subject to work or the weather or bed, and she was happy to follow him there. But, God—he’ll dig a trench and hunker down before giving her an inch of space into his head where she knows he’s scared. Hell, she would be too, and that’s why she knows he is. They’re one in the same. Whatever souls are made of or however souls are made or whatever Kathy said in Wuthering Heights. Yeah, that.

A bird sings as the wind picks up and rustles the trees in the clearing. His side is warm against hers and she could fall asleep right here, right among the crickets and constellations, if she weren’t so wired. Her heart jumps again as she remembers that her girls are going to be here in less than twelve hours. In California, Isla is up already and on her way to the airport; Kinsley’s moms are shaking her awake in their D.C. apartment. So soon, she thinks, and she’ll throw her arms around them and shuffle them into their cabin.

Jack’s boys are doing the same and he’s thinking about them. He’s thinking about every kid and about their parents, about how many cars they can fit in the parking lot at once, about the sand they dumped in the back so that the busses won’t get stuck in the mud from the rain, about the other billion things that he won’t let her help him with despite her insistence. 

“No,” he’d said when she asked yesterday, “you should be with your girls.”

“And you should be with your boys.”

She’d given him pause, but not enough because he handed the task off to Red and gave her a look that dared her to challenge him.

Let me in, you bastard.

“My mom says hi,” she says after a while.

“She does?” He looks down at her.

She nods. “Yep. Says you need to wear more sunscreen this year. Doesn’t want any more pictures of you burned to shit.”

That gets a smile out of him and he pulls her in for another kiss on the head. “Tell her I’m a grown man and I’ll get sunburnt if I want to.”

“Well,” she starts, and she doesn’t know if she should keep going. “You need someone to look after you.”

He tenses next to her, all that wiry muscle coming to life under his hoodie. Sitting up, she levels her gaze at him. His eyes are blown wide but he doesn’t give anything else away in his face. Like a rock, this guy.

“You deserve to have fun this year.”

“I will have fun this year.”

She shakes her head with a terse laugh and looks down at her hands, fiddling with the fraying cuffs of her sleeves. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

His hand finds her thigh, splayed and searing and confident against her bare skin. He doesn’t mean it like that, not here. There are rules, y’know—not Chick’s rules, but theirs, the unwritten ones they’ve put down over the years, but it’s so easy to give into him, where it’s warm and safe and she knows he’ll treat her well. 

It goes quiet again and it’s quiet for a time, long enough for the sky to start to lighten, but not enough for the color to fill in. A noise from the boys’ side catches her ear, then the same from the girls; a door opening, and by the distinct creak of the hinges, her money is on the older divisions.

Her hunch is right as she tracks swimsuit-clad shapes in the dark slipping toward the Big House and over the hill down to the waterfront, towels slung over their shoulders as they shove and race along the path. Eight in all.

“The 15s counselors are freaks,” she says, “even that new guy.”

“Rosie,” Jack replies.

“Rosie, right.” Izzy’s friend. She’s getting old, forgetting the new counselors’ names. They’re both getting old. 

Her eyes start to droop close as a warning and she yawns, stretching her arms above her head. Jack watches her, and keeps watching her as she rises, her thighs peeling off of the bench. She likes the way he looks at her—whether it’s from a bench or a bed or along the shore in Maine or from the driver’s seat as his car winds its way through the mountain roads that lead to camp. She likes the way he looks at her and how soft he goes despite the sharp angles of his face and those brows that never seem to raise from a frown. She likes the way that his eyes go straight to her heart and make her feel like she has a place in the world, even just for a moment. 

And she doesn’t like the way her stomach twists at the thought that he’ll have to stop looking at her at the end of the summer, and that might be it forever.

“You should try to rest,” she says to her shoes.

Sitting forward, he reaches for one of her hands, tangling their fingers together. She’s transfixed for a moment—the long lines connecting his pale knuckles together against the even, flat brown of hers. The warmth kicks in, the one she gets when it’s just them, but it’s not just them, is it? It’s like she blinks and the sky is daylight blue, the sun speeding its way over the lake and it’s the first day already. How many more does she get with him?

But she blinks again and it’s barely dawn, the early blue hour washing everything navy and making her feel like she’s submerged in water. Or drowning.

“Come back to mine,” he offers, and she barks a laugh.

There are actual rules, one that Chick did write, but as she meets Jack’s eyes—pleading, scared to ask for anything out loud—and feels his hand in hers, she thinks of what few fucks Chick gives about the rules.

“At least ‘til reveille. Bill won’t mind.”

Bill won’t. Jack barely fits in his twin bed, and there’s no way in hell they’ll be comfortable, but it’s just until reveille and she can listen to his heartbeat as the birds begin to sing in earnest to tell them that the sun is rising.

Hazel doesn’t respond, just tugs him along to the last bunk on the boys’ side, and Ginny will just have to turn her alarm off for her. Good, it’ll get the girl out of bed. 

[durmom]

Its useless

Part 5

Part 4:

When you woke up the next morning Dean was still asleep on your chest, peeking over at the clock you see it’s 6:30. Gently you shake Dean who groans and holds you tighter. 

“Dean, we gotta get up.” He groans louder before opening his eyes. When he makes eye contact with you your heart flutters, you stare at each other for a minute before he grabs you tight and rolls over taking you with him. Laughing, you tell him again that you have to wake up, “Deann! We gotta get up! Sam will be up soon!” He hugs you tighter nuzzling into your neck, “shut up princess.” 

“You asshole!” You laugh trying to get out of his grip. After a few seconds he finally lets go. You stand up adjusting your shirt which has ridden up. 

“I forgot to tell you, my moms coming today.” Your eyes widen as he sits up and looks up at you sleepily. 

“What?” He looks at you confused. Trying to think of season twelve Mary had distanced herself so why is she coming over. 

“Dean, did you kill Hilter?”

“I did! I didn’t tell you?” 

“Hold on.” You start rummaging through his room. Dean jumps up grabbing your hands. 

“Hey! Hey! Princess there’s some private stuff in here!” 

“Like what? Busty Asian beauties? Porn?” His face drops, “how?”

“Dean, hun, they show it in the show, you’re a whore and we all know it.” You hold a shit eating grin on your face. 

“I am not!”

“Really?” You say sarcastically pulling your hands from him and continuing to rummage through his drawers before you find his journal. Leaving Dean confused, you head to the library, grabbing out a journal and making notes of what’s already happened, what’s a little out of order. 

Sam taken by Brit’s

Dean killed hitler

That girl in the basement of her family's home

Asa fox was murdered

Okay not too much but what’s with this five month waiting period. Two months before I arrived and three months after nothing had happened besides menial cases.  A couple hunters tracked down those vampire traffickers but on our end nothing. Is Chuck fucking with us?  Amara maybe? 

“Y/n?” He startles you, you’re shocked it took him so long to come find you after you left him in his room. 

“Okay, okay, so some things are happening out of order. There’s been a five month gap from before and when I got here. From my memory you should’ve killed hitler like in the past week. Your mom should already be here.”

“Okay?”

“Dean someone, something is changing the story to make room for me. I mean five months of silence? Even the Vamp ring, that was never in the show and it would have been.” 

“Let me get Sam.” 

You know Chuck is writing the story but he didn’t plan on you being brought here. Maybe he’s trying to adjust, but because you know about him would he be able to control your life? Sam walks in disheveled, clearly had just woken up.

“What's going on y/n?”

“Okay things in your life are out of order, I've been preoccupied with our cases, and adjusting most things have just slipped my mind but Dean said Mary is coming today and I realized she should already be here. Things that should be happening now happened months ago.” 

“Like?”

“Dean killing Hitler, Asa dying, Magda.”

“So what does that mean for us?” Sam asks, facing you with the fact you can't tell them Chuck is scrambling, he doesn’t know what to do with you. 

“Y/n?” Dean questions, you had been looking at the ground thinking aggressively.

“I… I know what's happening but I can’t tell you.” Finally you look up distraught.

“Why not?” Dean sounds more aggressive, frustrated.

“Because, I don't know what it means, what's happening means I know nothing about the future anymore.” Chuck had been controlling the boys forever and was not prepared for you, when Amara brought you here it fucked with his whole story so now he’s trying to rewrite, that explains the five month gap, who knows what he’s written.

“Wait, so you know nothing now?” Sam scoffs, upset and confused.

“I mean I know what could happen but, me being in the equation means anything could change.” Tears sting your eyes, this is the last thing you wanted, to screw with the boy's future, to change everything, “What do we do?” tears fall frustrated, you groan, wiping your eyes. In your head the only solution is for you to die, to set things back on track.

“Y/n,” Sam grabs your hands and you make eye contact with him, “We will figure this out, whether you were here or not Dean and I would have no clue our future.” Of course you don’t know what's going to happen, but I do. Ive been fucking around, having fun, playing hunter, forgetting everything that matters. You can’t  say that to him, “Thank you Sammy, it's just a lot.” He gives you a soft smile and you look at Dean who is scowling.

“Dean?”

“Just don’t! You can’t tell us anything and now you’re saying you’ve fucked everything?”

“Dean!” Sam scolds his brother but Dean holds up a hand, “I'm just so frustrated! Y/n knows everything that has happened and will happen and refuses to tell us so for once we can be ahead, and now she’s saying she doesn't know? What was the point of Amara bringing her here? So far I’ve learned nothing.”

“Really?” You question, taking a step toward him, “You’re frustrated? Shut the fuck up Dean. You have no idea how hard this is. I want to fucking tell you everything, but like ive said before I cant because you are too hot headed. Yes, I fucked up by playing hunter and having fun with you boys but need I remind you I’m not fucking from this world? This isn't my damn home? Everything is so complicated here and its so hard to think, I feel like I cant fucking breathe and your frustrated?”

“Hell yeah I'm frustrated!” He takes a step toward you, inches away from your face, “You know everything, you know what Sam and I have been through and refuse to help us out but yet you play buddy buddy. I feel manipulated. So yeah Princess I'm frustrated.”

“Did you ever think I was helping you out by not telling you? That the burden would be too much, that you wouldn't be able to stop it? And trust me I believe in you boys more than anything but I know for a fact, because I’ve seen it, you can’t stop what's happening, and I don't want you to. And I’m sorry Dean for trying to be friends with you, trying to build a relationship to feel less alone. I'm sorry that you actually like me. I know it's frustrating to have such a cool girl in your life who sees through your bullshit.” Dean laughs and takes a step back, he rubs his hands over his face taking a deep breath, “You know what Princess, we will see who’s right in the end. I’m done arguing about this,” quickly you glance at Sam whose eyes are bulging out of his head shocked by his brothers apology, “I am just tired, Sam and I can do what needs to be done with or without your help.”

