#or after/around the night Bill made that VHS

[devildairymilkfairy]

This is what happened during his birthday bash, right?

[97keanu]

hi dearest, i loved your gorgeous response to my ask about getting high with keanuverse characters!

i’m stoned again, watching bill and ted and feeling creative…. the song “two heads are better than one” from the movie rlly has me lost in thought about just how great a bill and ted threesome would be

anyways, much love 😚

- 🍃anon

*˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳Ofc! As one crusty stoner to another, I love getting your asks hehe, and this one was actually the one that helped get my out of my writers block! <3 decided to add some holiday spice after finding out that San Dimas actually has had freak snow storms in the 90s.

Tags/CW: drugs/getting high obvi, stoner/skater!reader(they met b&t at the skate park hehe), threesome, oral (m/f receiving), p in v, p in a, double penetration, spitroast, soft doms!Bill + Ted, claiming, semi bimbo-fied, reader ends up feeling a bit dumb from how much c*ck she's taking, service top!Bill, commanding!Ted, primal-ish!ted, ted treats you like he owns you, objectification, you're basically a f*ck doll for bill and ted tonight, c*ckwarming.

The night's have grown long, and despite San Dimas usually keeping up the heat in the winter, today had dipped well into freezing degrees. The forecast, to everyone's dismay, predicted the snow storm of the century, and what better an opportunity than to bunker down and party with your boyfriend and his best friend..

Bill and Ted had already stocked their tiny apartment with snacks, VHS comedies they has rented, and enough weed to supply you all into next week. After your shift at the mall, you hurry to beat the snow that threatens to come down. You watch as a few straggling customers try to find something to do in the mall, but one after another, the lights of each store grows dim, until it's just you and other managers locking up. You head to your car as the wind picks up, prickling your nose with its cold hand. You arrived at Bill and Ted's place just as the flurries started to tumble, catching in your hair and melting as you come inside their cozy abode...

Ted is the first to greet you, taking the large pack of soda and groceries you brought from your hands with ease and smile. His warm lips kiss your chilly cheek and you feel the heat rising even more there. He takes your groceries to the kitchen to unload, and you follow, finding Bill sitting on the counter, a bag of potato chips already being devoured. His pale eyes are rimmed with red, making them seem so much bluer.

"Alright! Now we can finally party!" Bill cheers with a smile and offers you a high five.

You gladly accept, hoping get on his level soon yourself. Ted can sense this, and when he's done tossing the food into the fridge, he comes over and puts his arm around you.

"I held out until you got here, but Bill couldn't wait." He laughs, taking a lighter and joint from his orange coat pocket.

"We can share this one," he continues, and holds it out to your lips, placing it there when you're ready and lighting it for you.

You love when he takes care of you like that, treating you like his little princess and doing it all for you. It's what drew you in to him, the way he knew instinctively when to be there for you. Ever since he patched your knee up at the skatepark without hesitating, you've been head over heels.

What makes it better is, Ted has always known when to let you do it yourself as well. He's there to treat you right when you want it, but he doesn't think you need his help all the time. It's what made you two work so well.

You inhale your first hit, the smoke filling your lungs, expanding as you hold it. You pull Ted in, bringing his tall frame down to your level, and letting the smoke in your mouth find its way into his. He happily accpects, shotgunning the smoke while letting his lips finish with a well placed kiss at the end. You look into those deep chocolate eyes of his and can feel the smile that's forming on your lips.

Soon enough, you find yourself starting to feel the buzz, the joint getting smaller and smaller as the three of you make your way into the living room, plopping on the couch together. You somehow end up between Bill and Ted.

"We should like, totally put some flicks on, dude!" Ted says to Bill with a goofy grin.

"Right on! Let's watch Dazed and Confused!" Bill's eyes are droopy and his laugh happy.

You find yourself left next to him as Ted goes to pop the movie in. Your mind grows fuzzier and as you sit and giggle with Bill on the couch about dumb jokes, you find that funny feeling that's been finding its way in your stomach since you met the two stoners. You know you and Ted are dating, but when it started out, you weren't sure who you were more attracted to. You wonder if Bill still has residual feelings for you the way you do for him as his hand brushes yours on the couch.

Ted can see you two interacting from the kitchen, and to his own surprise, he smiles about it. He knows that when Bill and him first met you, that both of them liked you. He knows Bill was a good sport about it all, losing a rock, paper, scissors battle with Ted and backing off so that he could date you. Still, Ted wonders if it was ever possible that he could share you.

You however, have no idea that Ted has fantasized about letting Bill in on the relationship, so you pull your hand back from Bill's after a lingering pause. Ted rounds the corner of the couch and sits back down next to you, relighting up the end of the joint and sharing it with you once more.

You know if you get much higher you'll begin to feel it in your body, when it hits just right and every moment feels so much better than before. It's dangerous because of how horny that makes you. You know Bill and Ted share a room here, so it would be hard to find alone time with just Ted. As you inhale a particularly long puff, you begin to think it won't matter in the end, especially with the way Bill and Ted are looking at you now.

You place your hand on Ted's neck, softly beginning to pull him in to exchange the smoke in your lungs once more, but Ted moves. He takes his own hands to your cheeks, steadying you and pointing you into Bill's direction. Bill leans in, okay with the offer as long as Ted is, and you find yourself lost in those droopy, icy blue eyes once again.

His lips part, pressing against yours ever so softly. You're reminded once more that Bill has the face of an angel, and as you exhale into his mouth, it's as if he's stolen all the breath in your lungs. A tingle runs from your lips gently on his, and smoke swirls up into the air as it escapes the gaps between you two. You feel Ted's hands on your neck and waist, guiding you. Before you can think about what you're doing, your lips move against Bill's and suddenly all you can do is what feels good right now. You don't think too hard on the implications.

As your kiss deepens with Bill, you feel Ted on your neck, kissing and sucking there, his hands wandering your body. He pulls on your shirt a bit, and whispers in your ear, deep and husky, full of want.

"I want to show you off.."

You oblige, Bill breaking the kiss and watching as Ted helps to take your top off, undressing you slow. Even the way the fabric on your skin feels right now is making you horny. When it's gone, goosebumps form on your bare skin as the cold of the night rushes in to feast on it. The snow outside falls gently, with big lazy flakes layering on the ground.

Bill can't hide his smile, even if he tries. He loves the way your body looks, and the two men exchange glances over it, and you feel a bit like an object to be shown and played with for a moment. That makes the wetness that was budding between your thighs bloom even more, you start to love the idea of Bill and Ted taking their time with you, using you up like the toy you are. It's not even in a cruel objectification way. No, they're just two curious stoners who have needs that want to get out with your body, and you know if you asked them to stop they wouldn't hesitate. That trust between you three makes this all the better.

You let Bill part your legs, his hand running up your thigh and going so deep between them. A tingle rockets through your body at the touch, and Ted works on getting your bra off. Once it is, your nipples harden in the chilly air, and you look up with a smile, biting your lip and laughing as Ted eyes you hungrily. You've never seen him want you so bad.

Ted's warm mouth engulfs one of your nipples, while his hands move to tease the other. The sensation is almost overwhelming alone, but you're practically soaking from how Bill's hands move against your cunt, not yet finding their way around your panties. Bill keeps his hand there, playing with you beneath your skirt until you're moaning out. You gasp when he parts your legs further, getting on his knees between them and bringing your legs up to rest on his shoulders. You look down at those brilliant blue eyes and that smile of his, watching with suspense as he slowly pushes your panties to the side, letting your damp cunt get a taste of that cool air.

You practically writhe against them both just from that. Your moans increase as Bill dips his head deeper, his mouth warmly blowing against your exposed pussy. You cry out as his tongue laps up the whole of your cunt, making sure to wet all of you even more, being sure to taste you completely. Ted continues at your breasts, and the combination of the two already has you practically cumming. Being this high makes it so easy, makes every movement feel so much more extreme. You feel the heat of your high radiating off your body, particularly your cunt right now.

Bill continues, bringing his attention to your clit, circling slowly, then faster. He uses a flat tongue between to really give all of it attention at once, then drives you made when he sucks softly. Your hand finds his mess of blond curls and tangles in it, trying to keep him on your clit when he's sucking hardest, before being overstimulated and having to take a breath. The two men laugh a few times from how much you're enjoying this, and you feel like you're under such a microscope for them right now. Like something for them both to play with together.

"I want you to moan his name..." You hear Ted's voice whisper to you, and you glance into his eyes.

He wants this. He wants to see you submit to his friend the way you have to him. You bite your lip, trying to really feel ready for that, and as Bill's mouth sucks once more, you do, calling out his name.

"Bill...! Please, god...it feels so good...!" You cry out, cunt aching for more.

"You'll have to ask him to let you cum. Maybe even beg..." Ted continues to instruct, and you nod like the good little slut you are, brain empty of everything except pleasure and pleasing right now.

Your legs shake as you begin to come closer, your pussy bucking into Bill's mouth for any friction it can get. Your nipples are so sensitive, and Ted takes his time making sure each are sufficiently attended to, his hands sometimes roaming else where to squeeze and hold. You feel your pleasure rising, and you don't know how much more you can take.

"Please, Bill! I need to cum so badly..." You whimper out, and see him looking up at you, his hand moving to take over on your clit so he can speak.

"That's right, I want you to cum for me. I want you to be a good little toy and cum while moaning out my name for me." Bill commands, and you don't even try to deny him.

He puts his mouth back to your pussy, taking all of it once more, sucking and licking, a few small nibbles with well placed teeth sending you over the edge, driving you absolutely mad. You clutch his hair, clutch onto Ted who's begun to twist and bite your nipples the way you like, and waves of pleasure pass over your body as your legs shake and practically clamp down on Bill's head. Both men hold you fast, keeping you still, keeping your legs open as your ride out wave after wave of pleasure. You feel completely gone, your body stimulated beyond what you thought possible, and your orgasm goes on for far past what you thought it would. Bill and Ted are not ones to quit, however, and their tongues and hands keep you going until you're completely satisfied.

When your muscles finally give up, legs parting and falling to your sides, they both take a breather. Ted rests his head on your chest, that rises and falls quickly, tiredly. Bill rests his head on your inner thigh, eyes barely open, looking at you with a satisfied smile. The three of you take all the time you need to recover, simply enjoying laying there together. It's not like there's anywhere to go in the morning, the snow has piled up way past what they thought it would. You guys have all the time in the world to explore each other.

Bill is the first to move, reaching over and taking a deep hit of the joint once more. He passes it to Ted, who passes it to your lips once more. You wearily take another hit, unsure if you could even get much higher, but there's no way you're about to let them both out smoke you after that. Ted finishes his hit and puts the joint on an ashtray on the coffee table.

Ted helps move you, pulling you up til you're on your hands and knees on the couch. Every move you make sends shock waves of residual pleasure through your legs and stomach, and you have to bite your lip to keep from moaning from just that. Your cunt wants so much more now, aching to be filled and throbbing from what Bill's already done to you. You, almost helplessly, as Bill gets on the couch in front of you, his cock flopping out of his sweatpants as he pulls them down.

Ted moves behind you, and you can't see what he's up to, but in a moment, you feel the heat of the tip of his cock against your ass. You shiver as all of it flops against your ass, glancing back and seeing Ted measuring his cock there, seeing how it will fit so nicely and deeply inside of you. You turn back to Bill, and without having to be told, take his cock in your hand, stroking it and admiring how much girth he had.

You open your mouth, sticking your tongue out like the dumb little fuck doll that you are, and Bill takes advantage of that, slipping his cock in as deeply as possible. You want to cry out but it comes out choked from how deep Bill is in your mouth, still in utter pleasure from how Ted slips his cock against your soaked cunt. Soon enough, Ted dips into your pussy, finding his way in slowly, but not stopping until he's gone as deep as he can. You're aching and stretched out by the time he gets to the hilt of his cock, and all you can do is look up at Ted who's slowly fucking your mouth the same way.

The two men keep taking what they want from your slutty little holes, and you find yourself closing your eyes and losing yourself to the sensation of being used so freely. You can't believe you've let both of them take you like this, trapped between the two of them so you couldn't get away if you tried, mouth and cunt filled to the brim with cock.

You feel Ted's hand reach up and grab your hair, pull it so that you can look back and see him. He keeps pulling you up until Bill's cock falls out of your mouth, and Ted's mouth is at your neck. You watch like a limp doll, unable to fight back, as Bill comes closer, taking your breaths in his hands, squeezing them together and lapping them up.

"You're pussy is mine, you got that?" You hear Ted grumble in your ear as he claims that part of you with his cock, his hand still pulling your hair.

You nod, unable to even speak at this point, letting and wanting them to do whatever to you, feeling so easily overpowered.

"Bill's allowed to have fun with your other two holes as much as he pleases, however..." Ted continues as Bill feasts on your breasts and let's a hand snake to your clit.

You squirm as he plays with you there, the cock that's filling you so deeply combined with that stimulation bringing you to your next orgasm. You spasm, your body unable to stop itself for cumming. Bill continues to work his hands on you as you work through yourself round of pleasure for the night. When you're finished, Ted's cock stalls for a moment, and you whine out.

"Tell him thank you for letting you cum." Ted instructs, face next to your neck, watching as Bill rises from your tits.

"T-thank you, Bill..." You stammer out, and Bill smiles, bringing your head towards him and kissing you deeply once more.

You happily kiss back, letting Bill explore your mouth with his tongue and yours doing the same. You can't believe how commanding your usually sweet, goofy boyfriend is. How how badly his best friend wants you. You also don't care for the implications, all you need right now is both of these men fucking your brains out until you're a mess that can barely walk. You let Ted slide of you, and with Bill's help flip you around so you're facing Ted once more. They both help to pick your weight up, and you easily slide back onto Ted's cock with your wet pussy. Bill reaches down, sliding some of your wetness to your ass.

"Is it okay if I try this?" You hear Bill ask, obviously wanting to try out your ass. You can tell he's half asking you, but who he's really asking is Ted. You nod, but Ted speaks up.

"As long as it's not her cunt, bro. I don't want anyone else accidently getting her pregnant, that's my job..." The way he talks about you like your his property has you wanting more, you feel so bare and ready to be used right now.

Bill nods, and slowly rubs his cock against your asshole, making slow movement, ready to stop if you were to protest. But you don't. You want both of them to fill you up down there, to feel completely full by both of their cocks was becoming more and more important as the time went by. You moan out as the tip of his cock begins to softly and slowly glide into your ass. Bill here's you groan in slight discomfort as it goes deeper, and he softly kisses your neck, assuring you. Ted doesn't move his cock inside you, not while you're so carefully starting to take Bill's. Instead, his hand goes to your clit, rubbing soft circles and easing tension from having Bill slowly go deeper inside you.

You welcome the pain and the pleasure of both, both men's mouths somewhere on your skin and kissing the pain away. Soon, Bill's entire cock has found it's way snuggly in your ass. You moan from how much it is, and for a few moments any slight movement from either of their cocks is driving you wild. Ted keeps his hand busy on your clit, kissing you deeply and sucking on your tongue as both of them slowly begin pumping in and out of you.

Your leg's can hardly hold themselves up, and you're lucky that both men can keep you suspended over their cocks so easily. You take Ted's cock in your pussy with ease, and slowly begin to take Bill's in your ass as well. You feel a heat like never before back there, and every time Bill plunges deeper, it's as if he's hitting a spot that you've never even tried before. You're a dumb mess between the two men, sloppily kissing both of them and changing when the other guides you to another. You feel pure bliss and ecstasy from how much pleasure is being taken from your sensitive cunt and asshole. Ted even makes sure to give your breasts the attention they need, before trading off to Bill who cups them from behind.

You feel both men's cocks rubbing harder and faster inside of you, feeling only a thin barrier between the two of them. You're stretched and full to the max, moans and words a jumble of pleasure, eyes fluttering shut from how badly you need to cum a third time. For a moment, the high makes you wonder if you haven't already, that's how good it feels to be sandwiched in between your boyfriend and his best friend. You don't even care if they use you as their fuck doll for the rest of the weekend. Part of you wishes the snow never let's up.

You feel Ted's cock begin to get harder first. Then Bill's follows, taking deeper and faster blows at your hole. You don't know how much more you can take, and you're babbling about how good it feels, while both men laugh at what a mess you are, enjoying the pleasure of taking so much of your body.

"God, babe, I can't believe how much of a slut you've been tonight. If I knew you were such a naughty girl, I would have shared you with Bill ages ago..." Ted groans out as he gets closer, looking you in the eyes, watching how hard it is for you to keep them open. You nod along like the dumb little whore you are.

"Yeah, I could have gotten a turn at taking such a tight asshole then." Bill whispers into your ear, biting and sucking your neck when he's done.

You feel completely taken by both of them. Completely owned. Completely devoured.

Your body relaxes into the pounding of your two holes and you let your trembling pussy cum for the third time tonight, taking all the pleasure it can get and then some. The unintended clenching and tightening of your holes sends both men over the edge. Ted first, who's faster cock slows and pounds cum as deep inside of your cunt as possible. Then Bill, who can barely slow down enough to finish, sealing his cock into your ass with a final stroke and letting his hot, sticky cum fill there.

Your body can barely keep itself up, and you whine when Bill and Ted take their cocks out of you slowly.

"Aw, does our princess miss being so full?" Ted asks as he pulls you onto his lap, both of your skins sweaty and glistening from the workout.

"Mhm..." You murmur, and to your surprise, and excitement, Ted lifts you up gently and let's you slide your pussy back onto his cock.

"There." He whispers in your ear, playing with your hair. "Now you can keep it warm for me..."

You giggle a little and snuggle into his neck, and you see Bill stand up, likely going to clean up.

"Thanks, dude, I knew your babe would be a totally good fuck." Bill says over his shoulder lazily, but satisfied.

"Anytime, dude, use her holes whenever you want..." Ted says with a smile, eyes looking into yours, waiting for you to say no the way he has been all night.

With the way you've just been fucked by them, you wouldn't even dare to deny him. You hope that this isn't the last time this weekend, even. You snuggle back into Ted's neck, and he talks softly to you, praising you.

"You were so good tonight," his dominating voice gone, now ready to give you the care you need. "You just tell me anytime you don't want to, we'll stop right away."

"No, I..." You breathe into his neck. "I like how you two used me up...I think I needed this..."

You feel his arms wrap around you, almost like a protective barrier between you and the world, and you sink happily into him, your cunt still warming his cock perfectly.

"I'm glad, you were such a good girl for us, I'm happy you had fun too..." His voice seems sleepier by the minute.

You hum a positive reply, and he keeps praising you, drawing little circles on your back until you fall asleep right there.

You're thankful for a snow storm in San Dimas.

[coyotescribbles]

Dead Signal [Chapter 1/?]

*sigh* Did my squirrelly ass cave and add YET ANOTHER WIP to the Eternal Pile?

Yes. Yes I did. Thanks, Finding Frankie.

[CW for suicidal ideation]

~*~

There were a lot of things, Felicity Faustus mused, that had led up to standing in line to buy a bus ticket at three o'clock in the morning.

Like a decade and change spent trying to make it in broadcast media, but never actually going anywhere because they "weren't camera-friendly enough."

Like struggling to stay afloat as rent and bills continued to rise, while they were denied raises time and time again even as less-experienced coworkers advanced ahead of them and their other job applications continued to go unanswered.

Felicity had always been a scrapper - it had gotten them into trouble more times than they could count as a kid - but as the months crept by, they felt the fight leaving them as the proverbial water closed over their head.

They would have been lying if they'd tried to say that they hadn't been tempted to end it all more than a few times. The means to their end were plentiful, and it would have been easy to pick one and make use of it.

They'd just never been able to work up the guts necessary to do it.

Instead, they'd aimlessly gone looking for solace in their favorite cult game show, even as they sank deeper and deeper into despair. But cartoons and livestreamed events weren't much of a life preserver when the rest of their life was falling apart around them.

But then, just as they were teetering on the literal razor's edge, the semi-regular announcement was made that Finding Frankie was looking for another batch of contestants.

Four tapes. Four boxes of cereal.

And maybe, just maybe, Felicity had cracked, just a little bit.

In a fit of mad desperation, they'd run up their last remaining credit card buying cart loads of cereal and then, once that had maxed out, resorted to shoplifting even more cereal than they would ever be able to eat. They were pretty sure that they were on some kind of list for that.

They'd only had to open one, though. Just one, to make sure there was nothing hidden at the bottom. After that point, their kitchen scale had been their best friend, looking for one box that weighed a few ounces more than the rest.

The laser-focused obsession had paid off, after four whole months of diligent (obsessive) searching, when they'd finally scored that coveted VHS tape - and their ticket out of this hole in the wall.

(It had paid off for their neighbors, too. All the unopened boxes got dumped in the run-down "community room" of their slummy little apartment building, and they were always gone by the next afternoon.)

They'd spent half of a breathless, sleepless night tossing and turning after that, their heart hammering like thunder in their ears, before ultimately deciding that it didn't make sense to wait.

(It didn't matter that the show wouldn't be airing for another week, and they had plenty of time. Nothing mattered anymore, why should time?)

They'd rolled out of bed, taken a quick, cold shower and gotten dressed, then stuffed their wallet and cell phone into their thigh bag and their Swiss Army knife into their binder, grabbed their jacket, and hurried downstairs to catch a bus to the Port Authority terminal.

"What can I help you with?" The woman behind the counter sounded as exhausted as she looked.

"Can you tell me when the next bus to Dallas leaves?"

The woman stifled a yawn and turned her attention to her computer monitor, tapping away on the keyboard and squinting at the information that her query brought up. "…Eight-thirty A.M. There are only three seats left, did you want to reserve one?"

"Yes, please."

More tapping, more squinting; maybe she needed to schedule an eye exam, Felicity thought to themself.

"That'll be… Four hundred and sixty dollars and seventy-seven cents."

This time, they had to stifle a groan, fishing their wallet out and handing over their debit card.

It was going to use up most of the pitiful little emergency fund they had left in their checking account, but it didn't matter. None of it mattered anymore - not the money, not the debt, not the job or the apartment or anything. Either they were going to win, and the prize money would make everything right again, or they were going to die, and none of their problems would be their problem anymore.

"Credit or debit?"

"Debit."

More tapping; it felt incessant now.