“You’re right you can. I trust in you boys fully, I need you to trust me at a fraction of that, and we will see who is right in the end. But in the meantime, can we please just be friends?” You stick your hand out which Dean grabs and shakes.

Sam coughs, “Now that that’s done, Mom is coming for dinner, she should be here in a few hours, I’m going to the store.” he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and leaves you and Dean standing in the library. The silence is deafening, uncomfortable. 

“Well, um, I'm going to get ready.” you shift past Dean heading to your room. Once the door shuts you sigh, “jesus.” Fighting Dean was not on your agenda today, he shockingly handled it well. At least he doesn’t want to fight either, you can handle the back and forth of him anymore. He was hugging on you, begging you to stay in bed twenty minutes before. Now you have to try and calm down before Mary gets here but you're so exhausted you break down in tears for a while before moving to the bathroom to get ready. Starting with your makeup you keep it simple, being in this universe is strange, there's no need for base makeup because your skin is so clear, your hair falls perfectly all the time. With that you do mascara, winged liner, and a bit of white on your inner corners. To add some color to your face you do some blush before moving to your hair which you put into soft curls. After makeup and hair you start to feel better about yourself so you throw in music, Sin City by ACDC starts, you dance around your room, feeling the anger and sadness leave you. You dance as you get dressed, a pair of baggy khakis, a black cropped tank top, and a matching black, cropped mesh/knitted long sleeve. Because it's only two you proceed to sing and dance in your room until there's a knock on your door, quickly you shut off the music and answer the door breathless.

“What?” Dean looks you up and down, mouth hanging slightly open before snapping it shut, “My moms here.”

“Shit, okay.” You panic a bit but follow Dean down the hall in your socks. Fuck my shoes. Too late for that. Dean walks next to you with his eyes glued to the floor, the tension is high making you more anxious. Obviously you want Mary to like you but if you and Dean are being weird the chances of that are lower. Halfway down the hall you maneuver infront of Dean putting a hand on his chest, stopping him. Finally he looks up at you. 

“Dean, I want us to be okay.”

“We are.”

“You sure? Because you haven't made a comment about my outfit or even smiled at me. It's weird, and I’m already nervous as hell.” 

“Y/n I swear we’re okay.” you give him a knowing look, he called you by your name, he sighs, grabbing your hands, “Princess we are fine, I'm just… I'm just bothered by this morning that's it.” 

“I am too. So we cancel eachother out.” You smile at him hopefully, he chuckles, “Yes we cancel eachother out.” Giving your hands one final squeeze he lets go of only one, holding your hand he leads you to the library, before entering he lets go of your hand and moves it to your lower back. Leaning down he whispers in your ear, “My moms gonna love you, but hate that outfit.” 

“Dean!” You hit is chest, “That's mean!”

“What? I like it, you look cute, too cute for my mom, she's expecting a badass.”

“And I’m not?” You cross your arms glaring at him. 

“Such a badass.” he says laced with sarcasm before returning his hand to your lower back and guides you into the library. Sam is already in a conversation with Mary, smiling wildly. This makes you smile, he needed a relationship with his mom. 

“I found her!” Flinching you realize Dean was announcing your presence. 

Awkwardly you wave, “Hi Mary.” She looks you up and down with a blank face, staring at your socks specifically. Nervously you look at Dean who is still smiling, you notice his thumb rubbing your back to calm your nerves. 

“You’re Y/n?” Mary questions not believing you. 

“Yeah…” you trail off not knowing what to say. She looks at Dean tilting her head, noticing that his hand is on your back. Dean pushes you a bit, trying to close the gap between you and Mary. You stumble before standing up straight, his hand has left your back.

“Sorry I'm just nervous.”

“Mom this is y/n. She's been here a few months and is a great hunter.” Sam says, trying to defuse the tension.

“She's a hunter? How old is she?”

“Well I wasn't until like three months ago. Amara brought me here. I'm twenty nine but in a twenty two year old body.”

“Amara?”

“Yeah, as a gift for Dean, I’ve been training to get caught up with these guys.”

“Is that why my son is all touchy with you?”

“What?” This caught you off guard, you knew Mary was blunt but this was borderline disrespectful.

“Mom, she's just our friend.” Dean says cautiously. 

“Yeah, I don't know what youre talking about Mary. Amara brought me as a gift to Dean to teach him something. Not to date him.”

“Hmm. What are you supposed to teach him?” You look into Dean's eyes pleading for help. 

“We don't know.” Sam cuts in, “she's from another universe where our life is a show, and she was a huge fan.” mentally you facepalm. Another Winchester to harass you about the future. 

“Yeah, that's why I’m so nervous. I've been watching you guys since I was eight so it's just very weird.”

“Must be.” Now that was more sympathetic from her. Dean claps his hands, “Who’s ready to eat?”

“I am.” Mary smiles and walks toward the kitchen. Once out of sight you punch Dean lightly a few times, “Thanks for the help asshole!”

“You had it princess!”

“Really?”

“No.” Again you punch him before going to the kitchen.

In the kitchen dinner was set on the table, Dean had cooked. He walked over to the fridge grabbing three beers and setting them on the table before going back and mixing your whiskey and coke. He set it in front of you, hand resting on your shoulder which Mary clocks. Over dinner Mary kept the questions easy. Asking about your life before coming here, she actually seemed to warm up to you. However with every touch from Dean it was clear she disapproved. All of you were a couple drinks in, playing a board game, cranium to be exact. You and Sam were on a team against Mary and Dean, who were losing. The current task was you had to draw something with your eyes closed and Sam had to guess, all you needed was to get this and you’d win. The answer was dolphin. You made intense eye contact with Sam trying to somehow transmit the answer to him. You had watched an ocean documentary together and talked in depth about how dolphins are maniacs. You had learned they had no sense of smell and had been making jokes about it, you hoped he’d get the reference because you could not draw a dolphin with your eyes closed. As soon as Dean flipped the timer you closed your eyes and drew a ‘b’ figure with an X through it. Sam was silent for a few seconds, your heart started to pound.

“Dolphin!” He shouts and you open your eyes smiling, “YES SAMMY!” you push away from the table standing up to high five him. Now standing next to each other you grab his other hand and jump up and down a few times, excited to win.

“Dude we were on the same wavelength!”

“We were!” He laughs, you turn to Dean putting an L on your forehead. He’s looking at the drawing, “How is that dolphin?”

“Dolphins don't have a sense of smell!” You and Sam say in unison. 

“What?” Dean has a funny look on his face before looking at his mom, “Can you believe these two? I'm surrounded by nerds.” Mary laughs, patting Dean's knee.

“Nerds who win!” You say elbowing Sam. 

“Shut up.” you stick your tongue out at him, “who knew you were so competitive?” crossing his arm he pouts. 

“Maybe if you ask nicely I’ll let you be my partner next time.” While Dean rolls his eyes Mary gets up, “Alright, I should probably head out.”

“No mom, you should stay the night.” Sam's face softens to concern.

“Thank you Sam but I can't, I have a meeting with the British Men of Letters tomorrow so I have to hit the road.”

“You sure?” Dean grabs his moms arm softly, she rests her hand on his, “I'm sure. Thank you boys for having me, nice to meet you y/n.” You give her a polite nod and smile.

“We’ll walk you out.” Dean leads the way, then Sam, Mary, and you. 

“Give me a second.” Mary says to Sam once in the library. She turns and grabs your wrist bringing you back into the hall. Once again your heart starts pounding and you can feel the blood drain from your face. 

“Listen, I don't know you but I can see your effect on my boys. I don't like it but they trust you, everytime they call they talk about you. I respect you for the reason that my boys respect you. Don't mess that up. If you hurt them, I will hunt you down.” Involuntarily you laugh, “Mary, I get it, they’re your kids but respectfully you have no right. You haven't been here. I know what you've been through and I sympathize, but you haven't been here and can't take out your disappointment with yourself out on me. I’m not trying to be mean because if I were you I’d do the same thing but I have been with them for three months. Every second of everyday. I've been watching them since I was eight years old. The love I have for them is immense. I would never in my life do anything to hurt them. I would die before that. I promise you.”

“I’ll keep you to that.”

“I’d expect you to.”

When she leaves you sigh out of relief. That woman is intense. Once you hear the door shut you go into the library.

“You okay?” Dean asks. 

“Yeah, she just gave me her ‘mom’ talk.” holding your hands up in quotations.

“Her what?”

“Nothing, I expected it. We're good. You boys wanna watch a movie?” 

In the Dean Cave you were watching diehard, everyone had sobered up pretty quick. You were in between Sam and Dean but had your legs curled up on the couch leaning on Sam. Dean was being extremely twitchy, shifting every few minutes. You kept eyeing him but his eyes were glued to the Tv. About halfway through Dean gets up, “I'm going to bed.” 

“Yeah we probably should too.” Sam stretches causing you to sit up and do the same. Walking down the hall you pass his room first saying goodnight. 

“My room?” You ask him.

“Sure.” He follows you down the hall. Once in your room Dean grabs you by the waist and pushes you against the door.

“Dean?” You look into his eyes searching, again for the millionth time this night your heart is pounding. 

[madsnowstorm]

take me home for christmas | j. seresin | part six

all i want for christmas is you - hush kids

summary : jake wants to take you home to texas for christmas to meet his family.

warnings — series, 18+, fem!reader, established relationship, some angst, family dynamics (both healthy and not), mentions of therapy, no religious aspect to the holiday, dogs named after famous texans, anxiety, no use of y/n, little angsty, but mostly internal

notes — i think i got a few cavities writing this one. it's a sweet one. also, mistletoad is a real thing. there are like two installments left. i don't really want it to end because i love jake and sweet pea so much. (i call her that in my head, since that's what jake's mom calls her.)

series masterlist

“OH, come on!” Your boyfriend yelled at the large television, standing up, hands stretched out. Julie was on one side of him in a similar position and Will was on the other, hand covering his face and head shaking. The Cowboys Christmas Eve game was on and almost all of the Seresin’s eyes were glued to the screen hanging on the wall. You were sitting between Jennifer, who’d arrived earlier that day, and Luke. The three of you were discussing the Army-Navy Game from a few weeks ago. Jake would throw in a random, bitter, comment every so often. The man was not over Navy's loss. You were hoping the Cowboys could pull out a win, just so he could turn his attention towards that instead of the loss.

You could smell the barbeque that Matt (Jennifer’s husband) and Vicki just brought in from the back, so you knew dinner would be soon. June was sitting on the floor in front of you playing with Lily and five year old Oliver, who was Jennifer’s youngest. There were now children running all over and the house felt more like a home. The moment Jennifer and her family arrived a certain peace took over Tom and Vicki that you had not yet experienced. You had a feeling it was because all their children were home and happy. 

“Let’s eat!” Vicki called out and you hopped up without a fuss. The Seresin siblings stayed seated, Jackson mumbling something about the game being almost over. You chuckled and got up to head to the kitchen. “Thomas created monsters out of all five of them.” 

“Yeah, I can see that!” You thought back over this past football season and how all of your and Jake’s plans revolved around two things; UT and Cowboys games. She was taking some silverware out of a draw and you walked over to help her.

“Can I just say that I am so happy that you are here?” Vicki’s words were as warm as her smile. “You’re like a piece of a puzzle that I have been waiting for…Jake too.” The future was something that you and Jake had discussed before and you both were in it for the long haul. Vicki’s statement added another layer to those plans though. It gave you a sense of relief that you didn’t know you needed.

“It makes me happy to hear you say that.” As screams of all kinds were heard from the living room, she wrapped her arms around your waist and pulled you close like a mother would her daughter. You let your arms drift up to hers, giving her a squeeze. The two of you stayed like that until voices began to come closer. 

Jake and Cole were the first people to enter the kitchen. Jake’s frustrated frown disappeared the moment his green eyes landed on you and Vicki. His whole body instantly softened and gaze grew warm. You knew, just from the look on his face, how much he loved you. Even as everyone started helping themselves to food and grumbling about the game, Jake was quiet and only had eyes for you. Eventually you started filling up your plate, making sure to playfully bump his shoulder as you walked by him. You didn’t get too far past him though because he grabbed your hand and pulled you back to him. 

“I love you.” He declared as though it was the only statement in the world that could ever be true. Before you could return the sentiment his lips were on yours, no care for the family around you. Your cheeks grew hot, but you returned the kiss just the same.

“EW! Uncle Jake!” One of his nieces cried out. It sounded like Evie, who you met that morning.

“Gross!” Will gagged. 

“Honestly Jacob,” June spoke up from the entrance of the dining room that sat off the kitchen, near the back door. Through the doorway you could see Jake’s siblings all smirking at the table. Jackson’s shoulders were shaking with laughter as Sophie stuck her tongue out in disgust. “There are children around.”

“Don’t care.” Was his confident reply. He kept his attention on you, but discreetly lifted his middle finger to scratch his nose. June just laughed. You lifted yourself up on your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his cheekbone before walking around to join his family at the large dining room table.

You sat next to Jenni. Jake joined you a few minutes later, taking the empty spot on your right. As dinner progressed, conversations of all types flowing around the table, his left hand found your thigh. He was talking with Claire, Jackson, and their kids about what Santa may or may not be bringing them. You were in the middle of a discussion with June and Jenni about similar experiences the three of you had at work. June had an almost identical personality to her youngest brother, which you found amusing. As soon as you picked up on that, you knew you would have to invite her out and have the Dagger Squad over, knowing Rooster’s response would be highly entertaining. Eventually, Thomas excused himself from dinner and you looked at Jake, questioning if everything was okay.

“Just wait.” His tone was secretive and caused your concern to morph into curiosity.

When Vicki got up and started to carry things back to the kitchen, you and Jackson moved to help her. Jackson recruited his oldest son to help and while Vicki filled the dishwasher the three of you carried dishes from the dining room to her. June and Jake started taking mugs of all shapes, colors, and sizes out of one of the cabinets while Julie checked on some sort of liquid in a crockpot on the counter. After getting a closer look you realized that the liquid was hot chocolate. 

“Momma, where are the marshmallows?” Jake bellowed from deep within the pantry. Vicki turned to respond, but was cut off by a manly yelp. “Hey! What was that for?” You looked over your shoulder, closing the dishwasher door. Jake stepped out of the pantry, rubbing at his arm, a pout on his face. You laughed. June sidestepped her brother, shaking a bag of large marshmallows at him.

“They were right in front of you, moron.” Vicki shook her head and rolled her eyes at the childish antics of her two grown children. 

“Cut it out you two.” Her tone was exasperated, but turned so sweet when she set her sights on you. “Sweet pea, will you let the others know that the hot chocolate is ready?” You nodded and did as she asked of you. The kids were quick to heed your words, most of them running to the kitchen. You could hear Luke telling them to slow down. 

Once everyone had their mugs full of sweet, creamy, spicy, chocolate everyone gathered around the fireplace. Everyone was spread out over the couch and the floor. Vicki took a spot in one of the recliners, leaving the other one empty. The only person that was missing was Thomas. Before you could ask where he was, you heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. 

Thomas, dressed in a red Santa suit, stood at the foot of the stairs. There was a large green velvet bag that had some sort of goodies in it. While he didn’t have a beard on his face, the twinkle in his eyes definitely reminded you of the jolly big man. All of the kids seemed to enjoy it, even Will.

“Pawpaw!” Sophie squealed out. Claire took the little girl's drink from her before she ran to Thomas. Oliver and Evie were quick to follow her.

“Now, I think before I pass out these presents there is a story we need to read!” Vicki took out a thin, hardback, children’s book. The edges of the dust jacket were wrinkled with age. There was a beautifully illustrated winter scene and the words “Twas the Night Before Christmas” in a curly script across the top. Thomas sat down and took the book from his wife.

Like dutiful little elves the children followed him, sitting in a semi-circle around the recliner. Julie moved from her spot on the couch to join them, turning Lily around in her lap so she could watch. All eyes were on Thomas as he began to read. His soft twang made the old poem sound melodic and in the middle of the reading you found yourself growing sleepy. Jake noticed and pulled you closer to him; so close you were practically in his lap. He leaned in, pressing his mouth near your ear.

“Now don’t go falin’ asleep darlin’.” You rolled your eyes at him, turning your attention back towards Thomas. The inflections and animation he added as he described the physical characteristics of Santa left you in a state of awe like the children. You even giggled along as he patted his stomach and referenced bowls of jelly. 

As the story came to a close, Jake was whispering again. This time though, he wasn’t talking to you. Instead, he was saying the last few words of the book along with his father. No one around seemed to notice and if they did they weren’t bothered by it. Your heart melted. You knew that Jake could be like this. He could put the Hangman persona aside and just be Jake, but it was very rare that you got to see that side of him with others around. The Dagger Squad and some of the other friends you had would think he’d been abducted by aliens. Rooster might even say he’d had some sort of reverse lobotomy.  As much as you loved this side of Jake, you knew he was only like this when he felt safe. When there wasn’t an ounce of tension in his body. When there was no need to be the strong and perfect Naval Aviator. 

You were pulled away from your thoughts by little giggles. Vicki was helping Thomas pass around gifts to the children. Each of them was being handed a set of pajamas. After all of the grandkids got theirs, the Seresin parents began to pass some out to their children and partners. Each set was different from the other, so no one would be matching. Yours were dark navy and white. The pattern was made up of geometric snowflakes. 

“I hate this part.” Jake said softly, looking at everyone holding their pajamas. He looked down at his own pair of pants that were a traditional Christmas plaid.

“No you don’t.” You scoffed in unbelief, lifting your hand to his face. Your thumb ran across his jaw. “You love this. You love every single cheesy, traditional detail for any holiday. Stop lying to yourself.” He just laughed and shook his head.

Everyone split up after that. All the children went to Jackson and Claire’s house to stay the night. You went up to take a shower and Jake told you to come back downstairs when you were finished. You didn’t take too long under the hot water, his request kept you curious. When you were finished you slipped on your new pajamas, admiring both the fit and style, and walked back downstairs.

The sight in the living room took you by surprise. The floor was covered in toys of all shapes and sizes. June, Luke, and Matt were working on putting together some sort of robotic toy, while Thomas and Vicki were looking over some instructions. Thomas sat on the couch with Jenni as they filled stockings. Jackson was wheeling a bike in the front door. Julie and Claire must have stayed at Jackson’s with the kids.

“Well, this is just Santa’s workshop, isn’t it?” You commented with a smile. Jake looked up at you and winked. “What can I do?”

“Help me with this box.” Jake said, standing up, brushing imaginary dirt off his hand. He led you to the corner of the room, pointing at the box in question. Just as both of you bent down to pick it up, Vicki laughed. It didn’t take even a second for the others to start laughing. Jake looked at them in question. June pointed at something above your heads. Looking up there was a stuffed frog, in a Christmas hat, hanging from the light. “Mistletoad.” Jake said, as though he were recalling a long forgotten memory. He then looked at you, a smirk on his face. Dimples were on full display. “Pucker up, darlin’” 

“Don’t ever say that again.” You said, leaning towards him. You could hear laughter behind you. He pressed his lips to yours and you sighed happily. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this happy.  When you pulled back you bent back down, lifting up one side of the box. “Come on, Santa. We have work to do.”

[theunstuffedpepper]

Still over here waddling around, still doing the once-a-week commute to the city for work. In between I’ve been managing to keep some flowers alive (big deal for me!) and am spending a lot of time with my little guy.

We just celebrated our 11 year anniversary the other day.. hard to believe it’s been that long. Last year, I was less than a week from giving birth to pip and so we said we would delay doing anything big for our 10-year until this year. Fast forward to this year and I’m pregnant again. We couldn’t have ever predicted that this last year would go the way it’s gone. Needless to say we didn’t do any big celebrating this year either. It was a quiet day, the three of us went out for dinner at a nice place here in town.

PA is continuing to feel more and more like home. It’s incredible - we only moved 1.5 hours away but the people here are so much more friendly and kind and thoughtful than back in NY. A funny story: a week or two ago, I got off the train after my long ass commute home and hopped in the car (at the station which is located in NY state, to be clear) to come home and… the engine wouldn’t start. Nothing. Turns out I guess pep had “driven” my husband’s van, which I was driving that day, and must have flipped some switch which is wired incorrectly so the fan was on all day long, draining the battery, unbeknownst to me. Cool cool cool. After calling B, I decided to try and get a sympathetic passerby to help. I even had jumper cables.. just needed a helpful person with a running car. I approached one guy just sitting in his car and he said no, it would be “too difficult” to help me. Mmm, okay. Mind you, it’s now getting dark in not the best part of town and I’m a very pregnant woman asking for help. But okay. I asked a second guy who pulled up and was sitting waiting for someone to get off the next train. No, he didn’t have cables. But I do! I told him. No, he didn’t want to help because he just got this car. Mmm, okay. Thank goodness just then I saw a state trooper pull up who was more than happy to help me and I shortly got on my way. But I had to laugh: classic NY moment. If I had been a half hour away in my hometown here in PA, I wouldn’t have had any trouble finding someone to offer help, at all. I just know that. This place is such a warm and welcoming community.