And then there were signatures to be signed, scrawled barely-legible onto the little OLED tablet screen.

And then the ticket was in their hand.

And, just for a moment, the weight of the world lifted off of their shoulders.

[annwrites]

—all of me

give your all to me, i'll give my all to you. you're my end & my beginning. — tommy miller x survivor!reader ; ❅*̩̩͙‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚

Once Tommy has finished giving you the—essentially scripted—lines explaining the layout of their quaint little town, he turns back to you with a soft smile, while you gaze up at him with dark, empty eyes.

"So, any questions, or—"

"This place won't last," you state in a monotone tune.

He settles his hands on his hips, awkwardly clearing this throat. "You're not the first to think it, and you won't be the last. But it works. What we have—"

"One day someone is going to come," you say, taking a small step forward. "And they'll take this place from you. From all of you. They'll rape, and destroy, and steal, and burn it to the fucking ground. And you're stupid enough to remain here like sitting ducks, practically waiting for it to happen."

A muscle in his jaw ticks, unsettled by your words—by you; your...state. He knows you just need time. Perhaps a lot of it.

But you'll come around.

They all do, eventually, when they begin to find a sense of home here in Jackson.

"I don't want to be here."

He shakes his head. "So, we were supposed to what? Leave you out there—middle of winter—to die? You were unconscious, hurt, starving. You're safe here, I swear—"

"No one is safe," you say, interrupting again, no care for whatever 'comforting' words he's about to throw at you. You don't want to hear it. Don't want to hear anymore lies.

That's all this place is: a lie.

"You should've left me to die just like they did," you say, stepping past him. "It's what I wanted."

when jackson's scouting party finds you a few miles outside their settlement, it's only with tommy's insistence that they bring your unconscious body back to their town, with him refusing to leave a young woman in need to die in the freezing wilderness.

and it quickly turns out, when you awake, that your wounds are far deeper than just the surface.

reluctant to make yourself at home, or to make so much as one friend, you remain consistently alone—going so far as to stay locked in your house as much as possible.

refusing to give up on you and let you waste away on your own accord, tommy does his utmost to try and gently break through your hard, icy exterior.

he knows he finally has when you show up on his front porch one night, shaking violently, telling him that you think you might finally kill yourself, and that you need his help.

and so he takes you in, begins to look after you as best he can, until you attach yourself to him out of a sense of fear of what lies outside jackson's gates, even if you still sometimes insist...that you want to walk out of them, never to return.

headcanons:

tommy's house is super cozy, so she has less of a hard time making herself at home there.

even though she feels like she's intruding on his personal space.

all around, she just feels like a massive burden on him. but when she tries to go back to her own house, he practically begs her to stay so he can continue taking care of her.

just as joel insinuated before about tommy—that he's the kind to constantly look for purpose, reader becomes that for him, just like frank did for bill.

the two of them spend a lot of time cooking in the kitchen.

also spend a lot of time on the couch watching vhs tapes & dvds.

sometimes she'll sleep on the pullout couch downstairs so she can stay up late watching tv, bc she's terrified to shut her eyes.

one evening, she finally wanders into town during a movie night & no more does she walk into the building, that she shakes her head, feeling, as ever, like she doesn't belong, & she leaves, heading back home, until tommy follows her & tells her he thinks it's great she made an attempt to begin with.

[boldlyvoid]

Little Miss Sunshine

Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson

Summary: 9 months after the big game, steve is handed his daughter to raise all alone... or so he thinks.

Warnings: single dad!steve, stress crying, newborn panic, money problems, talks of steves past with his parents, past child neglect, mutual pining, friends to lovers

Word Count: 6.7k

After the earthquake, and the plethora of other terrible things in Hawkins, Steve’s parents decided they didn’t want to return. The house wasn’t worth it to them, and the memories that came with their belongings didn’t mean anything anymore either, so they left it all to Steve. He took on the bills and the land taxes but other than that, it was a great deal in his eyes. 

Eddie moved in almost as soon as Steve was signing the deed to the house, Wayne lived there for a bit too while he waited for a new trailer to be covered by his insurance. It was really nice. Wayne liked cooking in a real kitchen, they had a big dinner on Sundays when they watched football together and Eddie loved using the whole basement for both his band practice and his d&d games. They moved around the house like they had always been there, Steve honestly wishes they were. 

Robin was over all the time, and basically everyone else Steve was close to. His door was never closed, whoever needed a safe space was welcome in Steve’s home. He promised the only yelling going on inside its walls would be from excitement and the only violence would occur in their board games. Everyone respected the rules, and the home was filled with more laughter than anything else. 

Joyce helped him take a bunch of his photos and blow them up to replace the framed photos of his parents all around. Jonathan and Nancy helped him repaint some of the rooms before they broke up and then it was just him and Jonathan painting… it was weird at first, but it turns out they had a lot more in common than just a broken heart. Will was over a lot too, being the newest hellfire member he did a lot of character-building with Eddie, trying to fit him into the world he had already built with the other guys as seamlessly as possible. 

When Max gets out of the hospital Steve spends a lot of time at her trailer with her, he takes her to follow-up appointments and brings her groceries once a week. But every day that he’s there he basically acts as her nurse, making her lunches, washing her clothes and putting them out on the line, anything. A large part of it is because he feels as though it’s his fault she was so hurt, the rest is simply because he loves her like family and has since the first day he met her. She saved his life, he was going to make hers liveable. 

Robin moved in right after she graduated, which made it very hard for her to hide what was going on with her and Nancy… they spent the spring getting to know each other and the summer memorizing every inch of each other. By the fall, however, Nancy moved off to college while Robin stayed back for a year to make some money, spending most of what she was trying to save on the phone bill to talk to Nancy all the time. 

Bills were hard to pay for a bit before robin moved in, he was working only 6 hours a day all 7 days a week and coming home with $241, it covered his portion of the electric bill but then he had to think about the winter coming and the cost of keeping the house heated… Eddie was still selling drugs and waiting for the right time to move into getting a real job. Robin on the other hand, still worked at Family Video as well as the arcade now, doing days with the games and spending her nights with Steve and the VHS tapes. 

They were doing okay, they were making it through being independent adults, and then She showed up. 

The night of the big game, back in March, the 21st to be exact… he slept with Brenda after the afterparty and drove her home the next morning before going to work. Now it’s 9 months later and she’s explaining to him how he got her pregnant and she didn’t know until it was too late because she was too focused on her senior year. And not dying like most of her classmates, honestly. 

She hands him a baby carrier with a little tiny baby inside it, “she’s 100 percent yours, Steve, you can do a test if you don’t believe me…”

“So, you want to co-parent or something?” He offers, taking the car seat and placing it on the table in his foyer so he can unstrap her and hold her close to his chest. He may not have known she was coming, there aren't any maternal instincts in him, and yet he knows exactly how to hold her and shush her so she doesn’t cry as he holds her. 

“No… I don’t want her at all,” she whispers, trying not to cry with how ashamed she feels about making this big decision for herself. “I deferred to the winter semester at my college, I’m going next month, I can’t be a mom and go to school. I’m not old enough to be a mom. I can’t do it.” 

“Okay,” he doesn’t even think twice about it. He simply looks down at his little girl with a smile, “do you want updates? Photos?” 

She shakes her head, but he’s not even looking at her. “no… uh, here’s the birth certificate forms, they have to be sent in and filed but I thought you’d want to pick her name and sign it yourself.” 

“Did you?” His brows raise, realizing how serious she is about not wanting to be in her life at all. 

She shakes her head, “no. You can tell her about me some day, but, I can’t do it. I’ve never wanted to be a mom, Steve.” 

“Do what’s best for you, Brenda,” he shoots her an honest, compassionate smile. “I don’t blame you. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there to support you.” 

“I just didn’t want you to think you had to marry me or something,” she admits, she places the papers on the table beside the car seat and backs up towards the door again. “My parents know I’m doing this too, they don’t really agree, but they get it. So, if you ever need anything, I’m sure my mom would be able to help you.” 

“Okay,” he doesn’t really know anything about a baby. He was going to need a lot of help. That’s when the panic starts to set in. “yeah… okay, thanks.” 

“I’m sorry, Steve,” she says one final time and then she’s gone, getting back in her dad's car and pulling out of his driveway.  

He was supposed to go see Max, Robin isn’t home and Eddie’s probably sound asleep still in his room downstairs… it’s just him and this tiny, defenceless, clueless newborn.

She’s adorable and small, she has his nose, and when he pulls back the little pink cap, she has a thick head of hair too. His mind starts to run as he looks at all the things Brenda left with her. A simple bag of baby necessities from the hospital, 2 outfits, the car seat and the blanket she’s in. It’s not much. It’s honestly nothing. 

His mind starts to run and wonder about how the fuck he was going to do this… he barely had the money for his groceries, how was he now going to buy clothes and a crib and formula and diapers? 

He takes her with him into the living room and sits down on the couch with her in his arms, careful as ever while simultaneously the most stressed he’s ever been. 

From the time he’s spent in Nancy’s basement, he knows there’s an old crib down there from when Mrs. Wheeler had Holly… and they have tubs and tubs of old baby clothes in the garage, waiting for when Nancy or Mike had a baby one day. He picks up the phone on the side table, dialling the Wheeler's number that he knows by heart, unsure how he should ask but he knows he needs help. 

Most women would say it takes a village, so why not go to his and ask? 

“Hello?” Karen's sweet mom voice answers. 

“Hi, Mrs. Wheeler, uh, it’s Steve, Steve Harrington?” 

“Oh, hello Steve, what can I do for you?” She’s as lovely as always. 

“um… this is going to sound crazy but I have a daughter, her mom isn’t in the picture, she doesn’t want to be, and I have nothing to—

“Steve, sweetheart, I’d love to help,” she stops him before he gets too deep into the ramble. “What do you have for her already?” 

“A car seat,” he starts to cry, looking down at her, scared and stressed. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, Karen… and I figured with holly only being 6, you’d still have some stuff I could buy off you?” 

“Honey, you can have it,” she’s sure about that. “I’ll see what I have, I’ll talk to the neighbours too, they have babies of all ages… how old is she so I know for sizes?” 

“Newborn, like 3 days old? I just got her,” he can’t even believe the words leaving his mouth. “She’s tiny.” 

“Oh wow, okay, are you okay with me telling people about you, or should I just say it’s a new parent in the area?” She’s considerate, knowing a new baby and being a single dad are both very hard things to deal with alone without the court of public opinion involved too. 

“You can tell Joyce and Claudia, and Lucas’s mom too, but I think I want this to just be in my circle of people for a bit, you know?” 

“I get it,” she’s super nice about it. Nicer than he could’ve ever imagined. “I’ll call you back in just a minute okay, I’m going to have someone come over with formula and then I’ll be over in an hour or so with a crib, okay?” 

“Thank you so much, really Karen, thank you,” he tries not to cry again, feeling more supported than ever before. 

Within 10 minutes there’s a knock at the door. Joyce rushes in with a few bags of things, “I just grabbed whatever they had at Bradley's, how is she?” 

“Good, she’s really quiet?” He shares, thinking it’s strange. She’s been quiet in his arms, awake and aware as she looks around with her deep blue eyes, blinking heavily as she adjusts to the world. 

Joyce sets everything down in the kitchen and washes her hands quickly before turning to him, “can I see her?” 

He nods, handing her over carefully, “I don’t have a name for her or anything yet… her mom didn’t name her at the hospital or anything.” 

“Oh hello, sweet girl,” she coos as she takes the little baby in her arms. “Steve, she’s so precious… how are you feeling?” 

“Well, I fought monsters from another dimension so I feel like this should be a bit easier… but I’m terrified,” he’s able to laugh, hands on his hips as he watches her hold his baby.

His baby. 

It didn’t take long for his mind to accept that he had a child, he felt nervous watching someone else hold her but he knew another mom was the safest option. Joyce would’ve killed for Will, and Jonathan if the same thing happened to him, so he knew his daughter was in good hands. literally. 

Joyce sniffs the baby, both her head and her diaper to see if she needs a change. He knew she was going to have to teach him how to change one, and how to make her bottles and how to put her car seat in his car… “what the heck am I doing, Joyce?” 

“Here,” Joyce hands her back to him and starts taking everything out of the paper grocery bags on his countertop. “So I got some formula, this is the brand I used with Will and these are the bottles I thought were the best 14 years ago… I’m sure they’re still good now.” 

“I’m sure,” he agrees, watching carefully as she takes them out of the packaging and makes her way to the sink. 

“Everything has to be sanitized and you can’t use regular tap water to mix with the formula, bottled is best but if you have to use the tap then you should boil it first,” she explains, running the hot water in his sink to fill up a bowl of water. “When you wash the bottles, it’s best to do them in a plastic basin or bowl so that the sink doesn’t contaminate what you’re trying to clean.” 

“Got it, everything has to be hospital quality,” he makes a joke, sanitizing wasn’t something he even thought of when it came to a baby but it made sense. 

“As babies grow they need different amounts of food, her tummy is only the size of a walnut right now, so she should only be having a few ounces every few hours. If she doesn’t finish everything in the bottle you have to throw it out, you can’t reuse it even if she doesn’t finish it.” 

She lets the bottles soak in the bowl for a minute, showing him the back of the tin of formula. She walks him through how the measuring works and explains how schedules are really important to having a baby. She explains how he’ll want to read some parenting books, he can call her any time he has questions, she lives just down the road and she’d drop everything for him, his family. 

When Karen shows up she has Ted's truck absolutely full of things. They set up a crib in Steve’s room, she has 3 totes of clothes labelled newborn, 1-3 and 3-6 months written on them. There’s a bunch of burb cloths and swaddle blankets, Karen teaches him how the car seat goes into and comes out of his car and where it can go safely. He’s overwhelmed with things and information, he’s bombarded with books and pamphlets and support groups. 

Karen offers to babysit while he’s at work, holding her close and swooning over how sweet she is. “Do you have any name ideas?” 

He shakes his head, “no… how did you pick your kids names?” 

“Well, as much as people think we picked Nancy because of Nancy drew, it’s actually my grandmother's name and Michael was Ted’s father's name, he passed a few months before we had Mike. Holly was conceived on Christmas, so it’s a little self-explanatory,” she can’t help but smile. “You’ll find something that means a lot to you, I’m sure.” 

Eddie comes up the stairs then, hair messy and PJs all wrinkled from a long night's rest, “what’s with all the foot traffic up here? You having a party without me, Stevie?” 

“Oh good, you’re up,” Steve is relieved, it’s a little after 1pm, “can you go to the trailer park and make sure Max has had lunch today?”

“yeah…” he agrees as he stops in the doorway of the kitchen, “who’s baby is that?” 

“Um, mine,” Steve admits, terrified again. “I have a daughter, apparently.” 

“With Nancy?” He jumps to conclusions seeing as Karen Wheeler was holding his baby. 

“No, no, no,” they both shake their heads, “no I just called them for help.” 

“Dude, what?” He rubs his eyes, thinking this is all some crazy dream. “Since when do you have a baby?” 

“Come here,” he takes Eddie by the elbow and leads him out of the room so he can tell him all the facts, not knowing Karen and Joyce are right by the doorway, listening in so they can gossip later. “I slept with Brenda Ross the night of the big game-- before all hell broke loose. She had a baby 3 days ago and didn’t want her, so she’s mine now. I get you don’t want to live in the same house as a screaming kid or whatever—

“I never said that,” Eddie cuts him off. “Don’t expect me to babysit it, but this is your house, she’s your kid, I’m sure it’ll be fine? Right?” 

He sighs, “god, I hope.” 

—

He takes her to work that night with a new diaper bag full of things and sets her on the counter in her car seat while he works. He switches off with Keith who doesn’t say much and about an hour into his shift, Robin clocks over from the arcade next door. 

“And who’s this?” She peeks into the car seat to see a sleeping newborn. 

“So, big news… Brenda had my baby, apparently.” 

She laughs, “funny, no seriously, is her mom in the bathroom or something?” 

“I’m 100 percent serious, Robin,” he stares at her with a straight face, nervous as all hell for her reaction. “Brenda and her mom dropped her off with me today and she doesn’t want to be in her life. She only has me now.” 

He watches robins face drop and for once in her life, she has no words. “Steve?” 

“I know,” he pinches the bridge of his nose so he doesn’t start crying again. “Um, Karen and Joyce gave me a bunch of stuff for her, I’m sure Nancy will already know about it when you call her later tonight.” 

“She always knew this would happen,” Robin scoffs, shaking her head in pure disbelief. “After your six little nuggets speech, she expected you to have at least 1 or 2 baby mamas, never thought you’d be a single dad, though.” 

“Me either,” he sighs. “She’s really good though for a newborn? She’s only cried a little when she was hungry and she fell asleep in the car, she’s pretty calm.” 

“Yeah, thats good,” she agrees but he can see the worry on her face. 

“You don’t think I can do it, do you?” 

“What?” She doesn’t know where he pulled that conclusion from. 

“I’m an idiot, I barely made it through high school, I never got into tech, we work at this place and make barely nothing for all the time we spend here and now I have a baby. Tell me how it’s not going to work out, tell me I’m in over my head and I should just drop her off at the fire station,” he lets all his insecurities fall out

She pulls him into a hug and holds him close, she soothes a hand down his back with one hand and cradles his head with the other. “Steve, you’re not an idiot. You’re not a failure. You’re not going to be like your dad.” 

He finally breaks, crying into her shoulder as he holds her back. “It’s okay, Stevie, let it all out,” she keeps rubbing his back, “I can’t imagine how stressful today was… but I also can’t wait to hear about it later?” 

He pulls back and wipes his tears off his face and takes a deep breath after a few sniffles. “Sorry… and thanks, it’s been a bit overwhelming t say the least. Joyce taught me a bunch of stuff about bottles and Karen gave me some parenting books, so when she’s asleep later tonight I’ll probably be reading them.” 

“And if she doesn’t sleep?” Robin worries, “how are you going to keep up going to work and watching her?” 

He shrugs, “Karen offered to babysit… I just didn’t want to part with her tonight and I couldn’t call out, and if she likes it maybe I'll bring her often?” 

“Is it real?” She asks as if he can read her mind. “Love at first sight?” 

He nods, “oh yeah, I didn’t even blink twice when Brenda said she was mine, I was more sad knowing she didn’t want her. I know what that’s like… I don’t want her to feel unwanted one day.” 

“She won’t,” Robin knows that for sure. “She’s got you, me, and I’m sure once she’s more fun, Eddie will come around.” 

“He said he didn’t want to babysit her, but he’s got no problem living with her, so I don’t have to worry about him leaving me,” he admits yet another fear that’s been on his mind. 

“You worried about that?” 

He nods, unsure how to explain it. “He’s one of my best friends.” 

“Mhm,” she smirks, reading between the lines for all the things he won’t say, but they’re there in his eyes. 

—

The first week is a transition for sure, he has a hell of a time explaining it to all the kids and an even harder time fighting off all their name suggestions. The most difficult part was not sleeping, but he’s mostly used to that with the nightmares he gets, anyway. 

They wake up together every 3 hours, Steve has a bottle-making station in his room and a changing station on his dresser. Her crib is right beside his bed but she spends most of her time sleeping on him. She enjoys the warmth of his chest, they bond quickly and he feels like he knows her as the days go on. He can tell what her sounds mean, which cry means she needs to burp and which one means she can't feel him anymore and requires his closeness to feel safe. 

But he doesn’t know this cry… she’s been crying for an hour now and because he feels bad about keeping robin up, he’s taken her down to the kitchen, on the other side of the house, to rock her and shush her and try and make it stop. 

Eddie eventually drags himself upstairs and away from whatever he was doing to see if they were okay. He finds Steve crying as he holds her, whispering that it’s okay and she can stop crying now, but his fear only perpetuates hers. 

Something in Eddie breaks, he went from not wanting anything to do with Harrington's hook-up baby to walking over and taking her from his arms carefully. “Hey, it’s okay, take a break, Stevie.” 

“I don’t know why she won’t stop crying,” he sounds so broken, so tired, just completely drained. 

Eddie’s never held a baby before, but copying other people is easy for him. He places his arms in the same position Steve had his before, cradling the tiny human carefully but with enough support to feel secure. “It’s okay… why don’t you go get her another bottle? I’ll hold her, it’s okay.” 

“Okay,” Steve wipes his tears off his face with the back of his hands and takes a few deep breaths. “Thank you, I’m sorry I didn't mean to wake you—

“Hey,” Eddie stops him, using his free hand to reach out and cup Steve’s cheek and bring his attention back to him. “I’m up till 5am anyway, my sleep schedule is horrible. You know that.” He explains while gently bobbing his body, relaxing the baby enough that her cry settles to a sad whimper.

“Still, you said you didn’t—

“You’re suffering,” he says what he’s thinking, pressing his lips together in an awkward smile. “I can’t let you suffer, go take a break, have a nap. Look, she’s fine?” He references down to her, she’s calming down now that Steve is calming down. “She was feeding off your energy…” 

“How’d you do that?” He is in awe of how Eddie looks holding his baby. His hair is up in a messy bun, and he’s in an old ratty t-shirt and a pair of Steve’s old pyjama bottoms that he took when he first moved in. He looks so cozy and at home and has the same effect on Steve’s daughter as on Steve himself. 

He’s pure safety. 

Eddie shrugs, still rocking her gently, he uses both hands to cradle her in his arms and he smiles down at her, “I guess not all crotch goblins are bad… she’s cute, and normally she doesn’t cry that much so I had to come up and check on you. I know I said I don’t want to babysit, but if you need 5 minutes, just bring her downstairs, I’ll watch her so you can take a breather.” 

“You don’t have to,” he keeps trying to carry the burden all on his own. 

“I know,” he gives Steve a little smile and then back down to the baby. “So, have you given any thought to a name for her or am I just supposed to call her Her?” 

“I don’t know, honestly,” he lets out another shaky breath. “It’s hard to pick, she doesn’t look like anything specific and nothing feels good enough… and what goes with Harrington anyway?” 

“You don’t have to give her the Harrington name,” Eddie reminds him. “You can put anything on the papers. She could be Samantha Humperdink, they don’t care as long as you sign it and register her.” 

“Humperdink,” Steve manages to laugh, “really?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie smiles back, eyes glistening with pure joy. 