I haven’t met many other parents/people my age here just yet, but I’m hoping to as the summer season continues. It’s a bit lonely for me these days, but I’m filling my time mostly just being a mom.

We’re off to the lake today to spend some time with some friends who are visiting, staying in an Airbnb nearby. Gonna enjoy soaking in some sunshine and watching the kids play together.

[aromanticautiesworld]

If you write poly, can you do poly finntress? Also I'm curious will moth experience bi panic via finntress?

oh yes absolutely i write poly please send me poly requests! not 2 ramble about mushrooms but this first part (there will be multiple parts) kinda takes place middle of season 5-ish (sorry flame princess was with finn earlier in the timeline so mushrooms isn’t right after their breakup) there wont be any bi panic from moth abt fintress BUT! definitely in later parts (i love huntress wizard so much). ANYWAYS request time !

////

poly fintress with a gender neutral reader

word count: 1098

You squirm your way through the underbrush of the forest, following the path of the boy with the bear hat.

You were more introverted and withdrawn around other people than Finn, so he would sometimes take you with him (often very much like this) to meet new cool people he knew. Not that you object to any of this, most of the people Finn knows are cool with you too—as long as they’re not some sort of shapeshifting monster or illusion trick. That’s also happened before, unfortunately. While terrifying in the moment, you two look back and laugh about it. But still, never again.

So here you are now, legs halfway dipped into a creek, its weak current tugging at your clothes (which you regret wearing. Why couldn’t you have worn your waterproof pants today. Or at LEAST shorts).

“This is the spot where we usually meets. Me and yous just gotta wait,”

“And you’re a hundred percent sure she’s not a demon? Or a cursed witch?”

“Yeah I am dude. Hero’s honor,”

You consider. “Arrite,” You punch him in the shoulder, “I’m trusting you on this one,”

You both hear a rustle of branches and leaves coming from the opposite side of the river, and who you think is some sort of cat-person at first, based on the eyes that appear out of the darkness, effortlessly pushes her way out of the woods.

“What’s up, dudes,” She puts her bow back in its sheath, a bow that seems to have been drawn ready to fire a few seconds ago. You’re a little concerned about that, but if anything it makes you want to get to know this stranger more (also the name ‘Huntress Wizard’ could’ve spelled it out for you, but you didn’t think she’d be hunting right then).

“Meh, nuthin’ much. You said you wanted someone who can sing for this spell, right?” He gestures over to you, “They can sing,”

“Hey,” You pipe up awkwardly from where you stand, both still sort-of behind Finn and halfway in the water. Small fish swim past your legs.

“Hey,” She makes her way over to you, now also halfway in the river and half soaked, seemingly inspecting you, “Yeah. Yeah, you’re what we’ve been looking for,”

Ah. Pretty. Girl. Close to you. You are, at this moment, very normal and very functional. Both of those things.

“Thanks? Um. I mean I’m..I’m down to help with anything you guys need,” Glob, you feel like a student trying to talk to the ‘cool kids’ in one of those old teen movies right now. What is happening…

“Thanks dude! Love it when my friends are friends,” Finn grins, missing teeth only adding to his charm.

You now found yourself singing for a spell to bring forth some ancient magical plant. You wouldn’t say you didn’t care about that, it was a very cool thing, but your mind was occupied by…other topics.

The two taller people in front of you play their flutes, somehow in tune with your voice. Magic spreads in the air, emanating from both their playing and you, along with a feeling similar to when the air pressure drops before a storm begins (but with a more comforting feeling than that of impending doom).

…

Wait, no. That was actually the air pressure dropping.

The sky flashes with lightning, breaking open and letting loose a torrent of rain.

“Shelter! Quick!” Huntress yells out.

You start to follow her, when you’re quickly brought off of your feet and out of the now-muddy ground, scooped up by Finn. The water that’s suddenly pouring down on the three of you in the clearing and the flashes accompanied by thunderclaps do nothing to snap you out of your shocked and flustered state, and your face burns.

You’re eventually put down, now in the safety of a nearby cave, and are still recovering.

“Sorry about that, haha…” Finn chuckles nervously, “I might have panicked a little,”

You say nothing for a second, still stunned, before zoning back in.

“No, I would’ve done the same thing…at least, I would if I was as strong as you are,”

Finn ruffles through his backpack, while Huntress casts a spell under her breath to light a pile of twigs you guys’d found ablaze.

Finn then dumps out the contents of his backpack (a copy of Ble, an old sandwich, an uncursed dagger, the head of a mini cyclops, an energy bar, miscellaneous pens, and many other items now strewn across the floor.

“Guys. I don’t have my emergency sleeping bags,”

You both look up, Huntress now finished starting the fire.

“Looks like we have to huddle. We can use my cape as a sleeping bag for now,”

“Well…wait. Who’s gonna be where?”

“What’chya mean?” Finn asks from where he gathers the contents of his bag back to where they came from.

“I mean who’s gonna be on the edge, who’s being in the middle…”

“Hmmm…It’s just for one night, so…What do you think, Huntress?”

“I think you should be in the middle,” She turns towards you as she talks.

Your brain is flooded with both giddy excitement, and slight embarrassment.

“Yeah, I’m good with that. What do you think?”

“Yes. Yes. Good. Cool. Very good,” You nod quickly, shooting them a thumbs up. Words aren’t working too great for you right now, it seems.

Huntress takes off her cape, her hair (leaves?) are very pretty, spreads it out—this thing is big—onto the floor of the cave, and rolls herself up into one side of it. Finn then drops down his bag (he’s managed to put everything back) And rolls into the cape on the other side. Your turn.

You snuggle in between the two, heart practically beating out of your chest, and unbeknownst to the two surrounding you, a large grin on your face.

You were the first to fall asleep, of course, and both Finn and Huntress reflected on today.

You’re cool. A cool person to add to their weird little relationship-hangout thing they have going on. Based on what Huntress has seen today (that you’d tried to hide, to no avail. You were way more obvious about your crush on her than Finn was), and on what Finn knows about you, you wouldn’t object if they asked. If you did they would back off of course, but he knows that’s not the case.

Drip, Drip, Drip…

Honestly, it was very peaceful in this cave. The sound of rain outside, your steady breathing, the warmth you all shared.

You guys should do this every night.

[blackspoon99]

His Last Vow Pt. 2

Sherlock x Female! Reader

TW: Strong Language, Mild Violence, Magnussen in general

This is a continuation of my BBC Sherlock Season 3 reader insert work. I previously wrote one for The Empty Hearse and one for The Sign of Three. You don’t have to read them to understand this fic, but it would definitely help with the details! Both are linked on my masterlist if you’re interested in reading them as well! 

His Last Vow Pt. 1

8:15 am

John was a good friend. He could tell when it was best to push you no further. He also didn’t try to follow you when you needed some time alone. John knew you well enough to know that you didn’t appreciate persistence. 

As you ducked around the corner of the block, you noticed John had gone back inside. You got on the tube with a floaty feeling in your head. The absence of tears and the dehydration left you feeling spent and empty. The tube station was not crowded. It was still too early for most people to be heading to work. You felt uneasy without the mindless chatter and white noise. 

A train pulled into the station and slowed to a stop. You caught a glimpse of your own reflection in the tinted glass of the doors just before they opened. You were shocked by the gaunt contours of your face and the unfamiliar look in your eyes. This sobering moment brought you back to consciousness and you suddenly became aware of your breathing again. 

When you got home, you felt numb. Exhaustion was spreading through your body and making your limbs feel heavy. Reluctantly, you moped to the bathroom and turned on the shower. In the mirror, you stared at your dark circles and contemplated calling in sick. After a minute of back and forth, you ultimately decided that having nothing to do would be worse.

Once you got to work, unfortunately, you were the only one working that day. You would have appreciated the company. Your usual co-worker was a chatty young woman who loved to tell you stories about her shockingly colorful private life. She didn’t care much for mysteries and cases and never asked you about Sherlock Holmes. 

After a few hours of numbing your thoughts with seemingly pointless tasks, you decided that since the store wasn’t busy, you didn’t have to be either. You strolled the shelves, running your fingertips over the spines of the books until you found the Jane Austen section. You decided you didn’t even have the energy or will to read something new. With your index finger, you pulled out a copy of Mansfield Park and returned to the register.  

5:48 pm

The rest of the workday was quiet. It had turned out to be a bit of a gloomy day. You figured the rain may have driven the usual bookstore dwellers back into the comfort of their homes. There were a few shoppers here and there, not many of them needing any special kind of assistance. 

In a few short hours, you managed to read nearly the entire book. It was close to the end of your shift, and you wanted to finish the book before you went home. You’d decided long ago that reading books that you didn’t pay for was just an innocent perk of the job, just as long as you didn’t take them home with you later. 

The only question was what you would do to occupy your mind once your shift ended. You had to think of something or otherwise, you’d have to think about- 

Across the shop, the doorbell chimed with the opening of the door, interrupting the thought. You lifted your gaze just above the pages to see the last person you’d wanted to come by. 

“Sherlock,” you said flatly. “What are you doing here?” 

He approached the register. As he stepped into the light of the shop, you noticed he looked more or less back to normal. He’d showered, shaved, and swapped the soiled sweatshirt for his usual tailored suit. The only evidence of his escapades were the deep bags under his eyes. They seemingly matched yours. You wondered if he’d care more about himself if he saw what his carelessness did to everyone else. 

“Have you forgotten already? Magnussen. John’s already been briefed and you’re falling behind. I’m just here to catch you up.” 

“Haven’t spoken to me in weeks and suddenly you urgently need me involved in a case?” You avoided eye contact by looking down at your book and turning a page. 

This was a rather inconvenient time for Sherlock to pick up his habit of dropping by your work whenever he felt like it. 

“A case that somehow led to a night’s stay in a crack den?” you continued without looking up. As soon as you spoke, you realized that Sherlock likely assumed you were angry at him because of where he slept last night. In reality, your anger was more than partly concerned with where Janine had spent the night. 

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair “A case involving such a sensitive matter has required meticulous planning and large amounts of time laying the groundwork—” 

“I wasn’t asking to hear the justification. It may come as a surprise, but for once, I’m not interested.” You put the book down with much more force than you meant to. When you looked up, Sherlock was much closer to the desk than he had been a second ago. 

“Oh really?” he asked smugly, leaning in slightly. 

“What makes you think I’ll be interested in every case you come across? Maybe I could use a break from you after this morning. Not to mention, I really am quite busy at the moment.” 

“Oh, are you?” Sherlock asked. He reached behind the register and dangled the book by his gloved hand. You took the book back, unamused. 

“Come on, this isn’t like you. The Y/n I know would prefer to solve cases rather than read about them.” Your eyes flicked up to his. “Just hear what I have to say. I’m sure I can make you interested.” 

“You’re full of confidence today, aren’t you?” Your tone was dripping with sarcasm.

“I do have a pretty stellar track record though, don’t I?” 

You sighed. “Fine. But don’t take this as forgiveness for the bullshit you pulled this morning.” At least you could pretend you were angry at Sherlock for a non-selfish reason. You felt a sudden wave of shame at the thought that you were angry at Sherlock for doing something that should have made him happy. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Come on, isn’t your favorite cafe just across the street?” You didn’t answer. “I know you only have approximately...” He leaned down to check his watch “8 minutes until the end of your shift.” 

“Fine. I’ll just meet you there, I have to close up first.” “No.” He stated plainly.

“No?”

“I’ll go with you, I insist.” 

“I really don’t see—” 

“Please.” You were stunned. Sherlock had used that word with such urgency and pleading very few times since you’d known him. “Forgive me if I am not confident in your ability to make our appointments.” 

“Alright,” you replied quietly. You stared down at the register. Your cheeks burned slightly as you remembered he must be referring to how the last time you left the bookstore on your way to meet Sherlock, you’d nearly been kindling for a massive bonfire. “I’ll get my bag.” 

Sherlock waited for you as you quickly closed up the shop. The rain poured outside. You cursed under your breath, realizing you didn’t have an umbrella. You and Sherlock walked outside. As you pulled your keys out to lock the door, Sherlock shielded you from the rain with the side of his coat. Despite everything, he could be quite the gentleman. 

Thankfully, your destination wasn’t far. When Sherlock saw a break in the traffic, he grabbed your hand and jogged across the street, under the awning, and into the café. In the few moments you had been outside, the heavy rain had soaked your hair.

The café was quiet and dim in the low light of the rain and you shivered slightly in the air conditioning. You walked over to the closest table, right by the large window of the storefront. 

You took off your damp coat and draped it over the back of the chair. You and Sherlock were the only people in the café. With no other customers, the only sounds were the faint buzzing of the fluorescent lights and the distant clatter of dishes and cookware in the kitchen. After you sat down, Sherlock was quiet for a moment. It was almost as if both of you were waiting for the other to speak. You fidgeted in your seat and frowned at the realization that this was the first time you felt uncomfortable in a moment of silence between you and Sherlock. 

A woman suddenly materialized at the edge of the table and asked what you would like to order. Sherlock ordered a coffee, black with 2 sugars and you elected to order a hot cup of tea. The waitress returned with your drinks and then flatly informed you that they were closing in 30 minutes. 

Sherlock had paid for you both before you could even reach for your wallet. He was being suspiciously kind today. You decided trying to analyze the intentions of his actions was exhausting and futile. 

Across the table, Sherlock stirred his coffee. “Now, Magnussen. Magnussen is like a shark – it’s the only way I can describe him.” 

He then abruptly stopped stirring his coffee and put his forearms down on the table, leaning forward. “Have you ever been to the shark tank at the London Aquarium, Y/n – stood up close to the glass? Those floating flat faces, those dead eyes ... That’s what he is.” Sherlock spoke with deep sincerity, his eyes staring directly into yours. “I’ve dealt with murderers, psychopaths, terrorists, serial killers. None of them can turn my stomach like Charles Augustus Magnussen.” 

You furrowed your brow and took a sip of tea. Despite the clear importance of the information Sherlock was giving you, your mind wandered. Your gaze shifted to the circle-shaped stain of coffee on his paper napkin. You wondered how long Sherlock had been seeing Janine. If that was why he had been ignoring you. You then wondered if she made him happy... 

“You may know Magnussen as a newspaper owner, but he’s so much more than that. He uses his power and wealth to gain information. The more he acquires, the greater his wealth and power. I’m not exaggerating when I say that he knows the critical pressure point on every person of note or influence in the whole of the Western world and probably beyond. He is the Napoleon of blackmail... Y/n, are you listening?” 

Your eyes snapped up. “Yes, sorry. I’m just a bit distracted. Eyes like a shark, wealth and power.” 

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. He looked directly at you. There was a second painful moment of silence as he made eye contact with you. “Did you go into my bedroom?” 

Some of your tea leaped out of your cup as you abruptly put it down on the table with a sharp clank. Your face immediately heated up. “What?” you asked, stunned. 

“Did you go into my bedroom?” He repeated. 

“Well, no,” you said, avoiding eye contact. Sherlock’s jaw visibly relaxed. “But, uhm, what was in the bedroom came out and spoke to me and John.” 

“Oh.” Now it was Sherlock’s turn to take a keen interest in his coffee. 

“So, you’re seeing Janine now.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“It was meant to be a surprise.”

 “It was.”

“Y/n-”

“And you’re ... happy?” 

“Yes...I am that…” There was a long pause, “…happy.” 

You nodded thoughtfully. This was a nightmare. You never expected Sherlock to bring up his relationship with Janine, even indirectly. You awkwardly looked out the window at the busy street outside. You idly played with the neckline of your sweater, running your finger over your collarbone. Through all of your fidgeting, he never took his eyes off you. 

You turned to look back at him. “That’s all I need to know, that you’re happy.” You had said the word ‘happy’ so many times, it was starting to sound funny. Happy. Happ-y. Happy.

Change the subject now, your mind screamed. You cleared your throat and took another sip of tea. “So, the case?” 

“Er, right,” Sherlock said, clasping his hands on the table. “Magnussen has created an unassailable architecture of forbidden knowledge.”

As he moved on, you felt relieved of the tension in your shoulders that you didn't realize you here holding.

“Its name ...” He pulled his phone out of his coat pocket and held up the screen. “... is Appledore.” 

On the screen was a photo of an extravagant mansion in the countryside. The exterior was made mostly of glass with sloping hills surrounding the property. “Wow,” you said under your breath. 

“It is the greatest repository of sensitive and dangerous information anywhere in the world, the Alexandrian Library of secrets and scandals – and none of it is on a computer. He’s smart – computers can be hacked. It’s all on hard copy in vaults underneath that house; and as long as it is, the personal freedom of anyone you’ve ever met is a fantasy.” 

You frowned. You found it hard to believe such a man could exist. From the sound of it and Mycroft’s reaction to the very mention of his name, Magnussen had his hand in several of the world’s most influential governments. “What does he want?” you asked. 

“Power. Control. He keeps people in his back pocket just in case they may one day be useful. And he certainly seems to get his use out of my dear brother.” 

You could only imagine the shit he must have on Mycroft. “So, it seems. What do you want with him?” You had a feeling in the pit of your stomach that Sherlock shouldn’t be getting involved with a man like this. You remembered the years of his fascination with Jim Moriarty and how you’d lost him for 2 years in the end. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what’s the case? What’s all this for?” 

“I have been contacted by a person of high political standing who wishes for me to retrieve something from Magnussen’s collection.” 

“And who might that be?” 

“Lady Elizabeth Smallwood.” 

You nodded. Lady Smallwood was a prominent member of parliament. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t dying to know what Magnussen had on her. Across the table, Sherlock pushed up his sleeve to check his watch. “Would you look at the time? We’d better be going.” 

“What? Where?” you asked, slightly startled. “I haven’t even finished my tea.” 

Sherlock threw on his coat and pulled his leather gloves out of his pocket. “Quick stop at the flat, then we have an appointment.” 

“I’m sorry, we? I haven’t agreed to help.” 

Sherlock ignored you and headed out the door. He leaned his head back through the doorway. “Well, are you coming?” 

You sighed and pulled on your coat. You followed Sherlock, leaving behind a half-full cup of tea, still steaming on the café table. 

———————————

You and Sherlock took a cab to Baker Street. The reason you decided to go along with Sherlock no matter how you thought you were feeling was a selfish one. 

With anyone else, you’d have already decided it wasn’t worth it. But to you, Sherlock was more than just someone you loved. He was your hobby, your passion, the foundation of life’s excitement, and he was the simple belief that you had the potential to be invaluable, to do something important with your life. 

You wondered how you ever lived your life before you met him. In short, you were still here because of the simple fact that you weren’t willing to give up the feeling. Maybe one day, you'd learn to adjust your expectations.

Taking a deep breath, you followed Sherlock through the front door. As soon as you arrived, Mrs. Hudson scurried out from her flat on the main floor. She looked anxious, her brow furrowed. 

“Sherlock, there’s someone waiting for you upstairs,” she said, her voice quivering slightly.

“Mrs. Hudson, are you alright?” you asked. She looked terrified. 

Before she could answer, Sherlock began walking up the stairs, pulling you with him by the sleeve of your coat. 

When you reached the top of the stairs, you saw two large armed men blocking the open doorway. Personal security? No wonder Mrs. Hudson had looked so frightened. You thought back to the last time there had been strange armed men in Baker Street.

Sherlock approached them and raised his arms. “Please,” he said cordially as one of the men began to pat him down. 

The other security guard approached you, and you reluctantly allowed him to frisk you for weapons. Once you and Sherlock had been cleared and the armed bodyguards stepped to the side, you saw an unfamiliar man making himself comfortable in Sherlock’s chair. This must be Magnussen. 

Sherlock approached him. “I understood we were meeting at your office.” 

“This is my office,” Magnussen said gesturing to the room. “Well, it is now.” He stood up and walked over to Sherlock’s desk. With one hand, he fanned out the papers neatly stacked by the window. 

At first, you couldn’t believe this was the man Sherlock had described. He had a softer speaking voice, a clear presence, but nothing that came off as initially threatening. He wasn't big or tall and was older than you’d expected. Everything about this man seemed confident but unassuming. 

That was until he shifted his gaze to you. “Ah, how rude of me. This must be the lovely Miss Y/n. I’ve just read so much about you.” He took a few steps toward you. Read? Where would he have read anything about you? Due to your own preference, you weren’t often included much in John’s blog posts. He moved closer until he was right in front of you. He extended his hand out to you. You looked up into his eyes and immediately felt your stomach lurch. Now you saw that Sherlock’s description had been spot on. His pupils were large and vacant with nothing behind them, exactly like a shark.

When you didn't give him your hand, he reached out and forcefully grabbed your wrist. His strong grip caused you to cry out in shock. Sherlock took a step forward. Magnussen suddenly relaxed his hold and tenderly lifted your hand to his face. He brought your hand to his mouth and gently kissed your knuckles. You fought the urge to gag as you felt his damp lips brush your hand. Your nose crinkled slightly in disgust. 

He chuckled at your reaction and dropped your hand. It was like he could smell your discomfort. Sherlock crossed the room and physically put himself between you and Magnussen.