He looks so good holding a baby. Especially Steve's baby.

Steve can’t stop looking at him. “So if I put Munson on there, you’d be fine with it?” It just slips out, but Eddie doesn’t think it’s weird. He doesn’t really react at all, he simply thinks about it. 

“Mmm, Buckley-Munson, with a hyphen,” he teases, not believing he’d actually do that. 

“I was thinking Stacy,” he’s honest, he hasn’t even told Robin, he keeps telling her he’s still thinking. “It means—

“Resurrection,” Eddie knows, staring down at her with a smile, he could see her as a Stacy. “It’s fitting for a Munson, not so much a Harrington.” 

“I know,” he’s thought about it a lot.

“Anastasia Harrington sounds good,” Eddie proposes, “sounds like a reporter on channel 4, I’m Anastasia Harrington reporting live from the scene,” he makes a girly voice and uses his pointer finger to make her bottom lip move as she talks. “I like it.” 

“Can you come upstairs with me?” Steve asks, selfishly, he knows she’s ready to go to sleep for real now and he doesn’t want to say goodnight to Eddie yet. “I just don’t want to take her out of your arms and risk her getting fussy again.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie doesn’t think twice about it, he simply follows Steve up the stairs and into his room. He sits on the bed and carefully lays the baby down on the mattress in the middle so she has no room to roll and fall off… she’s nowhere close to being old enough to do that on her own, but he’d rather be safe than sorry. 

He rests his big hand on her little tummy so she knows he’s still there, she’s all swaddled up and cozy, blinking in the low light of his room, fading off into sleep. Eddie stares at her with a smile, she’s adorable and every day she starts to look less like an alien and more like Steve. 

Steve gets into bed beside him with a pregnancy book and the birth certificate papers in hand. “Any middle name ideas?” 

“Huh?” Eddie turns to him, completely lost in thought. “Middle names?” 

“Yeah, I need to pick one,” he shows Eddie the paper and all the space there to fill in her full name, he’s already written Anastasia, so thats official. 

“Do you have any family names you could put there?” 

He shakes his head, “my moms an only child, I’m not using her name and my dads got all brothers… my grandmas are Elizabeth and Beatrice?” 

“Elizabeth is nice,” Eddie likes it simply because it starts with E, he feels like a part of him would be there in her name. 

“I think that’s Robin’s middle name too,” he says, but really he knows it is for sure. He knows everything about her, she was his other best friend after all.

“So then it’s double meaningful,” Eddie agrees, “I’m sure Nancy and Robin will be her godmothers, right?” 

“I never thought about that… but yeah,” Steve agrees, and it’s good that they’re together so they don’t take up both spots. “Do you want to be her other godparent? You know, with whoever you end up with one day?” 

“You’d trust me with her if you died?” 

Steve nods, it’s really a no-brainer. “I trusted you with my first kid and you almost died to protect him, so yeah. Yeah, I really trust you with her.” 

Eddie picks her back up and cradles her ever so gently, “I’d be honoured to be her godfather… it’s the closest I’ll get to being a dad.” 

“Don’t say that," Steve retorts, it breaks his heart a little to hear him say that. “It could still happen?” 

“I like men, dude, remember?” Eddie reminds him with a laugh, “it can’t happen, thats now how biology works.” 

“Adoption? Step-parenting?” He suggests, “one day it could be legal to marry other guys and you’ll get with someone who tried the whole family thing and you’ll be the cool stepdad every kid dreams of.” 

He can’t help but smile as he thinks about it, but the only thoughts he has currently is watching this little girl grow up with Steve by his side. His stupid crush on his roommate and best friend was starting to become too much for him to handle. 

“Maybe,” he agrees. “That sounds nice.” 

“I don’t get why people think being gay is bad, it’s not like we all don’t have gay thoughts sometimes…” 

“Most people don’t…” he says softly, wondering what Steve means by that but he won’t dare ask. 

“Robin said that too but like, I’m pretty confident I like girls but kissing boys is nice too,” he admits, both the sleep deprivation and Eddie’s calming presence make it come out easily. 

Eddie looks at him with huge, wide eyes blown out with pure shock and wonder, “you’ve kissed boys?” 

He nods, “Tommy H… many times.” 

“Interesting,” Eddie takes that in very slowly. His eye almost begins to twitch as he accepts it. He’s not crazy. There’s been a spark there with Steve this whole time. “So would you two just like, get drunk and kiss or?” 

He nods, “and then pretended like we didn’t, but really it was just him who was drunk after a while. I just liked kissing him… I kinda miss it sometimes. When he was plastered he was really sweet with me and when he was sober he was a dick.” 

“I’m sorry, Stevie,” he feels for him. He really does. “But you know, it doesn’t have to always be like that? If you find someone, anyone, guy or girl, who makes you feel safe and happy, that’s who you should be with.” 

Steve's eyes start to well with tears and he pinches the bridge of his nose to try and compose himself. He knows he’s too tired and when he’s this tired he’ll say anything. “Thank you.” 

“Do you want me to go?” He asks, feeling like he overstayed his welcome. 

He shakes his head, “no…” his voice breaks and he cries again. “I’m so tired of doing this alone and it’s been a week... A week, Ed's. What if I can't do this?” 

“You can and I'm always here for you,” he agrees. “Stacy is asleep, you want me to put her in her crib? Then we can just hang out like old times?” 

“If you want…” he looks down at his watch through the tears to see the time. “She has to eat again in 58 minutes.” 

“She just ate?” 

“She has a tiny stomach,” Steve explains. “She has 2 ounces of food every 3 hours which is 10 feedings a day and when she’s like 4 months old it goes to 5 feedings a day and at 6 months I can give her baby food.” 

“That’ll be fun, I remember the blueberry puree is so fucking delicious,” he groans, leaning back against the pillows with Stacy still in his arms. 

Steve moves in closer and rests his chin on eddies shoulder and stares down at his baby. “It’ll be a lot of fun when she starts being a person… you know, smiling, laughing, talking…” 

“Think she’ll call you dad or mom first?” He teases, enjoying how cuddling Steve suddenly got. 

He simply shrugs, "Doesn't matter to me," he replies, eyes fluttering, he’s tired and comfortable and safe. His stress levels are down, Eddie’s breathing is calming and so Steve falls asleep there on his shoulder. 

Eddie basks in the glory of being with Steve in sweet moments like these. They’ve fallen asleep together in this bed before, crossfaded from a night of self-medicating and sharing their struggles with nightmares. He’s felt the warmth of Steve's arms around him many times, but holding Steve’s daughter, who has a name they picked together, who Steve trusts him with, with Steve sound asleep on his shoulder?

It’s more affection and love than Eddie ever expected to feel from his best friend. 

—

Eddie gets a lot more comfortable with Stacy after a few more days. He watches her for a whole 2 hours completely alone, he makes her a bottle and changes her diaper and rocks her to sleep all while Steve registers his tiny human as a real person and picks up some groceries. He comes basically running down the basement stairs once he’s home, missing his little girl dearly, finding her passed out on Eddie’s chest while he reads one of Steve’s many parenting books. 

It stops him dead in his tracks when he sees it. 

His heart beats like mad in his chest as he realizes why it’s such a sight to be seen. 

He’s madly in love with Eddie and how he takes care of him, how he makes him feel safe and secure and more loved than anyone he was ever supposed to call his family before. Eddie is such a wonderful person, Steve knew that, but now his daughter gets to know that too. She gets to experience twice the amount of love kids are supposed to feel from their dads. Because she has 2. 

“Did it go okay?” Eddie asks, lowering the book from his face to see Steve. He’s running his other hand over Stacy’s back, soothing her as she sleeps, the same way Steve does every night. 

He nods and makes his way closer, he sits on the edge of the bed and smiles, “she’s officially a Harrington…”

“Lucky duck,” he smirks, leaning in and gently kissing the top of her little head. “All the girls here would kill to be a Harrington.” 

“Too bad I don’t want any of them,” he mumbles, rolling his eyes. 

Even before having a baby, he wasn’t going on dates, he was bored with the options and the personalities and he never knew why at first. Now he knows it’s because he was coming home to the biggest personality, the kindest soul, the best option for him in all of Hawkins. 

“Don’t blame you there,” Eddie laughs along. “Who needs a wife when you’ve already got the best outcome of marriage right here. A perfect little girl who’s just like you.” 

“She’s not even a month old, Ed’s, how much like me can she be?” 

“Well for one, she can fall asleep anywhere,” he teases, not knowing Steve never had that problem until he met Eddie. He only let his guard down enough to fall asleep because he was around now, everyone was safe with Eddie in their friend group, and it allowed him to close his eyes without fear. 

“And two, she can chug like a champ,” Eddie throws in. “I can’t be the only one who remembers keg stand king Steve.” 

He groans, “the hangover wasn’t worth the title.” 

“I bet,” he tries not to laugh in case the movement of his chest wakes her up. “And she’s cute. Cute as heck. It’s definitely your fault.” 

Steve swoons, feeling his face heat up and no doubt blushing, “yeah okay… if anything she’s like me because she feels this safe with you.” 

“You do?” He asks, eyes as bright as if a universe was forming behind them. 

“Yeah,” he kicks off his shoes and climbs into the bed beside him, cuddling into his side with his head on Eddie’s shoulder and laying his hand over Eddie’s, on Stacy’s back. “The safest. I think she knows that too.” 

Eddie lets out a deep breath, “thats all I could hope for.” 

Steve kisses his shoulder gently and rests his chin right back where it was, “Can I say something… something that could change us forever?” 

“I don’t think anything could change us for the worse,” he admits, feeling like he knows where this is going. 

“I wouldn’t want to have a family with anyone else,” he admits. There’s no going back now. “I was really scared to marry a woman one day and have a kid and do all that normal stuff only to have my life fall to shit like my parents… and now I don’t have to do that. I have my baby. I have you. I’m good.”

“Do you know the panic that ripped through me when I saw her?” He whispers, feeling a bit ashamed for it. “I thought for sure you’d get with her mom and do the right thing and kick me out of the basement 'cause I’m a bad influence on a little life.” 

“I could never,” Steve lifts his head from eddies shoulder and looks him in the eyes. “Even when Brenda showed up with her, I offered to co-parent but I didn’t want to date her or marry her or do the right thing regarding her mom… I have always liked the idea of being a dad, not so much the having a wife part.” 

“Why’s that, Steve?” He wants to hear him say it. 

“Cause I don’t want to end up like my dad,” he’s honest, too honest. “And I rather have a husband.” 

Eddie swoons but he also feels like he can’t breathe as it all comes to light, thanks to the ball of sunshine resting on his chest. 

“Is it too late to put Munson on that birth certificate?” He teases, cutting into the emotions in the room with a knife. 

Steve laughs too, holding him a bit tighter, “she has 2 middle names… it’s a long ass name, but everything important is in there.” 

“What is it?”

“Anastasia Elizabeth Munson Harrington…” 

“So she can go by Stacy Munson if she wants to one day,” he can’t believe it, his name attached to something so pure and perfect and part Steve. His eyes well with tears, “I love it, Stevie.” 

“Good,” he leans in to kiss Eddie on the cheek, only for him to turn and capture Steve’s lips with his own. 

Steve rests his hand on Eddie’s cheek, holding him there as he kisses him gently for the first time. Like a cartoon, he feels as though hearts are flowing out of his head and filling the room. He’s wanted to kiss Eddie for almost a year now, ever since he held that stupid broken bottle to his neck and stared at him with those broken doe eyes. 

Their noses still touch when he pulls back, more millimetres from each other, smiling as they stared into each other's eyes. “You think her eyes will turn brown?” Eddie whispers, admiring the chocolate swirls for the first time after years of thinking his own eyes were boring. 

He nods, “if you read the book a bit more it says the blue often leaves a few weeks after birth.” 

“Good, then she'll really look like us,” he smiles before stealing another quick kiss. “Thank you…”

“For?” He asks. It sounds a lot bigger than just him being grateful his name on the birth certificate. 

“Not letting me die back there, believing me the whole time, insuring I wasn’t homeless,” the list could go on. He was forever grateful for Steve. “I’m really glad I’m here for this.” 

“I’m glad you’re here too,” Steve kisses him again and again before he pulls back and looks down at their sweet girl, “I’m glad she has you. I can’t imagine a world where she’s here and you’re not. I never want to either.” 

General Taglist 

@ncsls0515 @stevesmunsons @reidsbookclub @sweetyyhippyy @manuosorioh @mrs-dr-reid @k-k0129 @eddiemunson-rp @squishyturtle @katsukis1wife 

Steddie

@nosaladallowed-ao3 @maya-custodios-dionach @wifeyreid @girl-with-an-orange-cat @sunshinemunchkin 

[gsstories]

MEGA AU: The lore of Genesis Virtud

In this AU, the events of all dangers of Freddy Fazbear locations all takes place in a shorter time. William isn't stuck as Springtrap for 30 years, more like 15 or something, some characters are younger and all that stuff. All events aside from that go the same except for one key aspect: the addition of Gen in the timeline and the possible agreement of being two nightguards instead of just one.

At the time, Genesis is a young college student who left her not so great parents and went to study, although not full on sure on WHAT to study for. She decided to go into mechanics cause she was interested in it at the moment. Anyway, college and apartment bills ain't cheap and she gotta get a job. She finds out that a pizzeria is looking for nightguards and she immediately jumps into the chance to work. She just so happens to be working with one of her buddies, Michael Schmidt, who she isn't particularly close to but they are somewhat friendly with each other. The two work together at the place at night, Michael managing the cameras and Gen, well, she wonders the pizzeria even when knowing it could be dangerous. She had been told countless times but she don't really care about it. So she wonders around often and she begins to realize something is off about the animatronics. Shadows (or what look like shadows) that don't have their real shape are always seen by her, often looking at her dead in the eye.

Genesis has had a gift ever since she was born: she was able to see ghosts and communicate with them. This made people and even her own parents find her creepy whenever she talked to people they couldn't see. So, you can imagine who she saw with the animatronics. Yes, the missing children.

She wasn't surprised when she saw them move, I mean, ghosts can do bizarre things even when dead. Although this was one of the most bizarre. She doesn't know when, she doesn't know why, but the animatronics seemed... friendly towards her. Maybe it was the fact she could see their agonizing souls, maybe it was because she was nice, whatever it was, they were fine with her walking around the place. With Michael, however, that was a different story, obviously, so Gen kind of became a peacekeeper between her fellow nightguard and the animatronics.

Even with their rage, the animatronics were still kids. They were needy, clingy, and Genesis just radiated that big sisterly energy that just made them reach out to her. And Genesis was what you would call a bleeding heart so she let them reach out to her. It may have been dangerous, yes, but these were kids. Children whose lives were taken at an early stage, children who were angry and upset is an understatement. They were furious.

So she took care of them. Hugged them, pet them, held their metallic hands, just gave them the affection they needed and craved so much. She couldn't save them now, she was years too late, but maybe she could relieve their souls a little. She got close to them, she cared for them after they were tossed away so long ago.

Some sweet moments were her talking to the animatronics, playing with them, teaching them some things she either learned in college or some random facts that she thinks they might find interesting. She found a TV and some VHS tapes that were Scooby Doo episodes and put them on for them and they loved them! All sitting down on the floor enjoying the show, Foxy having his head laying on Gen's lap as she pets his head. Adorable indeed.

She knew a 5th child was around, she saw them sometimes. They were more skeptical, untrusting. She didn't blame them so she was patient, calm and kind. Slowly, she began learning their names...

Gabriel, Jeremy, Suzie, Fritz, Cassidy...

Did she hear Evan...?

It was all nice and sweet until Gen and Michael got fired for tampering with the animatronics. Gen knew it was wrong but she got curious and wanted to help the kids. Unfortunately, that would no longer be possible. She does seem to catch some glimpses of certain children in her apartment complex though...

This happened when the new Freddy Fazbear location opened. Gen and Michael applied to find out what happened and the animatronics were aggressive just as before. And the cycle repeats, Gen befriends the animatronics, cares for them and loves them, even the withered ones. She makes sure they are okay (well, as okay as they can be when damaged) and showing she will always be with them even if she isn't there physically with them. She wants them to know she will never forget them. She befriends the Puppet, she knows they know more than they let on and she wants to help understand.

She learned their name

Charlie...

And the cycle repeats.

Fired once again, some years passed and Gen decided to study bioengineering and work with machines. A reminder of her time at the Fazbear Locations. Fazbear Fright opens up and she reunites with Michael and they both start working there again. The cycle repeats? Well, yes but no.

Genesis is able to reach out to the Phantoms but barely. Then the damn rabbit appears. Instead of an agonizing child soul, she is met with a murderous bastard who wishes to bring pain and suffering to those around him. And that is when she learns of Mr. Afton, Mike's father. Before the place is burnt to the ground though, Gen kicked that rotten rabbit's ass. So worth it!

In Sister Location, it was meant to be one person. Just one but Gen tagged along. She laughed when Michael was called Eggs Benedict. She was kind of worried when the animatronics were shocked. She was able to reach out to them, befriended them. Ballora and Funtime Foxy were her favorite. Ballora was rather kind when not trying to attack and Funtim Foxy was fun to be around. Michael was fine, they weren't going after him. Gen was the peacekeeper. She met Circus Baby and was quick to learn the soul's name.

Elizabeth...

Then the scooper incident happened. Gen witnessed Michael's organs be ripped out and replaced with a mess of wires and metal. She was horrified but she didn't run. She stayed with Michael despite the horror she had seen. She didn't leave his side, not even when he became a literal zombie. The stench was unbearable but she didn't care. She wanted to free the souls, let them find peace. She still caught glimpses of them.

Then the Pizzeria Simulator events happened. The cycle repeats.

And then it ends once the place burns down. She saw it on the news. 'Michael's doing' she thought 'Could have told me we were doing arson again.'

She did not expect the message from hours ago. She did not expect to drop her phone and then sink into her knees with a blank look on her face as tears fell to the ground.

'Gen. It's me, Michael. I finally did it. I'm setting the souls free, and sending William to Hell where he belongs… Now, I can finally be at rest. I'm afraid this is the last time we'll ever speak, but please don't cry for me. This is exactly what I want. I can reunite with my brother and sister. No one has to suffer anymore because of my family's tragedy. I'm grateful for everything you've done for me, but now you can live your own life. This is goodbye, my dear friend…'

Life was hard. Odd. Normal. She didn't catch a glimpse of those souls anymore. She couldn't see Michael's soul. Not even once. It made her upset. She was miserable for months but she eventually recovered.

She finished her studies, got a degree in bioengineering and an MD. A smart, wild yet compassionate woman she became. She adopted a child, a boy who was as mischiveous as she was when younger.

She builts animatronics in honor of her lost friends, bringing joy and happiness just as they brought her the same joy, although without all the souls and the arson. Everything is fine. Everyone is fine.

And then the cycle repeats.

[chestharrington]

Adult Education || Part Two

Summary: Weeks into your newfound routine with Steve, you decide to shake things up a bit. It'll be fun and casual, right?

Couple: Steve Harrington x AFAB!Reader (GN Pronouns)

Category: Smut/Fluff

Content Warning: graphic smut, slight voyeurism, fingering, handjobs, awkward depictions of visiting a sex shop, slight drug use

Word Count: 7.5k

Requests: Open!

Robin was extremely tired of your bullshit. Both of you. The giggly calls to Family Video— “Hey Robin! Can you put Steve on the phone?”— and the way neither of you was very subtle about your “secret” meetups. She wasn’t even sure they were supposed to be secret anymore. 

And Steve was almost worse. He’d spilled everything to Robin, and he still tried to act like what was happening between the two of you “wasn’t a big deal.” Which was dumb, because it very clearly was to him. 

And you… she couldn’t quite read you. Sure, you seemed to like whatever was going on between the two of you, or you wouldn’t have giggly, super long phone calls with Steve on the days you weren’t following him around like a lost puppy. Those days were maybe the most insufferable. The inside jokes, the banter. She just wanted to know if you two were an item so she could stop feeling so left out. 

She swirled a fork through her lunch, which had been poorly reheated over break. With a glance towards Steve, whose head was glumly rested in his hands, she spoke up. “No call from your sweetie pie?” She teased. 

“Nah,” Steve sighed, before catching Robin’s underlying meaning. He furrowed his brows, annoyed. “Don’t say anything.”

“I will be saying something, Harrington, because I am sick of you two dancing around your obvious attraction to one another!” She said finally, pushing her lunch away. “How do you think this is all gonna turn out, smart guy?”

He sighed, and she could tell he was thinking about it— really thinking about it. It almost made her feel bad for pressing the matter. 

“What if this is the closest I’ll ever get to being with them?” He finally asked with an alarming amount of earnestness. Robin sighed, her lips turning down into a frown. Oh, Steve. “Like, I  could technically tell them ‘Hey, by the way, I want to kiss you and take you out on dates and make sweet, sweet love to you pretty much every waking moment,’ but I could scare them away. I could lose them so easily.” He sighed, looking like he wished he could shove all those words right back inside. “Anyways, if this is the only way I can be with them, I’ll take it.”

Robin sighed. “You’re selling yourself short, Steven. Ten bucks says when they walk in this door later today, they go straight to you.”

———

You walked into the video store like you belonged there, much to Keith’s chagrin. 

“No.” The word escaped him firmly. “No, you’re leaving. You can’t just treat this store like some sort of hang-out spot.”

You pouted, leaning against the doorframe. “Keith,” you whined. “C’mon, man, I’m here for an actual rental this time.” He looked at you pointedly, so you made a show of heading for the science fiction section. “See! A New Hope.” You held it up and approached the counter. “That’s all I wanted.”

He looked at you skeptically, brow raised. “And, uh, I wanted to simply invite Robin and Steve to join in on my family movie night, but, uh, I can always go to Video Village and rent from there.” You raised a brow, testing him, and he sighed.

“They’re on break out back. Rent first, talk after.”

You sighed, slapping a few bills on the counter. He seemed to take his sweet time counting the money and distributing change. You tapped your foot impatiently until he finally slid the VHS and change over the counter. “Alright, knock yourself out.”

You grinned, grabbed your tape, and dashed past him into the back rooms where the rear exit was. As soon as the heavy door slammed open, you heard panicked coughing and whispered curses. You grinned, shutting the door behind you.

“It’s not Keith, don’t worry,” you said, wrinkling your nose at the very pungent smell of pot. “Knock yourselves out.” Steve pulled you into his side, taking a quick hit before passing the joint to Robin. He turned his head to blow out the smoke, then looked down at you through half-lidded eyes. “Hey,” he said with a dopey grin. “Took you long enough.”

You sighed, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I’m house-sitting for the nice little old couple next door. And I’m a total professional, so I had to water a few plants and get some mail before I could come see my favorite people.”

Robin coughed unceremoniously, fanning the air around her face. “Keith see you?” She took a long pull and exhaled with a contented sigh, too stoned to care if Keith knew they were smoking in the alleyway.

“Yeah,” you replied with an eye roll. “Weird fucker hates me. I had to rent a tape or I wouldn’t have been allowed in.” You held up the VHS to drive home your point and she giggled. 

“Aww, you rented Star Wars to see me?” Steve said with a wide smile. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you said with an eye roll. “Don’t let it get to your head.” Your cheeks felt warm as both Robin and Steve’s gazes fixed on you, like an ant under a magnifying glass. 

You felt your cheeks burn hotter as you mumbled the reason you really showed up. “Oh, and, uh, my parents want to invite you both for dinner and a movie tomorrow, so, like… come over after you get off, okay?” 

The words came out rushed and jumbled. There were only so many times you could make excuses about sleeping over at Robin’s or bring up something funny Steve had said before your parents wanted to insert themselves in the middle. The offer to host them seemed less like a friendly invitation and more like an order. 

“Sweet!” Robin said with a giddy smile. “Your parents’ cooking is bomb. Like, that time I came over to study and your dad made us omelets? Oh my god, is he making omelets again?” 

“I think it’s, uh, pasta tomorrow,” you replied, which seemed to please Robin more, if possible. You turned to Steve with a furrow in your brows, watching him take a pull from the joint with keen fascination. He had a pretty mouth. He caught you looking after he’d exhaled, his mouth quirking up in a half-smile. 

You stammered. “Is— uh— is that okay with you?”

“Yeah, yeah sounds good.” His gaze was intense. No breaking eye contact, no shifting his eyes, just… looking at you. “Is that good for you?”

“The pasta?” You asked with a tilt of your head. He nodded. “Yeah, Steve, pasta’s good for me too.” He smiled wide before pressing his lips to the top of your head. He was so warm, not just physically, which was usually true, but in his entire being. You just felt good when you were with him. 

Robin’s watch beeped loudly and she sighed, taking the joint back from Steve so she could have the last hit. “Break’s over dingus. I’ll see ya inside.” She dropped it on the ground and stubbed it out with her oxfords before reaching in her bag and spraying some sort of cheap perfume all over herself. You frowned at the overwhelming smell of what could’ve been your nana’s old perfume wafting your direction as she left. 

Alone with Steve, you felt the intensity of his closeness practically double. “Uh, I had a good time last night,” you said softly. “I think that old guy was right. Pleasure Olympics might just be in my top three.”

Steve laughed so hard his shoulders shook and you smiled up at him. “God. Never bring up that old guy ever again. What’s the point of guys that old watching porn? Half the time their dicks don’t work anyway.” 

You groaned, nudging him with your shoulder. “Ew, Steve. You should have some empathy. That could totally be you someday.” 

He shook his head incredibly insistently, like he’d seen into the future already. “No, because my dick is going to work forever, obviously.” He wrinkled his nose at his own words like he wished he could take them back immediately. “On that note, I need to go act sober and rent some movies to people.”

You grabbed his arm before he turned to go, keeping him near you. “Come over after your shift? I wanna check this place out and I’m too nervous to go alone.”

He nodded quickly, a smile spreading across his features. “Yes!” He said eagerly. He coughed, cleared his throat, and amended his tone. “I mean— Yeah, okay. Sounds good, I’ll, uh… I’ll pick you up?”

You nodded, chewing your lip to contain your excitement. “Yeah, it’s a date, Stevie. You’ll love it, I promise.”

He looked like he wanted to melt as he nodded, smiling sweetly down at you. “I uh…” He trailed off, blinking a few times. With one hand, he gestured vaguely to the metal back door of Family Video. “Videotapes.”

You giggled, trying your best to fight a grin as you nodded. “Yep. Go get ‘em big guy. I’ll see you later, alright?”

He nodded, turned directly into the door, swore under his breath, and slipped back inside. 

———

At precisely three fifteen in the afternoon, Steve was outside of your house, practically vibrating in his seat with anticipation. He watched you walk out the front door, turn to wave to your father, who was seeing you off, and hurry towards the passenger seat. 

“Hey, Stevie,” you greeted as you slid into the car, smiling over at him. “Ready to go?”

“I, uh, I don’t even know where we’re going,” he said, almost nervously.

You patted his arm and grinned. “Get on the highway going eastbound and take the third exit, alright? Trust me on this.” He nodded and peeled off, his tires screeching against the suburban asphalt. You sighed, leaning back against the seat. His car always smelled like his cologne, and you happily took a deep breath as you turned to look at him. 

He didn’t notice for a while, until he caught you out of the corner of his eye. At a stop sign, he furrowed his brows. “What is it?”

You shrugged. “I dunno. I’ve liked hanging with you lately, that’s all.”

“Me too,” he replied. “Like, we were friends before and that was cool and everything, but now—“ He was cut off by the car behind him honking repeatedly, urging him to just go already. “Shit.” 

You looked at him expectantly. “But now…?” You trailed off, hoping he’d pick up where he left off. 

“I guess now things are just better.” You nodded, turned on the stereo, and put your feet on the dash.

Better was the perfect way to describe it. You were still both… you, but you were more than that. Never in your entire life had you felt more comfortable being vulnerable with someone. You liked that every free moment, you were both jumping at the chance to be together. 

How long had it been since you’d had that?

The rest of the car ride was brief— your destination wasn’t exactly far. You told him when to exit, and directed him into the parking lot. He swallowed as he parked, looking up at the sign that placed a shadow on his car. 

Lion’s Den: XXX Movies, Toys for Lovers, And More!

“No,” he said firmly, meeting your gaze. “I’m not… no way.”

You put on your prettiest smile and leaned across the center console. “C’mon, Steve, I told you to trust me, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but… I mean, what if someone recognizes me inside?” His pretty brown eyes were wide, his lips turned into a nervous frown. You wanted to just squeeze his face with your hand, for some reason. You decided not to think about that too much. 

“We’re three exits outside of Hawkins, and if anyone recognizes you, they’ll have to explain why they’re here too, right?” You smiled victoriously. “Can’t call you out for being a pervert when they’re one themselves.”

“What did you need here again?” He asked as he got out of the car, finding it incredibly impossible to tell you no. 

You shrugged, slamming the car door. “Just felt like exploring with my best pal, Steve Harrington. Who knows, we might find something fun.”

He walked right on your heels as you entered the store, waving an awkward greeting to the man behind the counter as he followed you within. The walls were lined with sexy everything. Lingerie, books, movies, toys. You didn’t really know where to start.

“Lingerie first?” You asked, nodding towards the racks and racks of lace, velvet, and silk. He nodded wordlessly, his cheeks a burning red. You had to chew on your lip to keep from laughing— it was just too adorable. 

He stood respectfully beside you as you flipped through the rack, holding up the occasional teddy or babydoll gown for his appraisal. He just blinked a few times, opened and closed his mouth, then nodded. It was like that for each and everything you showed him. 

“Steve, you’re not really being a big help,” you chided with a playful grin.

“I can hardly think right now,” he mumbled, running his fingers over white silk on the rack. It felt so soft that he wanted to buy it for you then and there just so he could imagine you wearing it. “Is it hot in here?” He tugged at his collar and cleared his throat a few times. “I’m really hot right now.”

“Hey, breathe, okay?” You said, holding onto his arm. He really was burning up under your touch. “No one else is here except the guy behind the counter, and I’m sure he’s seen crazier stuff than two twenty-somethings browsing the wares.”

He took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” he said. “I can be cool about this.” He swallowed as you turned back to the shelves and grabbed a pale blue babydoll with lace around the edges. You turned to face him and held it up to yourself, raising a brow. 

“What do you think?”

He wanted to pass out. He could imagine you in it so easily— how the silk would feel on your skin, the way the lace would fall around your thighs and tits. He could especially imagine peeling it off of you, how warm it would be from touching you. He felt his dick twitch, trapped uncomfortably in his tight jeans. God, he wished he’d had some sort of notice so he could’ve worn some sweats or something. Or, actually, that probably would’ve been worse for him.

“I think you should buy that one,” he said quickly. He grabbed the soft white teddy and pushed it towards you. “And this one too.” You smiled prettily up at him, and he wanted to propose marriage or eternal love on the spot. He’d follow you anywhere— into certain danger, into hell, or even into a sleazy sex shop. 

And then came the toys. His mouth felt dry as he watched you peering at the shelves, your tongue slipping out to wet your lips. Some of them were big… and lifelike. You took one in your hands and he wanted to whimper. Your painted nails wrapped around the silicon, not even making it all the way around. Your hand looked so fucking small. 

And you giggled, a bright, pretty sound and he wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor. Become one more stain that the store’s patrons had left. “This is ridiculous,” you muttered, wielding it like a gun toward him. He made himself laugh, but it was clearly forced. You replaced it on the shelf and went back to browsing.

“Yeah, super ridiculous,” he said, his mouth feeling even drier. They really should’ve had water stations around places like this. “Uh, what about that one?” He pointed towards the top shelf and you laughed, reaching on your tiptoes to bring it down. 

“Steve,” you said with disbelief. “This would kill me.”

“What?” He asked, brows furrowed. “No, that’s literally just like mine and I’ve never killed anyone.”

“Stevie, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but your dick is not the size of my forearm,” you said. You placed the toy against yourself and the tip hit above your navel. “See. That wouldn’t even feel good.” You hopped to place it right back on the shelf and began perusing again. 

He wanted to scoff, or something and defend his ego, but it was useless. You’d literally seen what he was packing, and while you were impressed, you weren’t a liar. You gasped victoriously and turned to face him, holding a smaller, but still above-average dildo. 

“This is about where you’re at, right?” You asked rhetorically.  Because, y’know… you knew. You held it right where you’d held the other and nodded approvingly. “See, this isn’t going to bruise my organs or anything, but it would still feel good.”

Steve nodded, biting down on his tongue until he feared he would bleed. There was no way you didn’t realize what you were doing. “So that’s like… the ideal?”

You looked at him pointedly. “Don’t fish for compliments, Stevie,” you said as you brought the box for that toy down, turning it over in your hands. “Anyways, I think I might actually buy this one.” You paused, meeting his gaze curiously. “That’s not weird or anything, right? Since I kind of compared this one to you.”

He swallowed. He wanted to say that it wasn’t weird and that actually made him want you to buy it more and that he wanted to watch you use it. But instead, he just shook his head. “Not weird,” he said weakly. That was the best he could do. 

You smiled, holding your wares in your arms as you continued to browse. He followed you closely, placing his chin on top of your head when you came to a stop at some of the tapes. 

“See anything you like, Steve?” You asked, turning your head to peer back at him. 

Yes. Yes. You’re literally right in front of me. He didn’t know what to say or how to explain that he was so hard he couldn’t even focus on the VHS tapes, despite them having tons of naked girls on the cover. All he could think about was you. 

The door swung open, startling him, and he pressed himself into you, trying to hide his obvious boner from the new shoppers. You froze, unable to ignore the feeling of him hard against your back.

Oh. It wasn’t like you weren’t hoping it would happen, but you figured he might be able to contain himself until you were in the car so you could park somewhere and get off together. But he was desperate behind you, a shaky moan escaping him as you shifted where you stood. 

“Steve,” you said softly, covering his hands where they gripped your hips. “If you trust me, I’ll take care of you.”

“Okay,” he replied, his voice weak in the back of his throat. 

You shoved the toy and lingerie onto a shelf that you completely intended to return to later and grabbed his hand, guiding him into the back of the store. In the hall by the bathrooms, there was another room, completely dark and lined with booths. 

“What are we—?” He was cut off by you opening the door and nodding him inside. It was like a cheap school bathroom stall, except there was a TV that took quarters. “Oh.”

“Got change?” You asked, patting his wallet in his pocket. He was so lucky that he tucked himself to the other side or he might have cum then and there. He nodded, grabbing his wallet nervously as he took out at least two dollars worth of quarters to feed into the machine. “Alright, pick your movie, Stevie.”

Your hands slipped under his shirt, feeling the hot skin beneath, tracing each dip and curve along his abdomen and sides. He gave a shaky breath. With eager hands, he pressed a random button. He didn’t give a shit about dirty movies when you had your hands on his body. 

Moans filled the small space as the movie clips played, but you took your time feeling him. Your fingers brushed over his chest, nails combing through the thatch of hair there. You sighed contentedly, breath hot against his back. 

“This okay?” You asked softly, moving your hands back down his body. “I know it’s against our rules, but—

“Fuck, fuck, it’s okay. It’s so okay,” he gasped, his hands balled into fists, pressed above his head on the wall to keep him upright and from crumbling beneath your touch. 

A string of curses escaped his lips as your fingers found his belt and made quick work of it. The buckle jingled as it slipped free of one of the loops, forgotten as you unbuttoned and unzipped him. 

He was warm beneath your touch, almost on fire. You pushed his briefs down just enough to free his cock, relishing in the gratified moan he released as you took him into your hand. 

You stood on your tiptoes, nuzzling against his neck to press a soft kiss there. His skin tasted of sweat and cologne. “This feel okay?” You asked, slicking up his length with the precum that was practically leaking from him. He nodded, his breath heavy and coming in pants. “Good. I want it to feel good for you Stevie.”

Your free hand wandered beneath his shirt, nails raking along warm, damp skin. You would be lying if you said you weren’t hot yourself— sweat beading at the back of your neck.

He thrust into your hand, desperate and needy. You soothed him with a kiss to the back of his neck, whispering against his skin. “Shhh… I’ve got you.” You pressed another open-mouthed kiss to his neck, letting your teeth graze him. “Let me take care of you, okay?”

He cried out as your thumb swept across the head of his dick, not even caring if anyone else was listening despite feeling so shy earlier. You were good. So good that he wanted to simultaneously thank and kill whoever you’d touched before to be so fucking good at jerking him off. 

This was Steve Harrington, king of the hook-up, founder of skull rock— and he was terrified he was going to cum after hardly any action at all. He just wanted you so bad. The mere act of you touching him set every cell in his body aflame. 

“You’re so good, Steve,” you said softly, remembering how he’d reacted to your praise that first night. Now was as good a time as any to put that detail to the test. “So big, can barely fit my hand around you. See how little my hand is compared to your cock?”

He swore breathily. He’d never heard you talk like that once. 

“So big and so pretty for me. The prettiest guy I’ve ever seen.” You pressed another kiss to his neck. “Cum for me, Stevie. I wanna feel you cum while I’m touching you.

He was done for. With a string of moans, he came hard, ropes of pearly white painting the walls of the booth. It was gross if you thought about it, but you were too hung up on his pretty moans and the feel of him twitching in your hands to care. He thrust shallowly into your grip as you guided him through his finish, groaning at the way you squeezed him slightly before letting go.

“God, that was hot,” you said with a grin, meeting his gaze as he turned around, blushing deeply as he tucked himself back into his pants. “Was that all okay?”

He nodded, chest still heaving. “It was great.”

You grinned. “Great,” you echoed. “I should go clean up.” You held up your hand, glazed with his cum, and he grimaced, clearly apologetic. 

“God, I’m sorry, that’s—“

“Steve, it’s fine. I told you I thought it was hot, and I wasn’t kidding,” you said firmly. “Stay here while I clean up, then we’ll do our walk of shame together.” You paused, glancing around the booth. “Actually, you might want to wash your hands too.”

———

Back on the highway, Steve’s knuckles were white from how hard he was gripping the wheel. You toyed with the plastic handles on the little black bag in your lap, the crinkling sound drowning out Wham on the radio. 

“Where are we gonna park?” Steve asked suddenly, turning to glance in your direction. 

“Park?” You asked, a furrow between your brows. “Why are we parking?”

An awkward laugh slipped past his lips. “Uh, because you didn’t cum.” His expression was earnest— the sweetest puppy-dog eyes you’d ever seen. It was sweet that he wanted you to experience as much pleasure as you did. But your silence on the matter made his cheeks turn pink with sheepishness. “You bought that fake dick so I thought you wanted to… I dunno… use it, I guess?”

At his words, your mouth dropped open in realization. “Oh,” you replied. An uncomfortable laugh escaped you. “No… Stevie, I’m not going to fuck myself with a sex toy in your car.”

“Oh… I mean… yeah that, uh, makes sense.” He paused. “Do you want to like… fuck yourself with it somewhere else? I think there’s a blanket in my trunk if you want to go to Skull Rock, or—“

You laughed, shaking your head. “I don’t want a public indecency charge.”

He nodded, trying to stay nonchalant. “Yeah. Duh. Of course.” He set his mouth in a firm line, and you figured it was his way of stopping himself from saying anything else. “Yeah, just forget I asked.”

You sighed as he turned up the radio, humming along to the Beastie Boys. It was obvious that he was dejected from the way his brows furrowed, the corners of his mouth twitching downward. 

“It wasn’t a no, Steve,” you said gently, putting a hand on his arm. “It’s a ‘not in public.’”

He perked up, eyes wide with surprise as he met your gaze, taking in the sight of your growing smile. “It’s— It’s not a no?”

You shook your head firmly. “Can you swing by mine tonight? Late?”

He nodded eagerly. “Yeah, shouldn’t be a problem.”

———

Steve parked in front of your neighbor’s house, knowing that they were gone and wouldn’t mind. There was a skip in his step as he made his way along the lawn, already seeing dim light glowing from your window. He stopped just shy of the glass, peering in at the sight of you standing in front of the mirror, running your hands along your body. Blue silk covered your skin, the lace hem stopping just barely below your ass. 

His breath caught in his throat as he watched your hands wander over your tits, nails dimpling skin and lace. You smiled at your own reflection, then slipped the straps off, allowing the gown to pool at your feet. 

“Holy shit.” The words slipped out without him actually meaning to say them as he looked at your naked body in the dim lamplight. He felt his length twitch with need, desire stirring within. 

The curves of your body twisted as you stretched, arms reaching above your head, elongating your spine. The fall of your shoulders told him you had sighed as you turned, picking up the white silk teddy he’d chosen from where it laid against the bed. 

If anyone were to walk by, they would’ve thought he was a peeping tom or something. Fuck. That’s exactly what he was doing. 

You slipped on the teddy slowly, observing your body from each side with a furrow in your brow. Your hands smoothed out the fabric carefully, and he swallowed hard. 

The white fabric was thin and skimpy— he could see everything he wanted to through it. And even though you were just naked, the sight of you in sheer lingerie was even more erotic. 

You smiled at your reflection before you turned, laying down on the bed, your knee bent just slightly.  The lamplight cast a pretty glow over your skin as you tossed your head back, your hands wandering along your breasts, then between your legs. 

His cock pulsed in his jeans, uncomfortably tight for the second time that day, all because of you. He couldn’t help but let his hands brush over the obvious bulge he was sporting. A shaky groan escaped him before he thought better of it. You paused, but seemed to brush off the noise as the wind. 

He couldn’t help himself. Watching you through the glass— the unhurried, lazy way you sought pleasure—was enough to make him feel like a live wire. He rubbed his denim-clad length, swallowing as you threw your head back against the pillows, arching your back slightly. He squeezed, the pressure so good but not near enough. 

He popped the button of his jeans, unzipping just enough to fit his hand. He moaned at the feel of his hand around his cock, chest heaving with restraint. You sat up suddenly at the noise, turning to the window. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, quickly zipping and adjusting his pants. “Shit.”

“Stevie?” Your voice was muffled by the glass, but he made it out clear as day. You hopped off the bed and leaned against the sill, the silk blousing enough that he could see straight through to your tits. He swallowed hard, tearing his gaze from the fucking incredible sight to meet your eyes. “You been there long?”

You made quick work of the window, tugging it up to allow him in. He peered at you from outside, his eyes wide and sheepish. “Uh, no,” he said quickly. “Not long.”

You grinned, nodding for him to come inside. “Alright, pervert,” you teased. “Get in here quick before someone calls the cops.”

He practically leaped over the window-sill, landing with a soft thud on your carpeted floor. You laughed at his eagerness and tugged the window back down, drawing the curtains quickly. 

“So…” you said, settling back on the bed, lying on your side to face him. “Any reason you stayed out there spying instead of coming inside?”

His face fell, a frown pulling at his lips. “You’re right. It was wrong and gross of me to just stand out there and watch you, but you just looked so pretty trying on your new stuff, and then you were on the bed and your hands started moving and—“

“Were you touching yourself?” You asked, cocking your head to the side. “While you were peeping through my windows, that is.”

He made a soft noise, right in the back of his throat, something between a whimper and a whine. “Yeah. Fuck, that was so wrong of me to do. I’m really sorry.”

“Steve, I’m fucking with you,” you said quickly, worried he might actually take it to heart. “I heard your car door slam, so I put on a little show.”

He groaned, leaning his head back until it banged on the window-sill. “You’re such an asshole.” He shook his head and looked at you expectantly. “So are you going to keep going, or not?”

A surprised laugh escaped you at his tone, and you couldn’t help but relish in his desire. In the past few weeks, your confidence had skyrocketed— you had never felt more confident in your own skin until Steve treated you like something worth worshipping. 

With a wink in his direction, you turned onto your back, spreading your legs slightly to fit your hand. His eyes followed your hands, but your eyes were glued on him. Gently, you let your hands wander along the silk, dancing along each dip and curve in your figure. 

“Tell me what to do,” you said, meeting his darkened gaze. He swallowed, eyes trailing up and down your body. 

It was a few moments before he spoke up, wetting his lips with his tongue before he finally told you what he wanted. “Take your clothes off,” he said finally, his voice more confident and firm than you expected. Heat burned in your cheeks at the ferocity of his gaze, the desire within it. You moved to brush the straps off your shoulders, but he shook his head. “Not like that. Slow.”