“Mr. Magnussen,” Sherlock started, “I have been asked to intercede with you by Lady Elizabeth Smallwood on the matter of her husband’s letters. Some time ago you ... put pressure on her concerning those letters.” Magnussen didn’t seem to be paying attention at all. He wandered to the bookshelf, running his hands across the spines. “She would like those letters back.” 

Finally, he turned around to look in the direction of you and Sherlock. “Obviously, the letters no longer have any practical use to you, so with that in mind-”

Magnussen abruptly let out a snort of amusement and looked from you to Sherlock. “Something, I said?” asked Sherlock, clearly agitated. 

“Sorry, I was reading,” said Magnussen. He adjusted his glasses. “There’s rather a lot.” 

Again what was he reading? 

Magnussen turned to look at Sherlock. “Redbeard,” he said plainly. Sherlock blinked a few times, shock written on his face. "Sorry. You were probably talking?”

"I was trying to explain that I’ve been asked to act on behalf of ..."

Ignoring him, Magnussen turned to one of his guards. "Bathroom?"

"Along from the kitchen, sir" he replied. 

"Okay," Magnussen acknowledged. 

"I’ve been asked to negotiate the return of those letters," Sherlock continued, firmer this time. "I'm aware you do not make copies of sensitive documents..."

"Is it like the rest of the flat?" Magnussen addressed his security again. 

"Sir?"

"The bathroom?"

"Er, yes, sir."

"Maybe not, then."

You were stunned. You had never been in a situation where Sherlock could not maintain control of a room. He could out-wit and out-speak anyone you had met. You had seen him squeeze information and even involuntary confessions from some of the world's most intelligent criminals for years. And yet, this man was walking all over him. 

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?”

"Lady Elizabeth Smallwood. I like her." Magnussen sat down in Sherlock's chair and smiled, patting the arms. 

"Mr. Magnussen, am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?" Sherlock repeated. 

"She’s English, with a spine." He moved to put his feet on the coffee table, kicking off books and papers. You could see Sherlock frown out of the corner of your eye. "the best thing about the English: you’re so domesticated. All standing around, apologizing..." He stood up again and wandered over to the fireplace.  "... keeping your little heads down." 

You thought you heard him unzipping his pants. "You can do what you like here. No one’s ever going to stop you. A nation of herbivores." He glanced over his shoulder. Much to your disgust, you could hear him urinating into the fireplace. "I’ve interests all over the world but, er, everything starts in England. If it works here, I’ll try it in a real country." 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he zipped up his pants and turned to the security guard. The guard handed him a wet wipe. "The United Kingdom, huh? Petri dish to the Western world." he wiped his hands and discarded the wipe onto the floor.

He walked over to Sherlock. "Tell Lady Elizabeth I might need those letters, so I’m keeping them."

He walked past Sherlock and over to you. "Goodbye," he said with a wink as he passed. He paused in the doorway "Anyway ..." He opened his jacket and pulled out some folded papers to show Sherlock. "... they’re funny."

Magnussen and his guards walked down the stairs and out the door.

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

A/N:

Yikes guys its been a minute. Sorry about that. I'm still here though and I am determined to finish this story whether anyone is still reading or not :) ! It's the first thing I have written in years so hopefully it's not too bad!

[roanofarcc]

PROJECT SUNSHINE CHAPTER EIGHTEEN → NO MIRACLES

summary: steve harrington x oc

when another product of Hawkins National Laboratory escaped a long-survived nightmare alongside her sister, she crashed into one unsuspecting teenage boy and dragged him deeper into the dark mysteries that made up their hometown.

word count: 5.9k

warnings: cannon typical violence, child abuse, horror, gore, and depictions of mental illness. parts of this story were written pre-season 4 release. cannon divergence.

notes: we’re back for season 2! thank you for all the love for this story <3 also! yes, the face claim for sunshine is jessie mei li aka alina starkov - who is who sunshine is largely inspired by. she is the love of my life, okay? and we’re introducing more ocs which I am so excited about. tamera & and calum are like if mulder and scully from the x-files were a little more silly and a lot more empty in the head. again, thank you for reading and feedback is always appreciated!

previous chapter ← → next chapter

“This whole town is upside down, man. I mean, what the hell is the matter with everyone?” 

A teenage girl’s attention was pulled away from the book she’d been reading as she manned the front desk of Hawkins Public Library and was forced onto her best friend. Tamera Willow sighed and closed her book, knowing she’d get no more reading done as long as he was there. 

The disgruntled boy shuffled his way over to the desk and dramatically slapped his hands down on the wooden countertop. 

“What’re you talking about?” Tamera asked, already knowing the answer but she knew it was better to ask when it came to Calum Miller and his mind that moved a million miles a minute. 

“I just don’t get it,” he groaned. “How everyone is so unphased, sitting around like everything is totally normal now. They’re acting like a year ago the weirdest shit didn’t happen here. It’s bullshit.” 

Calum had been Tamera’s best friend since she could toddle on her two feet; she knew him better than he knew himself, most of the time. 

Standing in front of her, Calum’s cheeks were flushed from the late October air, and he shivered slightly because the only jacket he’d worn was too thin and stolen from his father’s closet. Calum’s blond hair was a little overgrown from how he usually kept it, even though his mother was a hairdresser and would cut it for free anytime he liked. 

Tamera shrugged her shoulders. She knew that no matter what she said, none of it would get through his thick skull. The two had been trapped in the same roundabout conversation for nearly a year; it ended the same way every time. 

“You gotta let this go, dude.” 

Calum scoffed, offended. “Seriously?” There was a twist of anger on his face, but she knew it wasn’t directed at her. “There are still two people missing and no one gives two shits about them. The only thing they care about is the two kids who came back from the dead.” 

“Hey,” Tamera snapped, darting her eyes toward a table near the back of the library where three teens sat. “Keep your voice down, will ‘ya? She’s literally right over there.” 

Calum followed Tamera’s line of sight and spotted Danielle Torres, otherwise known as the girl who, after ten years, returned home somehow. 

Tamera continued, “I know this whole thing with your dad is hard, I do, but your mom said he just walked out.” Calum shook his head as his anger morphed his something more childish and sadder. She reached out and squeezed his arm lightly, “Sometimes dads leave, and it sucks. It really, really sucks. It wasn’t fair, and he shouldn’t have left like that, without any kind of heads-up. But you can’t blame that on those kids who came back. They are some kind of…I don’t know, a miracle. That’s what everyone’s been saying, anyway. You can’t hold that against them, though, it’s not fair either.” 

She tried, she really did, but Calum was too stubborn. 

“No, my mom’s wrong. He didn’t just leave.” Tamera let her hand fall from his arm and let out an exasperated sigh. “Come on, Mara, don’t you think it’s too big of a coincidence that my dad just so happened to up and leave the very same week that both Will and Barbara go missing and Danielle magically returns?” 

He didn’t believe in coincidences, Tamera had come to learn. Everything had meaning to him, which was fine in some regards, but more often than not it drove her up the wall. 

“He didn’t say goodbye. He would have said goodbye if he was leaving my mom; I know he would have. My parents weren’t fighting. There was no reason for him to leave like that. He is missing, I know it. I know he’s missing, just like Barbara Holland. And I-I don’t know how, but it has to have something to do with everything shady that went on last fall.” 

He had no proof, of course. He only had his list of coincidences that somehow included Will Byers and Danielle Torres, and that branched out to include everyone in connection to them. The entire Byers family, the Torres family, Steve Harrington, and Nancy Wheeler were just a few people he had listed in some notebook in which he documented every hunch he had about what happened to his father. It all was based on a feeling and a childish hope for a bigger mystery at play. 

“Miracles don’t happen in Hawkins,” Calum said. “Have you seen this place? It’s not right. There is something wrong here, I’m telling you.” 

Blowing air from her rounded cheeks, Tamera muttered, “You are quite the optimist today, aren’t you.” He didn’t even crack a smile at her snide remark. “I need you to get real for a second. You have zero evidence. You can’t just accuse people of shit.” 

His expression shifted again and he gazed at her almost challengingly before digging around inside his backpack and pulling out his notebook. “Actually, I’ll have you know, I do have evidence of this shit. This,” he pointed to a page with messily sprawled information that looked borderline like the utterings of a madman. “This is a timeline of everything weird that’s happened in Hawkins, and it starts with Danielle’s disappearance in ‘73. Then, there’s hardly anything out of the ordinary for a couple of years until this woman, Terry Ives, claims her daughter was stolen before she was declared off her rocker. Danielle's case goes cold, and so do the claims of Terry. Danielle is presumed dead and apparently, Terry’s child died at birth. Then, there’s nothing out of the ordinary until last year, when Will seemingly vanishes in an eerily similar way to Danielle gone without a trace. They pull a body from a lake and assume it’s Will’s, only to realize it was some out-of-towner that no one could identify, and Will reappears with Danielle like nothing ever happened.” 

Tamera resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Will didn’t vanish into thin air, he got lost in the woods.” That was how the story went, printed in every newspaper in town, and was the topic of discussion for weeks after he was found last November. Things had finally started to calm down around Will and Danielle, a whole year later, but gossip in Hawkins never stopped completely. Calum wasn’t helping put any rumors to rest for the kids' sake. 

“Please, there were search parties out in those woods for a day, and you’re telling me not a single person saw Will roaming around? He’s like, what, twelve? And he’s lived here his entire life. I don’t believe he simply got lost in the woods for a whole week. There’s no way.” 

“I don’t know, the woods are pretty massive. If he was hurt or something, he couldn’t wander around and find his way out. Like, what if he had hit his head? Or maybe the search party was bad at their job. Either way, it was just a shitty situation with a happy ending. Can’t we leave it at that?”

He couldn’t, of course. Tamera’s efforts were fruitless, but she tried nonetheless. 

“No way, I don’t think Will was in the woods at all. What if he ended up wherever Danielle was? I mean, that would explain how they came home at the same time,” Calum said. 

“And where is that place, exactly?”

“I don’t know.” Tamera rolled her eyes, unable to contain her annoyance at his persistence. He refused to let go of its outlandish theories. 

She felt for him; she did. She knew what it was like to have a shitty father, it was commonplace in Hawkins. 

Calum continued, “You have to admit that it makes more sense if they happened to end up in the same place. Both of them returned home the same week; that is way too freaky to be some coincidence. And what about the body they pulled from the quarry? Don’t you think it’s weird that Will’s family didn’t realize the body wasn’t Will’s? They held a funeral for him and everything, only for it to be some random kid who isn’t even from Hawkins. Mind you, the kid’s name was never released to the public. Why? It’s too weird, Mara. There has to be something bigger going on.” 

Rubbing her temples with the pads of her fingers, Tamera tried to will her headache away. 

She had never been the biggest fan of Calum’s father, Ryan Miller. He was a stout man with a strange temper. He had never said anything to Tamera that would’ve made her dislike him, but there was something off about him that she couldn’t put her finger on. 