A shiver ran through you, and you nodded, standing from the bed to remove it properly. Slowly, you brushed the first strap off your shoulder, letting it fall to your elbow, exposing your breast. Already puckered from the cool air through the thin fabric, it felt sensitive so bare. 

Steve sat forward as you let the second strap fall, leaving you naked from the waist up.  A low noise came from the back of his throat, and you gave a shaky exhale. You turned, facing away from him as you brought your hands to the waistband, bending as you dragged the fabric to the floor, where it pooled at your feet. 

“Fuck. You’re incredible,” he said as you turned back around, crossing your arms across your belly sheepishly. “Back on the bed now. I wanna watch you touch yourself.”

“Jesus, okay,” you said softly, lying back against your pillows. “Do you want to get up here? Have a closer look?”

It was like asking a fish if it wanted to swim. Or a dog if it wanted the juiciest, most expensive steak in the world. He simply had no choice in the matter— every single one of his cells was screaming yes. He sat at the foot of your bed, watching you keenly as your hands began to trace along your bare skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

A shaky sigh escaped you as your fingertips brushed along your thighs, making you part them slightly to fit your hand. At the first brush of your fingers against your clit, you gasped, your breath coming in shaky bursts. 

You’d been pent up since the sex shop, since you’d actually touched Steve. And having him just watch while you pleasured yourself was so much more intense than anything you’d done with him before. 

 It would be stupid to deny that you cared about him anymore— it was just a fact of your existence, same as your eye color or the shade of your hair. You liked him. Maybe even loved him, if you really thought about it. He was simply your favorite person in the world. 

“You can do more than that,” he said, the corners of his mouth quirking into a grin. You swallowed hard, fingers dipping towards your center. “Tell me what you’re feeling, sweetheart.”

“I’m so wet,” you gasped, closing your eyes as your head fell back against the pillow. It was too intense to keep looking at him, not with everything you were feeling then. “Just wanna be filled up so bad.”

A soft hum escaped him, making your cheeks heat up. “With what?”

“Fingers.” You barely managed the two syllables as you pushed two digits into yourself, a choked sob escaping your lips as you fucked yourself with them deeper. 

“You sure?” He asked, and you could almost hear his smug grin. You were impossibly wet, you could hear the obscene noise of your fingers pushing in and out of your pussy. And, god, you needed more. “‘Cause if you want something I can go get it.”

Oh. Smug bastard. You swallowed down your pride and nodded, opening your eyes to meet his gaze. “Please,” you said simply, cheeks burning. 

He raised a brow, glancing around your room. “Want something specific… or dealer’s choice? I’ve got my eye on a pretty sick-looking candle on your dresser. Like from Debbie Does Dallas. You remember that one from two weeks ago, don’t you?”

You kicked him lightly with your foot as he burst into laughter, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him smiling. God, you had it bad. “Go get the toy dipshit,” you said, with a pointed look. “It’s in the back of my underwear drawer.”

He grinned victoriously, hopping from the bed to rifle through your dresser while you watched. While he snooped, you continued to pump your fingers in and out of yourself slowly, relishing in the sensation of being filled, even if it wasn’t as much as you wanted. He held up a pair of pink panties with an embroidered cherry on the front grinning wildly. 

“These are cute,” he said as he tucked them into his back pocket. You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t ignore the heat that burned in your belly at the thought of him having them. A soft, aha, sounded from his lips and he turned, holding the dildo casually in his grip. 

Your mouth practically watered at the sight, your cunt spamming around your fingers, desperate for more. “Is this what you wanted?” He asked, raising a brow. You nodded and he smirked. “Yeah? The same toy you compared to my dick?” You nodded again, chewing on your lip. 

He sat back on the bed, not handing over the toy just yet. “You gonna think about me while you use it?” He looked at you curiously, and you felt the line of questioning tipping further away from just dirty talk. 

“Yeah,” you said weakly. “I’m gonna think about you, Stevie. Please let me have it.”

His face lit up at your words, eyes brightening with the telltale signs of an idea forming. You felt your breath shudder in anticipation. 

“I’ll let you have it,” he said plainly. “I’ll give it to you if you’re good and let me.”

Wait… you sat up on your elbows, meeting his gaze with wide eyes. “You want to… use it on me?” You swallowed. Hard. He nodded and your heart skipped enough beats to make you genuinely concerned. “O-okay.”

“You sure?” He asked, his voice softer. 

“Mhmm,” you replied, offering a small smile. “I trust you.” You paused, feeling suddenly shy. “How are we gonna do this?”

He paused, brows furrowing as he considered his options. God, you wanted to know every thought running through his head. “I’ll sit behind you, you lean back on my chest, that way I can just reach around and… y’know.”

You nodded, sitting up so he could slide into place behind him. He settled comfortably behind you, wrapping one arm around your belly to ease you against him. It felt strange to be so naked while he was fully dressed, but not enough to really mind. You laid back against him, spreading your legs to allow him access. 

Knowing him, you figured he’d just go in with the dildo and just ram you with it a few times, but you were sorely mistaken. The toy was discarded to the side for the moment, his fingers moving between your legs to rub your clit, eliciting contented moans from you. 

Your hips buck into the sensation, grinding in thoughtless, subconscious movements to get more pressure out of his touch. His tongue clicked, chiding you for your impatience, but he didn’t do anything to stop you. You figured he liked knowing you wanted more. 

“What fingers do you use when you touch yourself,” he asked, breath warm against your ear. 

“Huh?” You asked, almost breathless, too riled up to think clearly. 

He held up his hand, wiggling his fingers jokingly for a moment. “Ring-middle, or pointer-middle?” He asked, flexing them in turn. “I have a preference, I just wanna see if you do too.”

Smug fucker. “I don’t really think about it,” you answered honestly. “Ring-middle, I think.”

“Excellent choice,” he said, and you could practically hear his grin. You sighed, leaning further back against him as his hand settled back between your legs. Your cunt was practically pulsing as he let his fingers wander, dipping into the wetness pooled at your entrance before returning to your clit, circling gently. “You want my fingers?”

You nodded wordlessly, yeah thrown back against his shoulders as he teased your entrance, making you whimper. His lack of action told you one thing— he wanted you to say it. “Please, Steve,” you practically whined. “I want your fingers so bad.”

You hadn’t ever really thought about how his hands would feel until that moment, when his middle finger breached your entrance and pushed deep within you. It felt like heaven, but you needed more. You rocked against his fingers, encouraging him deeper, or to move, or to use one more. You didn’t really know what you wanted, just that you wanted something. 

“So fucking needy,” he mumbled against your hair. “It’s cute.” 

“Sh-shut up,” you said, voice catching as he pushed another finger within you. Ring-middle. Fucking incredible choice. The sounds his fingers made as they fucked you were obscene. You hadn’t even known your body could do what he was making it do. “I want more, Stevie. Please.”

“Yeah?” He asked, removing his soaked fingers to toy with your clit. “You want me to fuck you with the fake dick you bought? Hm?” 

“Steve,” you said, feeling embarrassed for no discernible reason. He laughed lightly into your hair and you burned inside. “Steve I want you to fuck me with it so bad. I really want it.”

“Yeah? You think it’s gonna feel like I would?” He asked, letting the toy run along your slit so it was coated in your wetness. Each brush of the silicon against your clit made you gasp. 

“Almost,” you said, exhaling a shaky breath as he pushed the toy in barely an inch. “It won’t feel as good.”

“No, it won’t,” he said, using his other hand to tease your clit as he pushed the toy in slowly, so you felt each and every passing inch. “But it’ll feel good for now, won’t it?”

As soon as the toy bottomed out, filling you completely, you gasped, nodding desperately. “Yes. It feels so good.” 

“Yeah?” His teeth grazed your ear as he spoke, his words low as he fucked you with the toy. “You like feeling stuffed with cock, hm? Does it feel good to be so full?” You nodded, beyond words at that point. His fingers moved faster on your clit as he thrust the dildo shallowly, just like you needed. You felt deliciously full, and each touch on your clit made your veins feel like fire. 

“Fuck,” you gasped, nails clinging to his thighs on either side of you. “Fuck, Steve, I’m so close. You’re gonna make me cum. Please make me cum. I want it so bad.”

He kept up the same rhythm, pulling you closer and closer to the edge. You felt like crying from the pleasure that he so easily drew out of you, and he was touching you like he was fluent in the language your body spoke. You came suddenly, crying out a mix of obscenities and his name, grinding against the toy and his fingers, desperate for more of that delicious feeling. 

The feeling of him slipping the toy from your cunt was strange— you suddenly felt so incomplete. You felt sensitive all over to the slightest touch, shivering as the chill in the room suddenly became apparent. 

“That was—“ You sighed happily, feeling drowsy and sated with the pleasure coursing through you. “So good. Never understood a reputation more than in this moment.” Your eyes were heavy as you blinked, turning to face him. 

You wanted to press your lips to his, kiss him until you were desperate for breath. You shivered. “Can you grab me pajamas?” You asked softly. He nodded, slipping from behind you to rifle through your dresser again. 

He turned, holding up a blue button-up pajama set for your appraisal. When you nodded, he shut the drawer and returned, grabbing the cherry print panties he’d stashed earlier. 

“See, I’m not a pervert, I just think ahead,” he said with a grin. You slipped them on and let him help you pull the pajama shirt over your head. 

“I still kind of think you’re a pervert, Steve,” you replied as you awkwardly tugged on the pajama pants. You turned to face him, peering down at the bulge in his jeans. “You, uh, want some help with that?”

He brushed you off with a wave of his hand, pulling off his shirt and jeans before climbing into bed. “Nah, you’re tired. Just c’mere.”

You didn’t question Steve wanting to stay the night. You didn’t find it presumptuous or overbearing. The sight of Steve looking up at you from your quilted blankets, his brown eyes so inviting, made your heart melt. You grinned and slipped beneath the covers, reaching over to turn off the lamp before you cuddled against his side. 

He was warm, and he was in your bed. And you were almost entirely certain you loved him.

[greenorangevioletgrass]

haven: fall [b.w.]

series masterlist | ko-fi

pairing: college!bruce wayne x OC

summary: on his final year at Yale, Bruce Wayne, aged 21, stumbled into a theater class and fell for the girl who played Hamlet. In his coming of age, Bruce is torn between his past and his present, and whichever path he chose would determine his future.

word count: 11.8k

warnings: slow burn, friends to lovers, language, smoking, more Hamlet references, angst in a play, mention of grief with Bruce’s parents, fluff, hurt/comfort, so much yearning ohmygod, smut [dry humping, fingering, handjob], bruce is an awkward lil bean <3

notes: reposted as a longer oneshot! big thanks to @awkward-darkness @shipping-not-sailing @skyebounded @inklore @tommysparker for making this all possible, and @blue-aconite @spnbarnes for saving this from getting shelved!! see you in the 'winter'! <3

*follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass to get notified for my latest words <3 happy reading and please reblog and share if you liked it!*

PROLOGUE

Bruce Wayne was seven years old when he first stood on a stage.

He’s always liked The Lion King. He’d watched it countless times—so much so that the tape had stayed in the VHS player in the playroom for a whole year. The tie-in books were his favorites whenever his dad could read him before bedtime, right before he fell asleep snuggling his Simba stuffie. Some nights, he would dream of golden savannas and purple skies and red-billed hornbills flying overhead. His mother swore she found him humming what sounded like Hakuna Matata in his sleep once.

So when he saw it live for the first time—the first time he saw anything live—so early even in his childhood… It changed his life. Rafiki’s opening chant cut through the quiet theatre, and the choir sounded so grand, he felt it in his bones as he buzzed in his seat. The animals came out—elephant and rhino trodding down the aisle, passing right by him—so unlike the animated pictures he grew to love but so enchanting all the same. The golden savannas and rising sun and grassland creatures coming to life before him.

At the end of the show, someone made a speech and called his parents onto the stage. He didn’t understand much of it then—something about supporting arts and renaming the Minskoff Theater into Wayne Theater. Bruce didn’t pay it any mind; he was too busy marveling at the ‘animals’ next to him. Life-sized puppets attached to the actors, like an extension of their bodies. The man who played Simba caught him staring, and when he nodded, the lion’s head on top of his moved, too.

And as his mother and father shook hands with people after the curtains closed, Bruce was more interested in the chaos that ensued on the wings. People with headsets and clipboards milling around, little red and green lights blinking on panels, thick ropes that held the golden sun together… 

These were the things that brought his dreams to life.

***

Bruce Wayne was eight years old when he swore off the stage.

He’d just lost his parents—gone forever, just like that—and he had to stand by as the police commissioner made a speech. He didn’t really hear a word of it—just the shutters of cameras and blitzes of the flash. And the rare clear sky over Gotham that morning. The warmth doesn’t feel comforting.

And standing on a platform in front of Wayne Tower, with no wings or curtains framing the stage… It's a cruel awakening, knowing that nothing held this fragment of reality up. No suspension of disbelief, no strings or ropes holding this surreal scene together.

It’s a nightmare that stood on its own. And Bruce had nowhere to run.

He just squeezed Alfred’s hand tighter, wishing the curtains would close on him. Any minute now.

It never did.

***

ACT ONE

Bruce Wayne was twenty one years old when he found himself backstage at his university’s theater space.

It was his own stupid fault, really. He meant to sign up for Theater Studies as an elective, a critical textual analysis of classic and contemporary plays. But instead, he accidentally clicked on Theater Production, which was a practice-based class where they would collaborate with the Acting program. By the time he’d mustered the courage to switch classes, it was already time to choose which department to join for their final project, a full production of a classic or contemporary play. 

Hence Bruce, ever so quiet and invisible and withdrawn from classroom discussions, was mapping out a costume inventory list in a little corner in the wings.

It’s strange, a backstage area that’s not fully active. Just a few of his classmates in the art department and the stage management team. People coming and going for the auditions this late Sunday morning. Different interpretations of the same monologues performed in the background, on the stage. He didn’t mind it; at least the attention was not on him, this time.

He tidied up his notes and his copy of the design sketches, maybe he could get a cup of coffee while he worked—

“Fuck!” a girl crashed right into his shoulder, sending his notebook flying. She dove down and scrambled for the scattered pages before he could see her face. “Shit…”

And yet, the first thing that came out of Bruce’s mouth is, “Sorry.”

She looked up, meeting his evading eyes. “What? No, I’m sorry. It’s… the nerves.”

“Are you auditioning?”

She looked towards the stage, where a guy was performing his monologue, grand and dramatic and just a tad over-the-top, and then nodded at the boy in front of her—as if embarrassed, almost.

“Good luck.” Bruce managed a smile, although he was sure she knew it’s out of courtesy more than anything else.

But the smile she returned was genuine, almost amused, and he wondered if he said something wrong. Or maybe there’s something on his face?

“Isn’t it bad luck to say good luck in the theater?” She handed the stack of papers back to him.

Right, Bruce internally kicked himself. “Sorry. Break a leg…?”

She nodded as she got back up on her feet. “That’s more like it.”

“Thanks, you too.” Bruce walked away, mentally kicking himself once again for that nonsensical response. He skulked along the corner aisle, quietly making his way towards the exit. Only stopping when he heard a familiar voice introducing herself on the stage.

The girl who sent his work flying. 

“And who are you auditioning for today?” Marc, the director, asked.

“Hamlet.”

There’s a brief pause as he took a good look at her, for a moment thinking she’d misheard him. “Uh… yeah, what role?”

“Hamlet,” she confirmed without missing a beat, as if it’s the most obvious thing ever.

Another pause between Marc and Angela, the stage manager, exchanging subtle looks of surprise. They leaned into a hushed discussion—they weren’t expecting that. But now that the possibility was presented in front of them, safe to say they were… curious.

“Alright. Whenever you’re ready.” Marc ultimately decided.

The girl on the stage nodded gamely, taking a deep breath, and Bruce found himself intrigued too, leaning against the velvety walls of the auditorium. And then, simply, almost matter-of-factly, she spoke.

“To be or not to be,” she asked, to everyone and no one in particular. And upon the silence replying back to her, she hummed. “That is the question: whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to…” her mouth twisted in distaste, “...suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,” she paused again, and just like that, her features softened, as if presenting a much preferred option, “or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing… end them?”

Bruce—along with everyone else in that room, he’s sure—didn’t know what to expect. The prospect of a female Hamlet was so far off of the production concept that the team had come up with; so teeming with rage and male bravado. But there she was. In a black dress, so calm, almost catatonic in her grief, so understated, so unlike what everyone imagined. And yet, so true to the text that it didn’t feel like Shakespeare anymore.

It was hers. Her own contemplation whether to live, or…

“To die.” she smiled ruefully. She looked out towards the audience and caught Bruce’s gaze, as if finding moral support, using the plainest of words in the lightest of manners. “To sleep, no more.”

Not that she needed to. He knew exactly what she meant. To cease life itself; the heartaches and the body aches that came with possessing this physical flesh. To rest, that's it. He wished for it everyday for the last thirteen years, and wondered if this part of the play was a cruel prophecy to his fate, written centuries ago.

“‘Tis a consummation devoutly to be wish’d,” she admitted. Her gaze broke away from him as she moved away from his side of the theater. “To die… to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream,” she mused, letting out a longing sigh. And then, it dawned on her. 

Here’s the catch: what happens after death?

It’s a question responsible for many of Bruce’s sleepless nights. What calamity awaits out there in death that we’d much rather put up with the humiliations of abuse and heartbreak and injustice and time instead? And to see the exasperation, the disdain as her pace and emotion picked up, so similar to his own… it almost felt like an out-of-body experience.

“Who would fardels bear? To grunt and sweat under a weary life, but that the dread of something after death.” she stopped in her tracks, and the tears that welled up in her eyes glimmered under the spotlight. “The undiscovered country. From whose bourn no traveler returns—”

Her voice caught as the three words echoed in the room—in her mind. No traveler returns. Not Hamlet’s father.

Not Bruce’s. Nor his mother.

The facade cracked, just a little, and the question whether it’s worth it to bear the known ills in life than to face the uncertainty of death came out raw because what’s the fucking point. The tears escaped not out of sorrow anymore, Bruce suspected, but out of pure exhaustion.

But with a sharp inhale, she pulled herself together. Calm and composed. Prim and proper, as she patted the tears dry with her palm flat on her cheek. Fingertips gently pressing against her skin.

“Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all.” she walked back to her original spot with a wry nod, a ghost of herself now that she’d shown her cards, and Bruce’s heart stopped as she met his gaze again for a moment. 

And then, she addressed the audience (and herself) using more… diplomatic words, although she’s not fooling anyone. “The native hue of Resolution,” the straightforwardness of Death, “is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of Thought,” cockblocked by the slightest Reason. “And enterprises of great pitch and moment with this regard— their currents turn awry, and lose the name of–” she mused thoughtfully, as if shuffling through the head for the right word—the end of everything—only to come up with… 

“Action.”

Action. A word that Bruce could never amount to, after hours of staring at the pills in the medicine cabinet or the knives in the chef’s kitchen of the Wayne Tower. Action, as he went through the motions just enough to not be carried away in the motions itself. Action, a funny word to represent the lack thereof.

Action. 

As her performance ended and his own began, as a functioning member of the production. And the society overall.

A round of applause erupted—as much as it could with seven people scattered in the 200-seater theater anyway— and Bruce followed along. Eyes still following into the girl onstage, bowing and relaxing into her own form as she disappeared into the wings, leaving Hamlet out on the stage.

***

ACT TWO

Bruce Wayne never cared for college social life.

He didn’t care for parties or casual hangs in the common room. But apparently, the pre-production party was an unofficially mandatory part of the class. As soon as the read-through concluded, the director ushered everyone to the edge of the forest, just around the block, for a ritual celebration of sorts, something about blessing a Shakespeare production. He wanted to bail, tried so hard to slip away from the crowd, but the theater kids were a superstitious bunch and he didn’t want to create any unnecessary rift with the people he had to work with.

So he stuck around, as the director made an opening remark by the open fire, marking the start of the production. Drank as they raised a toast “to the stage!”. Inching further and further to the back when somebody rolled out a speaker, and played some pop-y, campy tune he didn’t recognize. All he wanted was to go back to his room and read one of the five books he checked out from the library this week. It was lame and a little pretentious, admittedly, but it’s peaceful.

Predictable.

The girl clocking him and walking towards him from the crowd was anything but.

Hamlet, Princess of Denmark. So cold and deranged in the reading of the tragedy, yet so… warm in the chilly autumn air, huddled into her jacket. Greeting and weaving her way through classmates milling and hanging around like she’d known them forever, all the way to this new boy. Standing alone, sticking out like a sore thumb, all the while trying desperately to blend into the background.

But she spotted him, and he spotted her.

“Congratulations,” he greeted her briefly, and then cleared his throat as he heard his sentence hanging in mid-air, “on getting the lead, I mean.”

She beamed, either unaware or unfazed by his awkwardness, and mock-curtsied. “All thanks to you.”

“Do you say that to all the guys?”

“Only the sweet ones who wished me ‘break a leg’ and stood in the aisle in support.”

“Right…” he shifted on his heels. A smile threatened to break out of the corner of his lips and he had to remind himself: don’t get carried away. She was an actor, for fuck’s sake, she could play him like a flute. “Well, I’ll see you around.”

But before he took another step, her hand grasped his arm. Warmth emanating from her palm even through layers of wool and cotton of his coat and sweater. “Whoa, wait. You’re leaving already?”

Bruce shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Oh, come on. Stay another ten minutes, at least,” she cajoled him, “If the party still sucks, I’ll walk you home myself.”

“Wow.” he looked away bashfully. “Chivalry’s dead, huh?”

“Fell on its sword, God rest its soul,” she chuckled, and he secretly loved the Hozier reference. Then, as if sensing his discomfort among the crowd, she motioned away from the crowd, “Come on, the view is better out here.”

Bruce felt more at ease when he could hear the leaves crunching under his shoes. The tree roots coiling and bulging on the ground like veins to the earth. She sat back against a red oak tree and scooted aside to make room for her new friend (acquaintance, more like). Chelsea boots crossed at the ankles, and olive green dress flaring over her knees. The singing became more of a distant humdrum, and the cheering and shrieking of people playing drinking/kissing games was easier to tune out. Although not enough to completely ignore.

“Never thought theater kids would be so… wild.”

“Oh, we’re the wildest of the bunch. All that angst and tension brought out on purpose… See those guys?” she gestured at Shannon and Gabbie from Set Design, making out by the bonfire. “Their story was far more dramatic than the show we were doing last year. And we were doing Passion.”

Bruce had no idea what the play was about, but he understood the sentiment and appreciated the irony.

“So what major are you? Can’t be theater, right? ‘Cause I’ve never seen you around before.” she swirled the drink in her hand.

He shook his head. “Criminal Justice, actually.”

“Christ, you’re a long way from home.” her eyebrows went up to her hairline at his answer.

“You?”

“Acting, final year.”

He pursed his lips and took a sip of his drink, unsure why he asked in the first place. Figures.

“So why’d you take this elective?” she caught herself, realizing how harsh it sounded. “Not in a weird gatekeeping way or anything. But it’s shit credit, too much workload... It’s basically unpaid labor, at this point.”

“I… didn’t. I signed up for the wrong class, and then I was too late to withdraw,” he admitted with a grimace.

She chuckled. “Oof. My condolences.”

Bruce tried his hardest not to stare. No matter how unsurprised he was by how comfortably she’s lounged on this uneven surface. Legs stretched out, arm resting on a small crook of the tree, sipping crappy wine out of a plastic cup. A complete opposite of his position, bent knees and elbows shirking in on himself. Somehow finding themselves in each other’s company at the edge of this party.

When he finally turned to look, it was because of the click-click-click of a lighter and a tiny spark of ember in his peripheral vision. Beside him, a blunt hung between her lips and one hand sheltered it from the wind.

“Oh, shit. Sorry. Where are my manners.” she pinched it between her middle and forefinger, pulling it away from her mouth, and his eyes caught on the lipstick mark on the wrapping paper, rosy and glossy even in the dim lighting. “Want some?”

And just like that, he was brought to a frantic awakening as he stammered, “Oh, I– I don’t…”

“Don’t smoke or don’t know how to?”

A pause. He tried to muster an answer that sounded a bit more dignified, but maybe in his time of thinking, the pause all but indicated it was the latter. 

“Nothing to be ashamed of.” she waved him off. “To each their own. Do you mind if I…?”

“Please.”

He tried to keep cool, he really did, and for a moment, he thought the short, quick answers would save him. But she lit the joint, and in the brief second that the tiny flame illuminated her face, he could see her long lashes fanning against the freckled skin under her eyes as her lids dropped to a close. Her cheeks sank in, and the line of her cheekbone gave some edge to an otherwise soft face. And as the back of her head hit the tree trunk, smoke in her wake, he was utterly lost. Fuck, she’s hot.

“Can you shotgun me?”

Her eyes snapped open (and to be honest, he’s just as surprised as she was), although she tried not to move so suddenly, as if worried he might scatter away. “Seriously?”

“I mean…” he muttered lamely, “If you want.”

“I mean, sure…” she started, looking him straight in the eyes for good measure. “Are you sure about this?”

He shrugged.

“Huh.” she smiled to herself, unable to contain the surprise in her features as she straightened up into a more upright position.

Neither of them could ever anticipate the closeness of this encounter. Shoulder to shoulder, legs colliding and finding their way to coexist. Face inches away from each other. Her forefinger touching the underside of his chin, the rounded end of her nail gently scratching his five o’clock shadow. 

Bruce was starting to wonder if this was a bad idea. But then her voice pulled him out of his reverie, soft and low,

“Just breathe in. Hold. And breathe out, okay?”

He nodded exactly once. Afraid that if he’d done more than once, one of them would change their mind.

No.

Afraid she would, because in this moment, Bruce realized he wanted nothing else.

She inhaled deeply through her joint, and tilted him closer to her. He swore he could almost feel her lips as she blew into his slightly ajar mouth.

“Slowly… that’s it…” she watched him intently as he followed her voice. Proud as it didn’t catch in his throat, making him cough. She just studied the smoke coming out of his lips. “Look at that. You’re a natural.”

Bruce watched her smirk, watched how one corner of her mouth pulled, how the tip of her tongue darted out ever so slightly for a moment, wetting her lips. “All thanks to you,” his throat felt scratchy, but he managed a somewhat cheeky reply, recalling her own words earlier.

“Do you say that to all the girls?” her voice was honeyed with teasing.

And he wanted to come up with something smart and quippy, by God he did, but maybe his brain only limited him to one line per conversation and he’d used it up already. So he just admitted, quite pathetically in his opinion,

“No.”

There was a certain brand of thoughtfulness as she took another puff for herself. And then another. And then a look of question when she gazed up at him again, and he leaned in at her wordless offer.

This time, their lips did touch. And he thought he was imagining it.

Barely a graze. She might have even done it by accident. But even in doing so, it made him forget how to breathe. The smoke just hovered in his mouth cavity for a moment. It wasn’t until her nose grazed him that he came to and shallowly, involuntarily gasped.

There was just a haze between them.

And then there was none.

At the same time, there was so much more. So much that Bruce didn’t know which one to process first. The smell of leaves and fresh laundry and flowery shampoo. The sweet, tangy taste of wine on her tongue.

The warmth of her lips on her.

Soft. Gentle. She deepened the kiss tentatively, like she’s knocking on his door, asking to be let in. He was never a big believer in higher power, but as God as his witness, he would let her knock down his entire wall and make herself at home in a heartbeat.

No questions asked.

She, on the other hand, seemed to have one, judging from how she pulled away, brows furrowed in thought.

Oh, no. Back in the figurative mental safehouse you go.

“Fuck. Where are my manners? Uh…” she giggled, “I haven’t even got your name.”

He relaxed, releasing the breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “Bruce. And you are…?”

He felt stupid for asking her this. He really shouldn’t have to ask, she’s the lead for fuck’s sake, but he came in late from a class and missed the introductions. By the time he arrived, the read-through had already begun and they were already calling her by her character’s name.

But she didn’t seem to mind. She simply uttered, “Eden,” and kissed him stupid again.

It took him embarrassingly long to realize that she was saying her name instead of describing what this was.

His hand braving itself to settle on her soft cheek, warm and flushed from the alcohol and the influence of it all. Meanwhile, her touches were bold, pushing the dark strands off of his face and tangling her fingers through his hair. Lips joined together in a kiss, deeper and deeper as they went on.

Heaven.

Heaven was the hand that ventured along his jaw. Down his chest.

Trailing up his inner thigh.

Her knuckle grazed his crotch, and he wondered if these featherlight touches of hers were never coincidental after all. But there’s a more pressing issue at hand; that of… a growing ache between his legs, and she giggled. Lazy, breathless, and hazy.

Fuck. I’ve been made.

She caught his lower lip between her teeth, tugging it a little. Drawing it out. Weighing in her choices once again.

But then she broke the kiss completely, straddling his lap, and Bruce thought he was losing his mind.

It had to be the weed, right? Because kisses weren’t dizzying, and the way her dress hiked up her thigh shouldn’t make his palms vibrate with the need to touch her. And when her palm trailed down to where he needed her…

The party nearby just fell away. The music and celebration died out. Just the rustles of the trees. The shuffling of fabric rubbing against each other, from chests heaving up and down. From breath, stolen and taken away by each other. A little bubble that felt like no time and all of the time in the world had passed at once.

“…but the Act 1 finale to Sunday in the Park with George is un-fucking-paralleled, though!” a girl’s voice gushed in the distance, footsteps approaching closer to where Bruce and Eden were tangled together, and she all but jumped back to her original spot. Raking through her hair really quickly in a daze.

Bruce froze in his place, secretly hoping they would veer away from their path. Or not see them somehow. Or anything. But the voice grew closer and closer, and he could hear another set of footsteps with this one.

“Like when the real painting came down? Ugh, I nutted!” she groaned, barely acknowledging them. “Oh, hey guys.”

Eden nodded at the girl—Laura, head of the costume department—trying to play it off like nothing happened.

But, when Laura didn’t give a flying fuck, Angela—the stage manager—, did a double-take... First at Eden. Then at the joint between Eden’s fingers. “Damn, you corrupting the new kid already?” she turned to Bruce, “Careful there. This one’s a troublemaker.”

“Um. I was just leaving.” Bruce shot up to his feet, wrapping his coat around his body tightly and barely looking at her when he said, ”Bye, Eden,” rushing off as fast as he could.

And when the party was entirely out of reach, he realized just violently he tore himself away from her. The gloss of her lips still lingered. Her hand. Her scent. Her hand over his hard fucking cock. The way her name tastes when he said it the first time.

How much he’d taken for granted all of the above.

***

ACT THREE

Bruce didn’t see Eden for much of the week.

He supposed it was better this way. There were quizzes and assignments to be done, and he spent most of his time at the library and his dorm. When he went to the Theater building, he stayed in the costume workshop. On different floors, on opposite wings. Copying designs, doing the math, preparing materials… he had a lot of learning to do, but he could do it fast.

It was definitely for the best. Anything to get his mind off of thinking which one is more stupid; making out with her or walking away from making out with her.

“Hey, Bruce?” Laura hollered, without looking up from her workstation. “Can you go upstairs and take Eden’s measurements? They’re rehearsing in the Woodard Studio.”

Fuck. He looked around the room, finding nobody else there. This was a nightmare coming to life, but damned if he was going to be spoiled brat Bruce Wayne in a setting where people finally let him be.

So even with his heart in his throat and his brain telling him to run the other way, he grabbed a pencil, a tape measure, and a blank new measurement sheet. “Okay, sure.”

The climb up to the top floor was entirely too short, that Bruce had half a mind to take another lap to the ground floor and back. But Lady Luck seemed to continuously be on his side, and Eden walked out of the studio just as he reached the top of the stairs. They locked eyes for a moment, like neither knew how to act, until she addressed him. Cool and nonchalant. “Hey.”

He braced himself, approaching her by the water fountain as she refilled her bottle. Trying not to even think about the yoga pants clinging to her thighs. The sports bra wrapped around her chest like a corset. Or armor? Because she looked like she could break someone in half in that.

Focus, Bruce.

“Got a minute?”

“‘Sup?”

He paused, caught off-guard with her short reply. But he powered through, lifting the piece of paper in his hand. “I, uh, need to take your measurements.”

She hummed dryly, “Right,” leading him into the rehearsal space.

Bruce should’ve been careful with what he wished for, for the walk to be longer, because the 15-foot distance from the door to the row of seats in one corner of the studio felt like miles as they walked in silence, careful not to disturb the rehearsal in the process.

And he never minded the silence, not once, but he minded hers. She was normally so talkative, so engaging, and these monosyllabic answers—the stare burning into his back as he unrolled his tape measure—was quite unnerving. He hated it.

“What.”

She shrugged noncommittally, looking out at the fight sequence being rehearsed. The thumps and squeaks of shoes on the floor felt deafening

He sighed, a quick glare before he began measuring the width of her shoulders. Her back. Her arms. Down her spine. Jotting down the numbers as he filled out the form. Trying not to go insane in the sheer intimacy of his fingers treading along her body, learning every inch in between the fabric of clothing and the skin it clung onto, and how he did it under such a cold, clinical circumstance.

An agonizing stretch of silence.

Her silence.

Especially knowing that she must’ve had something to say.

“So, let me get this straight.” she drew a sharp breath, and Bruce was kind of relieved to be on talking terms, at the very least. “First, you made out with me, and then you ditched me, and now you’ve pulled me into a corner to take my measurements? My, my. Talk about mixed signals.” Eden tilted her head to the side, sarcasm lacing her voice this time, and he knew he was in for it.

“This wasn’t up to me,” Bruce quietly, evenly replied, trying not to feel like a scolded schoolboy.

She turned around to meet his gaze, taking this as a personal challenge now. “Ah, but you’re a big boy, aren’t you?” she straightened up with a ghost of a smirk, as if squaring up to him, and it terrified and excited him at the same time. “Laura could’ve done it. I’m sure she’d much prefer to do this over carrying big logs of fabric into the workshop. So… what gives?”

A heavy pause hung over their heads. Even with her arms outspread, so open and vulnerable, she was still the one in control. Her head held high and eyes searching into his. It took Bruce everything to keep his fingers steady as they pinned the tape measure on her waist.

He wanted so desperately to have some semblance of upper hand in this game. He unpinned his fingertips from the tape and pulled it back. “You said shit credits, so… gotta make it worth it.”

Her eyes rolled in amusement, and Bruce thought he’d made a complete fool of himself. She definitely saw through his bullshit answer, she was kind enough to let it slide, if the little smile she was sporting was any indication. The air wasn’t as heavy anymore, and he was tempted to leave it be.

It wasn’t quite an upper hand, but it’s as good as it’s gonna get.

But the edge, the anticipation persisted (and no, it wasn’t because he’s measuring her underbust next), and he couldn’t shake off the feeling that it was his turn to speak. Her cold shoulder treatment was warranted, and she merely opened the door enough for him to prove he was worth her time. 

And he wanted to be worth her time… for reasons unbeknownst to even himself.

So he cleared his throat to make his case. “I also wanted to apologize for last weekend.”

“For what, making out with me or ditching me?” Her eyes flitted back to him.

His heart clenched, and he barely had the gall to look in her direction. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Jury’s still out,” she quipped, though there was no malice in her tone.

Bruce grimaced, but it’s all fair, he supposed. “It won’t happen again.”

“Hm.” she softened. Thoughtful, but said nothing else.

And as she let him work quietly, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made another mistake with that promise. Yes, he was wrong to just leave her there. But did he really want it to never happen again? To never experience her mouth that drove him crazy, be it in banter or kiss, ever again? To never study the curve of her hips beyond this flimsy string he held together around her? To feel her warm, intoxicating body on top of his—

“I don’t hold it against you, you know.”

He looked up at her in question. In surprise. Mildly in worry that she caught sense of the filthy things he was thinking about—for a second horrified that she could read his mind somehow. Especially with his thumb accidentally grazing along the side of her chest, pinching the tape right over the swell of her chest. He should’ve looked at the number quickly and then moved on.

But he couldn’t.

She stilled and he stilled with her, eyes still locked on each other, much too close for comfort. 

“We were both caught in the moment, under the influence. It happens. No hard feelings.” She paused, and then…. “Well. Maybe some hard feelings.”

His mind was running a mile a minute, and for a split second, he thought she genuinely bore some hard feelings—which was fair. But then a mischievous grin bloomed on her face, and he realized exactly what she was referring to.

A literal hard feeling. In his pants. Under her palm.

“Eden…” he shut his eyes in horror. This can’t be happening right now.

She laughed in the way that made his heart flutter, and he wondered if the endless teasing would be worth it. “I’m just saying…” her light chuckle dwindled into a bright glint in her dark eyes, and then earnestly, “We’re good, Bruce.”

It was strange to associate the sound of his name with a smile—not even a smile, a grin. The kind that made crinkles on the corner of her eyes. Where the light sheen of sweat made the apple of her cheeks glow as it pulled the corner of her mouth upwards.

Strange, but nice.

***

ACT FOUR

In the next few weeks, Bruce saw Eden sporadically. In passing. In between slaving away at the workshop; tracing, sewing, altering costumes, carefully following the instructions of his much more experienced peers—Laura seemed to appreciate his careful handiwork and keen eye for detail. She began sending him upstairs to sit in on the rehearsals, delivering updates to the director and observing the blockings, reporting back to his head of department.

And in between those moments, if he’s lucky, he would see her drop by the workshop, gabbing away with Laura. Trying out different period dresses, different shoes, the all-white fencing suit that one time. Or sometimes as her tragic hero character in rehearsal, a timeless Shakespearean force to be reckoned with in a baggy Yale sweatshirt.

They might not be friends per se, but they were on friendly terms, at the very least.

Which was probably why he didn’t immediately say hello when she strode out the back of the Drama Department building, where Bruce was reviewing his Criminal Homicide notes whilst getting some air (although to be fair, it was mostly the latter.) He heard the door open and shut, familiar lines murmured, as light footsteps paced back and forth on the platform. 

And there she was; like Juliet on the goddamn balcony.

Well.

If Juliet were a miserably jaded character on the brink of insanity instead of a wide-eyed girl in love.

“O vengeance!” she recited from memory, devoid of any emotion. “‘This is most brave—’ no, that’s not right. Did I skip a line?” she stopped abruptly, and then he heard a rustle of pages being flipped. “‘Why, what an ass am I.’ Ha. That’s… apropos.”

Bruce looked up, finding Eden holding her script close to her chest, looking out into the distance with a frown as she started over.

“‘This is most brave that I, daughter of a dear father murdered, prompted to my revenge by… heaven and hell, must—like a whore…’ Fuck!”

“Unpack my heart with words and fall a-cursing,” Bruce finished it just above a murmur, just for himself.

Eden’s head whipped towards his direction. “What?”

Caught eavesdropping, he immediately buried himself in his notebook again. “Nothing. Sorry.”

“No, no. What did you say?”

“Um. ‘Unpack my heart with words and fall a-cursing?’” It felt weird to say it now. To hear it in his own voice. “‘Like a very drab. A scullion’.”

A lull as she checked her script. And then, “Hold up a minute.” she leaned against the railing, chin propped up on her hand. “You know Hamlet, Bruce?”

He looked up at her, finding fascination and that ever-present witty glint in her gaze. “I’m surprised you didn’t know Hamlet, Hamlet.”

“Very funny.”

It was a little funny. He might’ve even smiled a bit.

She padded down the platform and round the stairs, joining Bruce sitting cross-legged on the ground, back against the wall. It never ceased to amaze him how she managed to make herself comfortable anywhere. “This whole Shakespeare thing is hard, you know.”

“Really? I never would’ve thought—” 

“It’s almost like a foreign language.”

“But you’ve always looked so… fluent.” he frowned at his own choice of word. Fluent was an understatement; the lines felt native to her tongue. “I guess I’ve always assumed it comes naturally to you.”

Eden chuckled ruefully. “Hell no. This is what generally happens, outside of rehearsals—just so I have some idea what’s going on in the scene.”

“Some idea, huh?” He didn't buy it at all. She had to work hard, of course, but he was dead sure that come rehearsal, she’d had her shit down on lock.

“You probably know more than I do.”

“Nah, I’m just… I’m familiar with it,” he played it off.

This time, she didn’t buy it. At all, if her lingering look was any indication. But she looked away like she knew more.

Well, as much as she could’ve known for a single look, anyway. It barely scratched the surface, but he didn’t have the heart to wipe that captivating smile off of her face.

Not with such misfortune behind the story.

He first read Hamlet when he was thirteen. In truth, it didn’t pique his interest until his English teacher offhandedly mentioned that the Lion King was based off of it. And at first, he read it just out of spite—just to see if it’s true. But the structure of words felt alien and there were words, references, scenes he didn’t understand, unlike that little movie he knew like the back of his hand.

But some parts, like this one, stuck and stayed with him since he first read it. What Hamlet lacked in the starry-eyed nostalgia that Lion King had, it made up in anguish. For the longest time, there were no words to describe what he was feeling. He never knew how to explain himself, how to explain why he didn’t want to. Until this line.

‘That I, the son of a dear father murder'd,

Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,

Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words,

And fall a-cursing, like a very drab,

A scullion!’

Eden was struggling, albeit for an entirely different reason, but he understood. He probably wouldn’t even be able to say the whole sentence without razors slicing his throat from the inside.

“Hey, what are you doing right now?”

“Um, studying?” He mustered, caught off-guard by the knee lightly nudging his own. Maybe a little bit flustered. 

She glanced at his textbook, sparsely highlighted and full of legal terms she’d only heard in passing. “Right. I keep forgetting you were pre-law. You’ve been hanging around here most days.”

“This elective is a full-time job, basically.”

She smiled sympathetically. And then, “Would you help me run lines? You just— I don’t know, make sure I say the right words and… read out the odd lines if there’s any.”

“Sure,” he answered immediately. Not for any particular reason; he just happened to know the play very well, and he liked being useful, however menial the task.

Not because he finally had a valid reason to spend some time with Eden.

She handed him her script, highlighted in yellow, pink, and blue, and heavily annotated with her own handwriting. Some were so small and loopy, they were undecipherable. One line was noted in big capital letters, ‘FUCK THE FUCK OFF’. Bruce chuckled a little bit at that.

He fiddled with the edge of the page. “So... From the top?”

And that’s how it started. Running lines and hanging out. Sometimes she’d stop by the costume workshop and drape her arm over one of the mannequins, or perch atop one of the empty workstations, while Bruce worked on a costume—her costume. Or outside the rehearsal studio, while waiting for the dance club to finish their thing. Sometimes they’d do it over a meal, and he found himself frequenting the dining hall of her dorm at the Hopper College instead of his own—it was closer, but mostly, he liked the dark wood-paneled walls under the high columned arches, and how nicely everything was spaced out. And how completely at home she looked, leaning back in her seat. It made him at ease to see her at ease.

But most of the time, it was just this. Crouched behind the theater building, sitting side-by-side with a script and her pack of Lucky Strike between them.

“Oh, I’ve fully corrupted you now,” she lamented, watching him light a cigarette between his lips. He even did it with one hand this time.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he huffed, exhaling out a berry-minty smoke (he only ever bummed her cigarettes when she had the flavored ones—he would never admit that he hated the normal ones). “What’s for today?”

She shuffled into her bag, reaching for her script. “The breakup scene with Ophelia.”

“Mm. That should be easy.” 

She looked at him incredulously. “Easy for you to say!”

“Easy for you to do. Come on.” he snatched the script out of her hand, flipping through the pages until he found the one. And then he waited. Pointedly. “Any day now.”

With a dirty glare, Eden took a deep breath and uttered, loudly but without any passion whatsoever, “The fair Ophelia! Nymph.” she elbowed him on his side.

He liked that they’re comfortable enough to do this. It was the first time Hamlet made him laugh—and not in a wry, self-loathing way. There was always something new this girl found—a cheeky pun, an off-handed comment. Lines he’d always imagined having a certain context, only to be interpreted completely differently.

Like this one.

“I did love you…” she trailed off thoughtfully, “...once.”

His eyebrows perked up, interest piqued as he never read the line broken in two parts like this, although his tone stayed flat as always. “Indeed, m’lady, you made me believe so.”