When Calim first told her that his father was missing, she dropped everything to help him figure out what happened. When a week passed with no sign of him, Calum tried to get his mother to file a missing persons report, but Shannon Miller insisted that her husband had walked out on her and she didn’t have the heart to tell Calum right away. 

Despite that simple explanation, Calum was deadset on the idea that his father was missing. Will and Barbara’s case only caused him to fall further down the rabbit hole. 

Then, Will returned home, and so did Danielle. Calum spiraled and started to string together baseless theories that somehow his father’s disappearance had some connection to Will, Danielle, and their families and friends. He believed they were hiding something. Tamera believed he was crazy. 

“Look,” she started, as gently as she could muster. “The things that happened last year were weird, I’ll give you that. But the chief has told you a million times that everything that happened can be easily explained-” 

“He’s in on it too!” 

Tamera groaned loudly. “Shut up and let me finish!” As much as it pained him, he pressed his lips together and silenced himself. “Danielle was kidnapped, okay? And yeah, it’s a super weird coincidence that she came back home the same week Will was found, Barbara ran away, and your dad left, but that is all it is a coincidence. Will was lost in the woods and some other kid fell into the quarry. His body was probably all kinds of fucked up, and that’s why his family couldn’t tell the difference between the two. Like I said, Barbara didn’t even go missing, she ran away from this shithole town and her parents are in denial. And your dad walked out on you and your mom. 

“You are making up this elaborate conspiracy to make it all make sense. But you’re wasting your time. If you keep looking into this you’re going to get in trouble, okay? So just give it a rest.”  

For a moment, Tamera thought she talked about sense into him, but his gaze shifted back onto the back table of the library where Nancy Wheeler and her boyfriend, Steve Harrington, stood up from their seats and disappeared into one of the study rooms. Danielle was alone, and there was a glint in Calum’s eyes. 

“Maybe you’re right; maybe not. There’s only one way to find out.” And with that, he made a bee-line for Danielle Torres. 

Muttering a string of curse words under her breath, Tamera chased him through the library, which earned her a couple of looks of disapproval from the group of elderly ladies in the middle of their weekly book club. She shot them a quick apologetic smile as she tried to catch Calum’s arm before he reached Danielle’s table. She did not want to watch him interrogate the very sweet girl that Tamera had gotten to know from her frequent trips to the library.

With a clumsy thud, Calum knocked against the table and startled the raven-haired girl, who had been engrossed in a series of notes spread out across the table. 

“Sorry,” Calum recovered quickly and regained his composer, readying himself to play out his strange true-crime fantasy. He casually slid into the empty seat beside a very confused-looking Danielle and held out a hand for her to shake. “I’m Calum Miller.” 

Hesitantly, Danielle shook his hand. “Um, hi?” 

“You’re Danielle Torres, right?” 

Tamera wanted to slap him upside the head, but instead, she said, “My friend here wanted to introduce himself, but it looks like you’re busy and we don’t want to bother you. Right, Cal?” 

He ignored her and kept his focus on Danielle like he was some seasoned detective trying to uncover the “truth” by counting the faded freckles on Danielle’s cheeks. He wasn’t a detective, though, he was a teenage boy with an overactive imagination and no filter. 

“It’s okay,” Danielle said, her voice soft. “It’s nice to meet you.” Her smile was soft too and the kind of pretty that caused Tamera to look anywhere but her face. 

“What are you working on?” Calum asked, trying to act as causal as possible. 

Of course, Danielle couldn’t see past his bullshit, that was a skill Tamera had learned over the years of being joined at the hip with Calum. 

“Math. I’m, uh, trying to catch up.” Danielle spoke in a slow and careful way, as opposed to how Calum or even Tamera spoke, without thinking much about their words or how they sounded. 

“Catch up? Wait, do you go to school?” His question was blunt and it caused a slight blush to creep up Danielle’s neck, like she was embarrassed. 

“No. Not yet,” she replied simply. 

Tamera hadn’t given much thought to what the process was of returning after ten years of being MIA. Danielle had ten years' worth of, well, everything to catch up on. Tamera couldn’t imagine what that was like. 

An idea flickered inside Calum’s eyes. “Well, you know, Mara here is a little literary genius, the kind that reads Shakespeare for fun. And not to brag, but I’m a total math wiz. We’re like the best tutoring package deal there is in Hawkins. We could totally help you out, free of charge.” 

His offer took both Tamera and Danielle by surprise. The latter furrowed her brows in thought before a less forced smile tugged on her lips. 

Tamera, on the other hand, was trying to strangle her best friend with her mind. 

It wasn’t that Tamera didn’t want to help Danielle, but she didn’t want that to be a front for getting the girl to spill her guts to them. Nearly everyone in Hawkins was dying to know the horrible, juicy details of Danielle’s ten years spend god only knew where, but Tamera was no one of those people. The idea that her hometown wasn’t as safe as she believe it to be left an awful taste in her mouth. The less she knew, the better. Unlike Calum, she was okay with being left in the dark.

“Really?” Danielle asked. 

Calum nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, totally! Right, Mara?” 

Reluctantly, Tamera nodded, even though she was very much against the idea. 

Calum ripped a corner of paper off his notebook and stole one of the pens that were left on the tabletop before he wrote down his number and handed it to Danielle. “Just give me a call, and we can set it up.” 

“Thank you,” Danielle said.

A new, yet familiar voice suddenly joined in on their conversation, which caused Tamera to tense suddenly. 

“Miller? What’re you doing?” 

Tamera grabbed a hold of Calum’s jacket sleeve and pulled him to his feet, trying to make a quick getaway, but Steve Harrington had arrived at the table before they could. 

It was safe to say that Tamera disliked the washed-up jock, who had somehow fallen down the high school food chain. Since he started dating Hawkins princess, Nancy Wheeler, he’d become less of a dick, but Tamera did not believe that people changed that easily, especially just because of who they dated. 

She and Calum were the kinds of people who Steve Harrington and his now-disbanded group of assholes shoved around; it had been that way since middle school. The two best friends had been tormented by the so-called “popular” kids of Hawkins for too long to forgive them easily. While Tamera did her best to avoid them at all costs, Calum liked to make a joke out of their interactions, like they hadn’t affected him at all. 

“Ah, Harrington in all his glory!” Calum mused, hooking his arm with Tamera’s but standing firm enough that she couldn’t pull him away from the scene he was making. “Funny seeing you here. I didn’t think you knew where the library was.” 

Steve made a face but before he could say anything, Tamera said, “Okay, come on. Let’s go.” She tugged on his arm, hard, and got him to move. She sent Danielle an apologetic smile and quickly bid her goodbye. 

“Call me!” Calum shouted, earning a few glares from the other attendees of the library. He made a phone with his hand, extending his thumb and pinky, and held it against his ear as he was dragged away by Tamera back up to the front desk that she was supposed to be manning. 

Once they were out of an earshot, she unhooked their arms and slapped Calum's shoulder. 

“Ow!” he groaned, pulling his lips into a pout. “What the hell was that for?” 

“What was that for? What the hell are you doing?” 

“An opportunity fell into our lap. I took it,” he replied like it made total sense. 

Throwing her hands up in the air in frustration, she said, “No! I’m not going to help you fish answers of a girl who is trying to live a normal life. Clearly, she wants to move on from whatever happened, and you trying to con her into telling you where she’s been for the last years for the nearly impossible chance that it’s connected to your father, is so fucked up, dude!” 

His head was clouded and his vision was so laser-focused on finding his father, he didn’t see the issue with his plan. “It’s not conning if she just happens to tell us during one of our tutoring sessions. It’s friends sharing secrets. It’s foolproof and a win-win for everyone. She gets our help and we get some answers.” Tamera held her glare as he persisted. “It’s not wrong if we happen to befriend her and she happens to tell us what we want to know.” 

If she weren’t in her place of employment and inside a library, she would have screamed. Instead, their fight continued in a hushed tone. “Befriending someone to get something out of them is wrong.” She felt like she was trying to explain something simple to a child who wasn’t listening. “You need to let this go before it bites you in the ass, and then bites me in the ass because there is no way you are torturing her alone.” 

That was the thing about having a best friend; no matter what stupid or avoidable situation they find themselves in, if you couldn’t talk them out of it, you joined them. That was the rule between Tamera and Calum. They were a team, no matter how irritating the other’s plan was. If they won, they did it together, and if they screw up spectacularly, they did that together too.

“As I said, if she comes clean and there’s no connection to my dad, I’ll drop it for good. But if there is, then I deserve to know.”

Tamera pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to look at their situation from his perspective. He was too full of emotions, and he didn’t want to believe that his father left him without a warning. 

It was a shitty situation, she understood why he was upset, but Calum had an overactive imagination. He looked at stars and believe they were UFOs. He heard something rustle in the woods and told everyone Big Foot was in Hawkins. There was never a reasonable, logical explanation for anything inside his head. To Calum, everything was so much bigger and confusing.

“Okay,” Tamera started. “Let’s say, hypothetically, there was a connection between your dad leaving and what happened to Danielle and maybe even Will. Let’s say you figure it out or she tells you the truth, then what?” 

“Then I find my dad, obviously.” 

Tamera sighed. “What if you can’t though? What if you learn the hypothetical truth but still can’t find him? Then what?” 

He seemed to consider her words for a moment and cast his eyes downwards toward the sleeve of his jacket that was ripped, rubbing his finger over the bear threads. 

Calum Miller was stubborn to a fault, and while that was one of the things she loved about him, it drove her crazy too. 

“I know my dad,” he said after a beat. “I know he wouldn’t have left without at least some kind of goodbye and a reason why. When I find him, I’ll bring him back home, and I’ll do that with or without you. But, you know, without you will probably take me a lot longer. We’re kind of a package deal, Mara.”

Her lips tugged upward in an unwilling smile, the kind you get before you agree to do something stupid with your best friend just because you love them that much. 

With her, they’d evade serious trouble; she was his impulse control and the last thing she wanted was for him to do something stupid alone and get hurt. She could do damage control and hopefully spare Danielle Torres too much trouble if she tagged along with Calum’s insane scheme.

“Fine,” she sighed, giving up arguing any further. “I’m in.” 

→←

“Did Miller just hit on you?” Sunshine glanced up from the phone number scribbled on a piece of paper and watched Steve slide into the seat across the table. 

She tilted her head to the side slightly, furrowing her brows. “He didn’t…hit me?” 

A small laugh came from Steve as he shook his head. “No, no, no. Hit on you. Like, you know, flirt?” She looked at him oddly, prompting him to explain further. “He gave you his phone number, that’s usually how people flirt with each other.” 

There were a lot of things that Sunshine was learning around the world she had re-entered, a whole ten years' worth of “normal” things she was trying to understand. Socializing was what she found the most difficult. There were a lot of phrases or cues that flew over her head. She often found herself confused in most conversations she had with people outside of her family, a group of middle schoolers, and the trio of monster hunters.

Almost one year to the date, Sunshine had been home. Yet, she still felt too far behind where she thought she would be. One year’s worth of being home and being the hottest topic of conversation in Hawkins, and she was still trying to wrap her head around it all. 

Some people called her a miracle, but that word didn’t feel right. A miracle sounded easy like she had magically reappeared at her parents’ doorstep and everything that happened before that moment vanished, and she was back to being just Danielle Torres, not Seven or Sunshine. Her parents, nor the people of Hawkins had any clue of what she endured to get to that doorstep in the first place. They had no idea of who and what was lost along the way.

She underestimated how difficult it would be to come back and pretend like everything was back to the way it should have been all along. 

“Oh, no,” she said. “He and Tamera said they’d help me with all of this.” Sunshine gestured to the messy table of notes and books. 

She had almost underestimated how difficult it was to learn ten years' worth of schooling. Her parents and herself agreed that sending her to school in the fall wasn’t a good idea. She had missed too much to be tossed into the jaws of high school with very little proper education under her belt. Instead, her parents and Nancy had been helping her play catch up. 

Some of it was easier than other parts. She had learned to read but her handwriting was nearly eligible. Math was torture and history was confusing, but the thing that Sunshine struggled the most with was understanding that it was okay to make mistakes, to mess up, and to not understand things quickly. 

It was fear instilled deep in her bones from her time in the Lab. There was a persistent voice in the back of her head that told her if she messed up if she didn’t understand the work, she’d be punished for it. That caused her to grow irritable and frustrated easier. 

Sunshine tried her best not to let that show in front of Nancy, Steve, or her parents, but the idea of failing made her sick to her stomach. 

“You’re not gonna ditch Nance and me for them now, are you Sunshine?” Steve asked. 

“Never,” she replied. Her eyes drifted onto the empty seat beside Steve. “Where did Nancy go?” 

Nancy had left their table to fetch another book, but after a couple of minutes, Steve went to see if she needed help looking for it. The two disappeared, and that was when Tamera and her friend Calum showed up. 

Steve returned, but Nancy had not. 

Running a hand through his hair, which told Sunshine something was bothering him, and sighed. “She forgot that she promised her mom she’d stop by the store before dinner, so she left.” 

He was lying, that much Sunshine knew. 

She may have not been great at having conversations, but she could read people fairly well. That skill was acquired one from the Lab. Ivy said the best thing they could do was know when they were being lied to. 

He lowered his voice, so as to not attract any attention from their fellow library go-ers, and said, “It’s Barb. She…She really misses her. We went to the Hollands for dinner the other night and they told us about the private investigator they hired to look for Barb.” 

They’d never find her; no one would ever know what truly happened to Barbra Holland. 

“Oh,” Sunshine said softly. Nancy took Barb’s death hard, as one would expect. She lost a best friend, and she couldn’t tell anyone the truth about what happened, she couldn’t talk about it. 

“It’s hard for them, obviously. Will came back, and so did you. I guess they still have hope that she will too. Nancy wants to tell Barb’s parents the truth, but she can’t.” Steve leaned back in his seat, slumped and a little defeated in his posture. “The whole thing sucks, but I’m trying to keep her mind off it. I don’t think I’m doing a great job, though.”

Sunshine’s stomach sunk into a familiar feeling; she often found herself falling into fits of sadness more often as fall rolled across Hawkins. The ache of the memories of what went down almost a year ago crawled to the forefront of her mind and tried to drag her down into a void of depression she wasn’t sure she’d be able to find her way out of. The feeling, the sadness made her feel ungrateful, but she couldn’t fight it off. 

Steve reached out across the table and bumped his hand against hers, drawing her out of her spiral. He started to collect the notes and books from the tabletop and shove them in his backpack. 

“Come on, let’s call it a day. I don’t think my brain can handle another equation.” Sunshine nodded and gathered her things before she slung her backpack over her shoulders. 

Steve did the same and said he’d walk Sunshine home. 

The cool air flushed the pair’s cheeks as they walked side by side down the empty sidewalks of downtown Hawkins. Her home was only a couple blocks from the library, resting one street over from the downtown strip. 

Sunshine took in the decorations that hung from storefronts as everyone prepared for Halloween, which was the last holiday she had yet to celebrate for what she considered the first time. According to Mike, Dustin, Lucas, and Will, it was the best holiday of the entire year. They explained that it was one day when you dressed up as anyone you wanted and collected pillowcases full of candy from people around town. She was sure how fun that sounded, but she did enjoy the carved pumpkins that lined porches and fake skeletons in front yards; it made the fall month feel more lively as everything around them started to wither and die for the season. 

“Hey,” Steve said, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between them. “Do you have any plans for Halloween?” 

“The boys invited me to go trick-or-treating with them.” The boys, the Party, made a habit of including Sunshine in their various adventures. Sometimes she’d sit in on their Dungeons and Dragons games before Nancy pulled her away to eat leftover pizza and talk in Nancy’s bedroom. Sunshine entertained them when they all rode their bikes to her mother’s flower shop before their weekly trips to the arcade. 

The boys were sweet and they wanted to make her feel like she was a part of the Party, but it was a bit odd to hang out with middle school boys all of the time, no matter how much she adored them. 

“Well, while that sounds like a blast,” he said sarcastically. “You should go to a real Halloween party.”

“I don’t know…” Sunshine trailed off. 

The idea sounded fun, in theory, but she hadn’t talked to many kids her age outside of Steve, Nancy, Jonathan, and occasionally Tamera. She wasn’t sure she was ready for a high school party, and Hopper advised her to be cautious because Hawkins still wasn’t the safest place in the world for her to be. 

“Come on. You go to at least one high school party in your life. Besides, Nance and I will be there with you the whole time. We don’t even have to stay if you end up hating it.” 

There was something about the science glint in Steve’s eyes that made Sunshine want to say yes. That, and she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about all of the normal high school experiences she had missed out on. 

“Maybe,” she settled on as they turned into her driveway. “I’ll just have to ask-” 

“Mrs. Torres!” Steve finished her thought as her mother stepped out onto the front porch to greet them. 

“You guys are just in time! Cookies are fresh out of the oven,” Mary-Jane said, smiling. She wore a dishrag over her shoulder and flour smeared across her cheek. An apron was tied around her waist, and pieces of dark brown hair fell from her ponytail into her face. 

Baking wasn’t a hobby Mary-Jane was great at, but she had become determined to learn not long after Sunshine returned home. 

Wiping her hands off her apron, Mary-Jane said, “Steve, sweetheart, would you like to stay for dinner?”

With a charming smile, Steve politely shook his head. “I’d love to, but my folks are leaving first thing in the morning tomorrow and my mom wants me home.” 

“In that case, I’ll grab you a plate of cookies to take back with you. Stay right there.” Sunshine’s mother disappeared back into the house, leaving the two teens on the porch. 

“Your parents are leaving again?” 

Sunshine had yet to meet Steve’s parents. Wherever they were in town, he spent most of his time avoiding his house and lingered at the Wheeler’s house or Sunshine’s. 

However, from what she had gathered, they were hardly home at all; Steve was often by himself. It didn’t seem to bother him, but it did Sunshine.

“Yeah, which is fine by me,” Steve said with a shrug of carelessness that felt odd. She remained quiet, and watched him closely, which caused Steve to sigh. “I can take care of myself, Sunshine. Don’t worry about me, worry about trying to figure out a way to convince your parents to let you come to Tina’s Halloween party, all right? If you can’t…” he peered through the small crack in the front door before he whispered, “I can always help you sneak out.” 

While Steve made sure that the coast was clear of Mary-Jane, he missed the footsteps of Walter Torres coming up the front porch after his evening walk with their dog, Blue. 

Sunshine’s father cleared his throat before saying, “Offering to sneak my daughter out of my house, are we, Harrington?” 

Steve’s eyes became comically wide as he spun around to come face-to-face with Walter. “O-Oh, no. No, sir. I was just, uh, you know-” Steve stumbled through his words until the older man cut him off with a small chuckle. 

“Son, relax. I’m pulling your leg.” He patted Steve’s shoulder with his one free hand that wasn’t holding onto Blue’s leash. “Though, I would appreciate you not sneaking Ellie out of the house. If you two want to go somewhere, just ask.” 

Sunshine and her father shared more features in common than Sunshine and her mother. They both had almond-shaped eyes, jet-black hair, and rounder cheeks. Though, Sunshine did have her mother’s constellation of freckles across her nose and over her cheeks. 

“I’ll be with her the whole time, sir, and so will Nancy,” Steve said, his cheeks still burning red. 

“Steve, call me Walter, please. Sir makes me feel older than I already am.” Walter turned to his daughter and said, “How about we talk about it over dinner?” 

Sunshine nodded just as Mary-Jane returned with a plate full of cookies. “Here,” she handed it off to Steve. “Now, you tell your mother I said hello, okay?”

“Thank you. I will.” He glanced at Sunshine. “And I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah, tomorrow,” she said with a small smile. 

“Goodnight Sunshine.” 

With that, he made his way down the driveway and disappeared from the Torres’s sight just as the sky started to turn a pretty mix of orange and purple. The sunsets in Indiana had yet failed to amaze her. 

Mary-Jane leaned her hip against the doorframe and let the autumn air seep into their warm home. “He’s a good kid,” she said, her tone somewhat surprised. 

“Yeah,” Walter agreed. “Good thing he doesn’t take after his father.” 

His wife swatted his shoulder lightly. “Oh, hush.” 

Bending to the ground, Mary-Jane picked up Blue and snuggled the old dog in her arms. “Come on all of you. The cookies are still hot.” 

Her parents wandered back inside, but Sunshine lingered on the porch for a moment longer, watching the sun sink lower in the sky and listening to the wind blow through the leaves. Goosebumps appeared on her arms, even though they were shielded by the same coat Steve had given her last fall the morning after she crash-landed at his home. 

Mary-Jane and Walter had bought her more than enough clothes after she returned home, but there was something comforting about that jacket that she preferred to her other ones. 

A harsher gust blew across the yard and caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end, causing her to slip back inside and join her parents in the kitchen for fresh cookies before dinner. 

When she let the door close, she ignored the cracks that had begun to break loose across Hawkins. The town began to splinter all over again, and there was no telling how deep the fault lines ran.

Tagged (let me know if you want to added!) @sattlersquarry , @lovefrom-theother-side