“You should not have believed me,” she responded, surprisingly just as sapless. “I loved you not.”

“I was the more deceived.”

The air between them was changing. Each line was filled with more heavy pauses—but not the kind she would make when she was trying to remember what she was supposed to say. No, this was something else. She sounded like she was… thinking. Composing her breakup speech as she sat next to her dear love. Pondering whether she should be cruel or kind.

“Get thee… to a nunnery.” The words started out cautionary, but her tone was vicious, and everything else became a cruel charge from then on. “Why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners, huh?” she didn’t raise her voice, but it made her all the more terrifying. “Perhaps it were better… my mother had not borne me. I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious…”

Bruce’s brain registered that she was talking about herself. As Hamlet. A performance, no more. And yet, he’d never heard it performed like this; so stripped down, so much like the voice in his head his entire adolescence—the constant questioning of how things would’ve been if he’d never been born—, that he felt like it was aimed towards him.

“We are arrant knaves, all; believe none of us.” Maybe it was a little bit about him too, he thought as she spat, “Where’s your father?”

The question felt like a punch in the gut. He knew that was her next line—he’d read it a million times, but he’d never had anyone ask him that. Not in that order. Not with such bitter taste in their mouth.

He tried to compose himself, but his voice sounded feeble as he answered her, “At home, my lady.”

“Well.” she looked down, picking her nails absent-mindedly. “Let the doors be shut upon him… that he may play the fool no where but in his own house.” It was cold, heartless the way she made up her mind without so much as a glance his way, and it reminded him of how the doors of Gotham shut upon his own father, and he was left for dead like a fool in a city that he built.

Somehow, somewhere along the way, he didn’t realize when he stopped looking at the page and when he started looking at her. Jaw stiffened, trying her damnedest to contain the slight tremble on her lips. Eyes stubborn as they tried to keep the tears from falling. Hands fisting the hems of her own jacket. And as she nodded, she accidentally (or on purpose, he wouldn’t know) blinked a stray tear away,

“Farewell.”

They sat there for a long while. In a daze. Watching the lights twinkled in the dusk; white and yellow against purple and pink. The Halloween decorations were put up, over the windows and doors, jack o’lanterns on the side of the pavements and skeletons propped upright in the lawns. He wasn’t even thinking about the play anymore—he couldn’t if he wanted to—, his insides were all amok.

Bruce heard a click of her lighter, a flash of orange from the corner of his eye—first a flame, then a flaring ember—and with an exhale, she slumped back against the wall…

And leaned her head on his shoulder.

He carefully tapped his cigarette and put it out. It was burnt to ash and he barely had a couple of puffs—he was too occupied, too vexed with her. More stoic than him as she continued to look ahead. It’s disconcerting.

“Are you okay?” He simply asked, though with a sliver of worry there.

“Yeah.” he couldn’t quite explain it, but Eden sounded like herself again even with a single word. “Are you?”

“Yeah.”

It was an automatic response at this point, but whether it was honest… was an entirely different matter. And she seemed to notice that.

“I heard it in your voice,” she said quietly, carefully. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m just… checking in.”

A pause. He didn’t answer right away; he didn’t know how to.

“It’s just… my parents, is all.”

“Right.”

One word said so much. One word, and she understood.

One word, and he knew.

He was no longer some new guy in the production; she knew him and his name and his burden of a legacy. A trauma. The very thing he was running away from. The little bubble around them had burst, and although he knew it was inevitable, he couldn’t help the sinking feeling in his gut.

But she placed a hand on top of hers, filling the spaces between his fingers. Not quite. Just… ever so tentatively. “I’m sorry.”

And for the first time in years, he allowed it. He allowed her to invade his space, if ‘invade’ was even the right word. She eased in like something familiar, like she’d always been there, and it made it all the more easier to let her in.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she offered.

“I mean… there’s nothing to talk about.” he sighed heavily, immediately set off by the all-too-familiar feeling of prodding questions. “I know as much as everyone else.”

“That’s not what I—” she noticed the sharp edge in his voice, and she was quick to rebuff him. But then she realized the edge in her tone, and she softened up again immediately. “Bruce. All I’m saying is, if you ever want to… I don’t know. Either way, I’m here. Okay?”

Oh. He didn’t have to talk if he didn’t want to. Or he could, if he was ever so inclined.

Either way she’s here.

His other hand landed on top of hers, patting it limply but entirely too heavy to pull away. “It’s fine. You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t. I want to.” her fingers tangled themselves in his. “That’s what friends do, right?”

Friends. The word hung heavy above them, as he turned her hand over. Palm facing upwards, he studied every line that twisted and branched on her skin, tracing it with the pad of his thumb. Feeling the indents, soft against his calluses. Trying to comprehend how this person eased—maybe invaded was right, after all—into his life, inching closer to his most vulnerable parts…

And that it was okay.

Because in entering his space, she also let him into hers. Palm facing upwards, her thumb caresses the side of his forefinger that rested atop hers. Not squeezing. Not even grasping. Just running up and down, from knuckle to knuckle. As if saying, come in.

I won’t hurt you.

He took the chance and held her hand for a moment. It wasn’t quite a response to her invitation, but at the same time it was. And that’s all they needed.

That’s all he could take for now.

Bruce took a breath, trying to find a fresh subject to get out of this one, and the first thing that he blurted out was, “Grilled cheese?”

She lifted her head and turned her whole body towards him. “Huh?”

If those two words out of his mouth weren’t enough to sober him up, the blatant disconnect between them sure did the trick. They were spouting Shakespeare just moments ago, but now that he’s panicking and in desperate need of an out, he turned into a goddamn monkey and it puzzled the fuck of her.

“Grilled cheese,” he repeated. Why did he do it again?! He slung his backpack and got up to his feet; if he’s already standing, it would be easier to make an escape. But maybe he should give it one last shot? “You know… at the Beanjamin.”

“Oh.” she blinked at him dumbly, whether at his stilted but persistent topic change or the mention of the punny cafe two blocks away. But much to his surprise, she shrugged and gathered her stuff. “Alright. Let’s get some grilled cheese.”

“Wait, really?”

“You’re buying.” she absently said as she patted the dirt off of her pants.

He sighed in relief, although he tried to play it off as a huff. “Fine. But you get the ciggies.”

“Ciggies?” she balked. “Wow, my influence on you knows no bounds.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, it’s just shorthand.”

“Sure thing, Brucie.”

“That’s not a shorthand. That’s an extra syllable.” He scowled, but she slapped his back lightly, linking her arm with his as they walked on crunchy reddened leaves in the fall. Each biting back a smile as the heaviness of their conversation didn’t tarnish this easy banter they had.

They were friends, after all.

***

ACT FIVE

Bruce was late. Very late. His Restorative Justice final presentations ran long and he wanted to punch every one of his obnoxious kiss-ass classmates in the teeth for drawing it out, asking questions for the sake of loopholes and extra points. Sending him on a wild sprint to the University Theater.

In the rain.

And as if that weren’t enough, he was greeted by Laura, practically steaming out of her ears, pulling him aside and telling him off.

“We’re entering tech week, man! We got plenty of people to dress. I can’t have you disappearing in the worst of times like this.”

She was right on all three accounts. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sticking my neck out here for you!” Laura huffed. “Look, if anything happens, you need to let us know. Call, text, anything. God, I sound like a clingy girlfriend here—”

She was cut off with a dragging, dramatic creak of a door opening. They both turned around to find Eden there, her head popping out of a dressing room, grimacing. “Hi. I’m so sorry to bother you, but— I need a hand…”

Laura softened up, slightly caught off-guard in the middle of her tangent. “One sec.” Then she turned back to Bruce, a little calmer now. “You go, I’ll handle the ensemble.”

He nodded, still apologetic as he made his way to their leading lady’s dressing room, catching her sly grin as she made way for him.

“You picked the wrong day to slack off, Brucie,” she lightly murmured as she threw him a towel to dry off.

All she got in response was a grunt.

A grunt and nothing else.

Because all the frustration, the ennui, the fucking cold from getting drenched in a 44-degree weather… all went when he finally caught sight of her.

Clad in silk—her gloves ivory, her dress black. Draped down her body all the way to the ankle—seemingly resting on her curves and wanting to glide off of her skin at the same time, held together by a thin strap on each of her bare shoulders, ruffled point d’esprit tumbled down her arms.

“I know. It’s different from the usual sweatshirt and joggers…” she droned on, barely glancing at him as she shifted in her dress. “Shit, I should’ve worn these things more in rehearsal. This feels too new. I haven’t even put on the corset—do you mind?”

“Y-yeah. Sure.”

He knew exactly how to do her corset—they discussed it exhaustively in the workshops, deliberating which one was the most secure and efficient—and yet he still found himself fumbling at the laces the first time. Then again, maybe lacing up a mannequin would never compare to a living, breathing being.

Especially one like her.

It’s awfully intimate; he vaguely remembered seeing his parents getting ready for a night out like this. Eden putting on her earrings—a beautiful silvery thing with a dot of blue as its main stone—while he laced her up. Grazing her back with featherlight touches, but not really. Barely missing each other’s gaze through the mirror. So close, and at the same time, having absolutely no chance to get closer.

“You got me worried for a bit there.”

“I know. I’ve got—”

“Finals, I know. But this counts as finals too, you know. Like, come on, man, this is important.”

“It’s an elective.”

He felt her tense up—felt the slight expanse of her ribs as she drew a sharp breath. “It’s not just an elective for some of us, Bruce.”

“Come on, Eden. I’ve been over this. I don’t need this from you, too.”

She scoffed. “Excuse me?”

“What else do you want me to do? I was held up, I came here as fast as I could, I told Laura I was sorry. Now you’re gonna give me shit while I do my job, too? Give me a fucking break.” 

He never minded the silence, but this one was deafening. Eden was understandably stunned to see him snap. He had never shown anything beyond mild—whether it’s amusement or discontent. But it was nowhere near the end of his day, and he was tired. And it disappointed him more than anything that she was not on his side on the one moment he needed her to.

But he’d shown just enough to get his point across, and now it’s time to just bite his tongue.

“Do you know why we worked so hard for this show?” Her tone was still terse. Clipped. But it wasn’t accusatory—not anymore.

He said nothing. Didn’t even look up. He just continued pulling at the loose crossing laces, tightening them right on the dip of her spine.

“We don’t know who’ll be in the audience. Directors, agents, producers or their fucking daughters for all we know—people who might hire us. Maybe for a gig over the holiday— maybe something more. If we’re lucky. Most of us won’t be, you know. Most of us are just gonna be stuck in this rat race until we’re burnt out, or dead, or dead from getting burnt the fuck out, so to call it ‘just an elective’ is a gross understatement which—“ she gasped as he pulled the strings just so that her back straightened up and she nearly stumbled into his chest.

“You okay?” his eyes flickered towards the mirror, studying her face. Realizing that there might be something more than giving him shit for committing the cardinal sin of tardiness. Something having nothing to do with him.

“Yeah. It’s just…. Nerves.” she breathed out, and he had to look again and make sure she wasn’t suffocating.

Suffocating, she was not. But agitated, definitely. The corset made the rise and fall of her chest more prominent with every breath, and he willed himself not to stare.

“It’s alright. You got this.” he managed a reassuring nod, surprising himself that despite what happened, he was still on her side.

Eden softened at that, as if warming up to him again. “So, yeah. This is why it’s important to us.” she spoke, quiet and resolute. “I hope you understand that.”

“I do,” he answered evenly. “And I hope you understand that I’m doing my best.”

“Fair enough.”

The air swelled between them. Stifling as the aggression dissipated. The lightbulbs framing the mirror did so much to expose every microexpression. The tight crease between her eyebrows, the clenched jaw as she struggled with her necklace. Blindly trying to clasp it together on the back of her neck, underneath her long dark waves.

“Let me.” He gently brushed her hair aside, seeing the hook and clasp colliding, but never really linking together.

It was entirely too easy. Bruce almost hoped it would be trickier, and he would need more time here. Nearly pressed against her. So close. The temptation was too much. Even after he let go of her necklace, he couldn’t resist smoothing his hand down her dress. Adjusting the cinch under her bust. Making sure it didn’t bunch.

Their eyes met through the reflection, and he lost all words. And no, not because of the glimmery strings and stones adorning her neck, the lavalier falling like water drops on her chest—silver and white against her bronze skin. Not entirely.

But the way her brown eyes, ever so mischievous and mysterious, looked so… naked in this light.

He had never been able to read her—there’s always this hidden card on her sleeve, even beneath her ‘open book’ way of carrying herself. But this time, he could see her waiting.

Wanting.

“Well?” Her voice was soft against the silence.

“You look…” he trailed off. 

Maybe it was simply the tension in the air. Maybe it was pure awe. Maybe it was the unshakeable possessive pride in the fact that he’d had a hand in creating this look, knowing how she would turn out in it.

No word would ever amount to this—to her—and he would be foolish to even try. So he just shook his head, returning his attention to her corset. Making sure nothing bent or bunch in a way it wasn’t supposed to.

“This not too tight?”

She shook her head, and he swore she looked demure, for the first time ever.

“Turn around, let me see.”

He grabbed her waist with both hands, studying the brocade details of the corset. How it’s an even darker shade of black than the dress, but shinier, like swirling scars—the pain, the anger, the fury, wrapped around her waist.

Oh, the divine curve of her waist.

Eden’s gloved hand dropped to his wrist, and he froze. He wondered if this was a sign to let go, but at the same time… he couldn’t. Not when her thumb is mirroring the very pattern he was drawing on her waist. Not when she trailed up his arm, along his shoulder, so warm and gentle that it made his breath hitch in his throat.

She brushed back a dark strand that fell in front of his face, searching his eyes. “Is that the only place you’ll touch me?”

And there it was again. The waiting. The wanting. He’d never dared to dream it, because he knew—like he knew now—that it’d be all he wanted from then on.

To give in. Melt into her touch. Get lost in her gaze.

“Where else do you want me to touch you?” he rasped.

Heartbeat pounded in his ears, and he’s not sure whether it’s hers or his own. It took him everything to tune it out, just so he could hear her respond,

“Everywhere?”

He expected it to come with a smirk, a teasing twinkle in her eyes; it didn’t. It sounded like a question, and she looked every bit as vulnerable as he felt asking it, and it was all too easy for him to answer.

“Please.”

Because what other answer was there? Everywhere was more than he’d ever hoped for and he couldn’t even think where to begin. His first instinct was her waist—the divine curves of her waist— as his hands were already there. But the necklace was calling out to him with every rise and fall of Eden’s breath. Beckoning him to trace the spaces between the hanging stones, the gentle slope of the neckline, leaving shivers in his wake.

So much, and at the same time, not nearly enough.

She pulled him in closer—the crook of her nose on the crook of his neck. Nuzzling. Resting. Claiming him with kiss after kiss on his skin, and it made him weak. Pliant as she sat herself on the dressing table, hiking up her skirt and allowing him to be lodged between her open legs. Guiding his hand towards the swell of her breast, squeezing his hand, right here. He thumbed her nipples through her dress, marveling at how it hardened under his touch, while her hand roamed his chest, sneaking under his shirt, feeling his lean stomach—his bulging crotch through her silk.

“Your gloves, don’t ruin your gloves…” Bruce miraculously mustered, even as his palms slid down to her hips, squeezing her ass as she left a dizzying hickey on his neck.

Eden clicked her tongue, tearing herself off him with a glare, though it didn’t deter him—then again, maybe it wasn’t supposed to. She bit the tip of her glove at her middle finger, and the fabric slid off, one hand after the other, and she had no right to be so alluring. Running her hand through his rain-drizzled hair. Stroking his prominent jawline. Drawing patterns on his wrist with her bare hands.

Guiding him once again; this time, up her inner thigh. Following the warmth of her body underneath the cool cloth.

All the way up until he reaches something damp.

She gasped.

“Here?”

“Mm-hm.”

He swallowed, yanking her panties aside to find her nether lips, all slippery on his fingertips. His fingers drew up her gushing cleft, and when he touched the swollen little nub, her eyes fluttered ever so slightly, and he could come right then and there if he weren’t so taken by her, mellowing in pleasure.

He rubbed her tentatively, gauging the smallest reactions as a sign. He’d only ever seen it in porn, and it went quite differently in real life. There was no guarantee of a happy ending—not even a guarantee of doing things right. And everything was quieter, subtler with her.

Prettier.

She followed the trail of hair down his navel, absently palming his cock over his jeans—firmer, surer than the last time—and his mind went blank.

“Fuck, Eden…” he sighed, forehead falling against hers. “I’ve never— I don’t— Tell me…” he bit the inside of his cheek, hoping she would get the hint.

She nudged his nose with hers. “Your fingers, Bruce.”

He slowed down his circling motion, trying to figure out whether her squirming meant less or more.

But she chuckled, lazily kissing along his jaw. And then, nipping at his earlobe, she whispered, “I need them inside me.”

Jesus Christ.

His hand traveled down from her clit, and he nearly moaned at how gushing wet she was. All of this just for him? His middle and forefinger slid right in, as if she’d swallowed them whole, and she let out a strained whimper.

Bruce stilled inside her, not wanting to cause any pain by moving in or drawing out. Instead, he just waited. Slowly pulling away to study her face, waiting for her command. God, he’d follow her anywhere.

“You okay?”

Her head fell back against the mirror as she caught her breath. “‘m good. So good,” she sighed, stroking his back as if he was the one who needed soothing. “Keep going.”

He’d always been captivated by her. Her grit, her humor, her warmth that seeped into his cold dead soul. But in the three months he’d known her, he’d never seen her so… tame. Her guard down, all soft and needy under his touch, as he started pumping his digits in and out of her experimentally. Reveling in how she coated his fingers in her arousal, gripping him around her silky walls. How she mewled when he crooked his fingers just right.

He liked that she let him see this side of her.

And as he picked up the pace, her hands grew frenzied on his belt buckle. Frantic as she unfastened it and pushed it down just enough—boxers and all—to take his cock out. And when he thought being freed from the painful restraint of his pants was blissful enough…

She closed her fist around him. 

“Fuck…” a pathetic whine threatened to rip out of his throat, so he busied his mouth on the open stretch of her neck. Dousing himself in the taste of her skin. The smell of her hair. The clench of her cunt.

The grip on his cock.

Thumb rubbing on the tip—smearing precum along his length as she stroked up and down, up and down…

“Bruce...” God, he loved her saying his name like this. “Bruce, I’m close.”

His heart nearly leapt out of his chest, and with that, he pulled away. Her eyelids fluttered heavily, but she kept her eyes locked on his. Self-bitten lips parted as she told him, “Don’t stop. Touch my clit.”

It’s messy and clumsy, the way the heel of his hand pressed down on her sensitive nub with every thrust, and he couldn’t maintain the pace to save his life. But she’s practically riding his hand, canting her hips forward, her own hand faltering from his length. And he needed a release oh so bad, but he was much too enraptured in watching her come. Her hips stuttered with every touch, and her lips pouted as she murmured yes, yes, yes until it fell open with a trembling sigh.

He wanted it seared onto his memory forever.

She hovered in like she was going in for a kiss, but Bruce turned a little bit, planting his lips on her jaw instead. Soft pecks towards her thrumming pulse point. It was nice, but aggravating all the same.

“Why won’t you kiss me?” She found his cock again, stroking him nice and slow. 

“I promised you it won’t happen again.”

He could see how hazy her mind was as she tried to rake around when he’d said that. After the party in the woods. Confusion turned to realization turned to amusement. “I think we’re way past that.”

And he knew that. She came on his hand, goddammit, and he was well on his way to do the same on hers. But somehow, he couldn’t seem to move past that—and he didn’t know why.

But her grip tightened just a little bit, and he was so close. “Besides… is that really what you want?”

He shook his head.

“Good.” she wrapped her legs around his hips, stroking him from tip to base. “I never wanted that, either.”

And just like that, he gravitated towards her lips until they collided. This is what he needed.

Cursed be his brain, because his memory could never recall her kiss being so… good. It was so much like the last time, and yet nothing like it? Her lips were soft, he remembered that, but the way she kissed him was different. Dirtier. Like she wanted to consume him, and God, he was ready to give her all that. Anything at all, he swore, fuck, Eden, so close—

“Come for me, Bruce,” she murmured into his mouth, tugging his lower lip between her teeth.

He had no chance against her.

“Fuck,” as he lurched into her hand, spilling out his pent-up release for her. “Fuck…” he panted out, catching his breath, basking in the pleasure of giving everything for her. For Eden. Eden, in all her glory of kiss-worn lips and heaving chest and— 

“Fuck!”

Little drops of white on her black corset.

“Bruce.”

“No, no, no, no…” all sobered up, Bruce immediately tried to wipe it off. It went, but not without a faint stain on the fabric. He’s in a lot of trouble.

“Bruce, it’s fine—”

“No, it’s not. Fuck…” he muttered under his breath, like a whirlwind as he pulled his pants back up, scrambling for tissues, returning to the dress—barely registering that Eden stayed unmoved in her place.

Perched on top of the dressing table. Watching him fuss.

Dazed and docile.

“Eden, we can’t do this. We can’t—” he was so weak for her. She smoothed out his stubbornly sticking-out hair so tenderly, and he nearly lost his train of thought. “We gotta keep our shit together for this. You said so yourself, right?”

Her face dropped just a little bit, but she nodded anyway. “Right.”

He tried to move on. The stain was going bit by bit, and his head cleared enough to remember grabbing a Tide pen later on. But he couldn’t shake off the subtle switch in her expression. That hint of… disappointment when he told her no.

Because neither of them wanted to stop.

“Closing night,” Bruce decided.

“What?”

“We’ll pick this up after closing night. Okay?”

She blinked at him in surprise. In question. In curiosity.

“You need to focus, and I need to do my job,” he reminded her, unable to fight back the amused smile that came with her uncharacteristic lack of witty remark. It’s kind of… cute.

“Okay, deal.” Eden offered her hand. “Closing night.”

He stared at her hand for a moment—the hand that was just on his dick, for fuck’s sake—before gingerly accepting the handshake. With the hand she came all over.

The irony didn’t seem to be lost on them as they started giggling. An honest-to-God, straight-from-the-core giggling that led him to lean in, kissing her one last time. Sure and easy as day, relishing the warmth of her lips as the two of them made the most of it.

Until closing night.

[soullessmocha]

i think; therefore i am || part two

{ fem!witch reader x poly!the lost boys }

|| part one ||

part rating: general

word count: 4,340

part summary: after the encounter with the ruthless gang of vampires on the board walk y/n finds themselves keeping their distance from the boardwalk and doing business other places. a choice of a movie night brings she to encounter a new suspicion and familiar faces. even then they have to embrace her action after coming face to face with one of the daunting vampires.

warnings: use of magic, witchcraft, vampires, marko being sweet, david being a prick, and late night encounters. 

A bell rings in your ears as you push your way through the colorful door into the buzzing video store. The music reverberates from the speakers above your head and the smell of floor cleaner invades your nose. The upbeat store gave you some relief from the stress from the past couple of days. Since the encounter with the creatures of the night, you have been avoiding the boardwalk hustling around near the city or keeping your distance in the more unknown parts of the boardwalk. You trail your way past the front desk where all the registered rested admiring the acrylic frames not paying attention to the man with neat hair and glasses that watched your figure pass by with curiosity. A low hum left your nose as you tuned in with the words of La Bamba. The first section you instantly hit was the comedy section, your black-painted fingers trailed over the spines of the VHS covers with precision as you tried to make your decisions. You snatch the case for Ghostbusters. As you do you could feel eyes burning into the back of your head. You carefully turned around to see where your intuition was taking you. Yet it was only the woman behind the counter with big curly hair and an off-shoulder top. Her stare was rather curious. People do stare a lot when you walk into a place. That doesn’t mean it is out of negativity, you guess it’s purely out of curiosity. Your style can be so polar sometimes but this time you wore a pair of bootcut jeans and a flowing black poet's top that was paired with heeled boots. The accessories are what you think to draw people’s attention with the stacked sterling rings, the crystal earrings, and a large ornate belt such as you were wearing today to cinch the waist of the flowing shirt.

Her eyes scan over your outfit, eventually coming to your eyes, you make eye contact and give her a knowing nod and a smirk before turning back around. Pressing the movie against your chest, tapping a rhythm on the plastic with your fingernails as you make your way to the horror section taking your time. The music mixed with the soft sounds of TVs caused your senses to buzz from a sensory overload. You squat to the ground and carefully graze over the horror section, there wasn’t much to the collection but there were some decent picks. A sigh left your nose as you reached out to pinch Cujo’s spine between your fingers. As you do a wet substance appears on your cheek. You whip your head to a tan shepherd sniffing you and your hair. A jolt in surprise at the sudden appearance of the dog, your heart races for a minute before a smile cracks along your nude painted lips. The dog pants and sits patiently waiting for you to pet him. 

You chuckle at pat the dog’s head, “There you are Thorn! I am so sorry. He has a habit to sneak up on customers when they’re down so low.” You look up to follow the mysterious, yet harmfully charismatic, voice and it was the man who was standing at the front counter when you walked in. With your hand still petting the hound named Thorn, you stand fully to greet the neat man. “Oh no! You’re okay, he did give me quite the fright but he is too cute. His good looks made up for it.” You beam at the mysterious man. As you adjusted the movies on your side you saw his hand shot out, “I’ll take those for you. Assuming you want to keep looking for more movies to watch tonight.”

You chuckle lightly and hand the two movies out to him, “I think this will be all tonight, thank you, erm..” You trail off trying to see if he wore a nametag on his blazer but there wasn’t one.

“Max, my name is Max,” he introduces with a charming smile that would make any woman swoon if they had the weakness too.

“I am guessing you’re the Max that’s on the name of the store. Well, it is wonderful to meet you,” you greet back with a welcoming smile. Your eyes scan his face, looking over every faint crack and freckle on his face. Once your eyes met him there was an unsettling feeling that grew in your stomach. One you knew all too well. 

“Well, then! Would you like to check out for tonight, ma’am?” He asks motioning his full hand of the VHS’ towards the counter.

You swallow and give a curt nod. As you walk you could feel Thorn brushing against your leg as you did. This made you more cautious of what the dog might be if the dark energy pulsating from the man would be. You rested your hands gently on the counter and stood as still as a statue but you tried your best to remain relaxed in the situation you were granted. There was something wrong with the owner of the store and you knew how well he was masking it. His haughty get-up of a loud button-up shirt and neat tie was something you couldn’t get past.

“So I’ve never seen you around here!” Max’s voice booms through your line of thought causing your head to whip up to face him. 

“Yeah, I’m just passing through. Couldn’t help it when I saw the boardwalk. It’s a wonderful sight,” You reply with a passing smile before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear acting bashful and shy.

“It is quite beautiful. But you got to be careful here, it’s not the safest place for a young woman like you.” He advises as he scans the barcodes of the cases before popping them open to double-check if there was a VHS in them. You caught his eyes trailing over you, his warm and welcoming eyes now something of a dark glower. His eyes changed though once he noticed you staring back at him.

“Oh, thank you, Max, for the warning. But I got it.” You reassure and reach back into your back pocket to fish out the money clip that you kept. As you pull it out the front doorbell trills to announce another customer has entered. 

You didn’t look up as you fingered through the bills to find a ten-dollar bill through all the ones. The low rumbling from Thorn by your ankles is what caused you to cautiously lookup. You look up to see the four vampires from a couple of nights ago walk into the store with such confidence it could’ve convinced you that they owned the place. Your eyes widen a bit and your fist clenches the ten-dollar bill making it more wrinkled than before. 

The leader only smirks at you as swaggers his way through the store. Following was the dark brunette with daggers for eyes then it was the two blondes. The fishnet-clad one looked at you with caution while the curly-haired one looked at you with an expression of curiosity and wonder. His golden curls were pushed back into a low ponytail this night that draped over his ornate jacket. You could feel he wanted to approach you and that he wasn’t hostile. Unlike the others. Out of your surprise, you try to match their energy of fierceness.

“I thought I told you, boys, you aren’t welcome here,” Max barks at them, his voice sounded so gravely and polar to the appealing one before. 

The leader snaps his eyes to the owner of the store and his smirk drops, the smirk turned into a frown for a split second. His eyes trace it’s way back to you, “Relax, we just wanted to check out the new features you got in here.” The platinum blonde clarified as the rest of the boys behind him scatter through the store murmuring to themselves and messing with some of the VHS covers.

Max glares at the platinum blonde before turning back to you, “I’m so sorry about the mess in here,” 

You couldn’t help but crack a smirk at the hit at the group of punks. You tilt your head at Max to shake your head, “No problem, they’re only looking for a feature for the night.” You comment flicking your eyes to see if the leader was still glaring at you. He wasn't, he was off looking through the horror flicks while the other three were flirting with the tanned woman behind Max. You place the ten down on the counter and swiftly grasp the two movie boxes. “Thank you, Max, I’ll see you soon,” you bid goodbye with a nod being careful not to trip over Thorn as you make your way to the door.

“Oh! Ma’am, rental lasts five days!” Max calls out to you as you were already halfway out the door. You pause and turn back to him, tapping your rings around the metal door handle. “Thank you,” you thank the owner, but your eyes switched to the four who were watching you with sharp eyes. Each feline in its own way.

Your feet carry you quickly to your red truck where you unlock the door from the keys that were attached to your hip. Getting in and slamming the door shut your eyes never left the five figures as you pumped the clutch and set the vehicle in reverse. You only tore your eyes away when you turned to look behind you to see if there was any oncoming traffic. Yet when your head swiveled back to the front you saw the ragged punks standing in front of the store by their bikes. The thing that caught you off guard was the little finger wave the monarch decorated gave you with his most feigned sweetened smile. The sight gave your stomach a fuzzy feeling and your head to buzz. “Time to make a circle,” you grumble to yourself speeding off into the night.

Later that night you cast a protection circle around your little caravan that you claimed to be your home. It sat on a sigil etched into the soft earth below the sanctuary. Casting it drained you that night, it had been a while since you had to cast around an area that was relatively large. It surrounded the shelter along with the little pathway you created with stones. 

Exhausted, you lay on your bed facing the little compact TV as Ghostbusters entertained your drained mind. Finn rested perfectly into your side watching the movie as well. His tail swaying in amusement. His mewl caused you to roll your eyes as the green slime ghost floated through a wall after slimming one of the busters. “It’s only a movie, Finn, it’s for entertainment purposes. Are you going to do this with every movie I bring home? How about I put in Cujo instead?” You suggest acting like you were going to get up and fetch the movie from the living area. Finn was quick to put his paw on your abdomen to stop you. You smirk at the short-haired feline, “That’s what I thought. Now just enjoy the movie.” You swear you saw your sassy familiar roll his eyes at you. A huff leaves your lips and you plant your ring decorated hand on his side patting him which turns into short pets as you bring your focus back on the movie.

A moment later you started to hear the continuous tick on the roof of your caravan. It wasn’t supposed to rain. So what the hell is making that sound? Your brows furrow as your head tilts back to hear another tick. Silent beat, tick. Finn meows at you and starts to stand on the cushioned bed arching his back to stretch, “Gee, my savior.” You gibed at the black feline as you shuck on your shawl over your silk nightgown. Approaching your door you inhaled deeply, there was someone outside. Instantly your circle was warning you. The energy beamed around it causing a rhythmed pulse around your home. 

Slowly opening the door a pebble fell at your feet. You reach down to grasp it and trek your eyes to dirty brown boots. Your eyes graze up the figure, leather chaps over denim, then the jacket that was so decorated it was an enigma itself. The jacket hovered over a white wife beater crop top, then on the shoulder deeply curled golden locks.

You don’t say anything, you're frozen, staring at the vampire in front of you. “How the hell did you find me?” You hiss with interrogation laced in your voice, but the vampire doesn't budge. In fact, he looks scared a bit. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his decorated jacket. His spine hunched the slightest making him seem smaller as he waits for an opportunity to talk. The expression doesn’t fool you, your eyes are still as sharp as ever. You step down from your home as your eyes start to glow purple and your hands spread as purple shadows form balls in your palms.

The cautious vampire takes a hesitant step back, “I followed your truck.” He answers with wide attentive eyes. 

“Why did you follow me? Did your friends ask you?” You postulated with a tight tone. His only response was a shake of his head. Now you were getting annoyed. “Then why are you here?!” You growled which caused him to jostle just the slightest, taken aback as the purple wisps grow in size with your glowing eyes joining.

“I came to ask for my gloves and ring back,” Marko states straightening out his posture and fixing his tone to sound more confident and demanding. You blink at him lowering your hands just slightly. “Did anyone follow you?” Your query, quirking your eyebrow up searching his deadpan features for answers.

“No,” he responds bluntly, keeping still against the sea breeze that thrusts its way around the two of you. You listened to the whispers in his head, it wasn’t hard to penetrate. He was being open. The realization caused you to drop your hands to your sides. He knew you were going to look through his head to see if he was telling you the truth. Marko really didn’t have anything to hide. The boys didn’t even know he was there. You saw him tell them he was going to grab a bite to eat.

“Alright, give me a moment.” You grumble turning back into the caravan. Marko rustles towards the edge of the circle. His clear eyes trailing over the circle with symbols inside of it. He reached out but was blocked by a sheer purple field. Marko pulled his hand back in a hurry. “It’s a protection circle.” You inform him with his fingerless gloves in the palms of your hands. You picked them up. You don’t know why you did, something urged you to take them back with you. What was the universe trying to tell you? You approach the edge of the circle only a foot away from the vampire. “No one can enter unless I grant them, no matter what being.” You unfold your hands to reveal his weathered gloves and a golden ring in the middle of them.

You pluck the ring, it was heavily made of solid gold with a comet on it. Your eyes linger on it trying to figure out the symbol and what its meaning could be. “Ain’t it pretty?” Marko asks, examining it with you outside of the waves of purple energy. You nod, “Yeah, it’s a nice ring.” You compliment the accessory, you could feel the history off of the object. It had seen so much, but few owner’s which made you hesitant to look deeper into the history of the gold ring. 

“You know what the comet means?” 

You shake your head peering back up to Marko. It was strange how calm you were now and how cool and collected he was.

“It’s the Dragon Order. Providence of the Romanian Boyers. The Dragon Order was dedicated to the destruction of the Turks. They were killed by the tens of thousands. Do you know how?”

You shake your head once more, eyes wide with curiosity.

“They were impaled on rounded wooden stakes left in the fields to rot.” Marko grins as he answered his own questions, his voice full of amusement as if it was an inside joke. You could only chuckle at the significance of home wearing such an accessory. 

“Wow, I wasn’t expecting that.” You shook your head as a smile grew on your lips. Your eyes scan the ring once more before placing it back into the middle of the gloves.

“I wasn’t either when the bastard told me that story,” he bewailed with his brown eyes glued to the signet. You purse your lips together and reach out with one hand extending. As you reach out the purple sheen carefully separates from your hand allowing you access to reach out to him. Marko pulled his hands out of his leather jacket and gently grabbed the gloves to fold over the ring. As he took it from your hand his touch lingered behind. The touch sent electricity through your nerves which caused you to move your hand away fast. Marko gave a smirk at you as he slipped them back on. “Thanks,” he mumbles and slips the ring on his pinky finger, he runs the pad of his thumb over the comet then drops his hands to his sides. 

You tilt your head at the action watching his expression carefully, you tried to read him but you were shut out once again. Marko flicked his eyes to you, “You’re welcome, Marko.” You whisper back, folding your arms over your chest so the shawl granted a shield against the night winds. Marko bit his lip with a bob of his head, his eyes raked over you once more as he took a few steps back. There was an urge in you to speak up. It punched at your diaphragm for your voice to come out and speak. Speak to him, the whispers rang.

“Marko! I’m sorry!” You call out to the blonde as he was partially down the hill. He stops in his tracks and turns on his heel, his expression clearly showing confusion. You tilt your head to your feet, “I didn’t mean to hurt you during the reading. That wasn’t my intention.” You state, your voice wavering. Marko looks behind his shoulder before wiping his thumb over his lip. Walking back he shakes his head, “Then what happened?” He questions genuinely confused, he really was. Since that night he can only feel episodes of phantom pain and the soreness lasted a couple of days. He’d never seen anything like your magic in his hundred years of living. “You said you’d do a palm reading, but once you touched my hand you went ballistic.”

“I can’t control what happens sometimes,” you start taking a deep breath, “Sometimes the magic likes to control me. Normally when I do a palm reading on a human I can see vaguely of what their future proposes.” You explain. Your fingers tighten on your shawl turning your knuckles white and your shoulder started to shudder as you are reminded of the vision and the pain. The scream of pain and fear, the pain of the wooden stake in his chest. You swallow to relieve the tension in your throat. 

“You are not human, so what I saw was more powerful than I would see on an average being.”

“Then what did you see? Because it hurt like hell, not going to lie.”

You blink and clear your throat, hesitant on trying to explain the vision of his death to him. That is something a vampire, an immortal being doesn’t like to hear. “I saw… I saw… I saw your death,” you choke out hugging yourself with your arms crossed.

Marko’s folded arms drop and his furrowed brows unknot themselves for a beat. “What?” Marko asks in clear confusion before knitting his brows back together but tighter. “You saw my death? What does that even mean?”

“I-I don’t know,” you whisper breathlessly carefully holding onto your breath thanking your lucky stars you were behind the protective line. Yet, Marko didn’t seem mad or frustrated, he only seemed confused and lost. “The future is bleak, never set in stone. I don’t know who did it. I only saw it through your eyes. I felt it too.”

“So your magic rebounded back to me? Making me feel my own death?” He presses the pad of his index finger onto his chest over where his heart would be. You nod carefully, swiping your tongue over your lower lip. “Yes, then once you were attacked by my magic that’s when your friend started to charge towards me before I could even catch my breath. So on instinct, I acted.” Marko slowly nods at this answer, his lips pouted as he took in all the information trying to file it in his brain for later reference. When he didn’t answer back that was when you started to show a bit of worry about your features. 

“Just remind me to not hold hands with you for a while then,” Marko teases his once look of engrossment turned into mirth. You were so caught off guard by the statement a breathy chuckle left your parted lips. You nod as well as a smile growing on your lips, “I’ll keep that in mind if we ever try to do a reading again.”

“Don’t sweat it, really. I understand now.” Marko discerned raising his brows and stuffing his hands back into his leather jacket. “I should go now, they will be wondering where I am,” Marko suggests nodding his head over in the direction of the boardwalk. You bob your head and give him a warm smile. He lingers for a moment watching you carefully. His warm brown eyes take in your form under the high silvery moonlight. Enjoying the way the shadows cascade your features. He notes the embroidered shawl around your shoulders and the black silk nightgown that draped over your body. He bit his lower lip to halt himself from pressing any further into your night. As he was about to step back he could feel your warm hand on his chest. Fingers ghosting over the bare skin that was above the collar. He flickered his eyes to yours, the orbs widened in bewilderment. Your touch made his skin feel fuzzy, even though your hand was barely putting any pressure he felt like he could feel every twitch of your hand. Marko bores into your eyes as you give him a reassuring smile.

“The future is yours. The future is not something to be predicted on but to be built on.” Your voice was honey to his ears. It was warm and comforting just like your touch. Out of instinct his hand hovers and places it on yours. His fingers brush over the stacked rings before pushing your hand to put more pressure on his chest. Marko doesn’t say a word, but his eyes run wild with wonder and gratitude. He dips his head after a beat of silence between the two of you. Nothing but the whispering of the winds and the thrashing of the waves. Marko drops your hand and takes a step back, admiring the purple sheen separate and close once more as your hand returns to your side. He flashes you a reassuring smile as he takes a couple of steps back his boots making the dirt and gravel separate underneath him. You watch him as he turns around, taking in the detail of the tapestry of the bare woman on his back.

Bringing your thumbnail to your teeth you chew on it out of nerves. A soft meow is what brings your attention back to the caravan. You look down at Finn for a second before whipping your head to see if Marko was still there and he wasn’t. You sigh against the wind wondering if he ran or flew away. 

Another meow. You turn on your heel to Finn, “No, he’s gone. Nothing to worry about. It’s his friends I got to worry about. Now get back inside, you barely have any fur to keep you warm.” You lecture stepping back in the caravan with a retaliating mewl echoing from your bedroom. Your eyes peer through the door, glancing at your surroundings once more as you slowly close the door. You spot the place where Marko was standing, a small clearing where his boots rummaged the dirt around. You click the door shut and rest your forehead against the metal.

Finn trills at you from the bedroom with impatience, “I am coming! Jeez, can’t be without me ten minutes can you? What would you ever do without me?” You tease the Devon Rex who clearly rolls his eyes at you. In reaction you point your index finger at him, “I saw that! Now let me finish this movie in peace, please. No more snarky comments.”

You plot yourself back on the bed shuffling underneath the abundance of blankets. You shake off your shawl and place it neatly on your nightstand. Even though you watched the movie for the rest of the night you couldn’t shake the look Marko gave you when his hand touched yours.  Why did his eyes show more than he was expressing on his face. You could long into them for hours and still, learn new things with each passing minute.

A sigh escaped your lips as sleep started to lull you into a hypnotized state. The weight of the blankets and Finn resting by your side let you fully realize you were safe and at peace for the rest of the night. That didn’t mean when you dreamt you envisioned golden curls that radiated light or the green speckled brown eyes of a familiar vampire.

a/n: thank you for giving so much love on the first part of this series. i know this part is A LOT shorter than the first but i hope it gave a gratifying ending. i have ideas on how to continue this series and make it special for everyone. thank you for all the love once again! 🖤🖤🖤

i think; therefore i am taglist:

@fili-is-my-lover

@ilikechocolatemilkh​

@takemetotheweirdness​

@hopester08

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

pause, m | myg | 3

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Life is like a cassette tape. It seems like it’s constantly repeating, flipped from side A to side B, and the songs can’t be skipped. You can only pause, rewind, fast forward, play after you’ve already heard the song. After you’ve already lived it. All Min Yoongi knows is his own tape, until it smashes right at his feet, and then he has to learn to dance to a different beat.

warnings: rated M (18+) - please be warned this story has a physically and verbally abusive relationship; language; gender stereotyping; mentions of therapy; non-idol!AU; music producer!Yoongi x dancing fanatic!reader

rated M because I know how sensitive a topic domestic abuse is.

--

2.

-

Morning. Night.

He wasn’t on the night train.

Morning. Night.

He wasn’t on the night train.

Morning. Night.

You were the only one exiting at the last stop. Running. Running.

Morning. Night.

You hated this replay. This song sucked. This cassette tape sucked. But you kept going, ending all your bad days with dancing, dancing until you wore your own heart out, dancing to sad songs with happy beats, attending your dance party of one. Never had you wished your dance party to be of two.

Never, until now.

Morning. Night.

You were wandering around your neighborhood on your off day, idle and antsy. There was a garage sale happening. You walked over, seeing all the old things. Weird lampshades with no bottom half. Chipped coin banks. A pair of ping-pong paddles with no ping pong ball. Single teacups without the rest of the set. Old VHS tapes that no one had a player for.

Cassettes.

A bunch of cassette tapes, sitting there, spilled out. You tilted your head, picking one out. Love Songs for my Love. It was written in faded pen, a barely legible scribble. You flipped it over, but there was no indication of said songs. Just a Side A and Side B. Did someone make this? Did they use a tape player and record this by playing the songs on scratchy audio?

You suddenly remembered Yoongi’s girlfriend throwing a cassette tape on the subway concrete as she declared she hated him. The thin plastic has shattered, black ribbon flying everywhere.

Did Yoongi make her one?

And she smashed it, just like that?

“Do you want that?”

You started as an old woman indicated the tape in your hand. She was wearing a blue and white floral dress, a bright pink fanny pack at her waist. Her hand held a wad of change bills.

“Uh…” you said, not knowing if you did or not.

“I have a cassette player too.” The old woman tucked a gray hair behind her ear and rummaged around her, producing a silver and brown cassette player. It was huge, nearly the size of your forearm. “Still works. Needs batteries though.” She stated the price.

You walked out of the garage sale with the cassette and the player, wallet lighter.

You went home and played the tape after shoving some batteries into the player. It was full of old, cheesy eighties songs. You didn’t know any of these songs. They were all weird. Some were poorly recorded, cutting off strangely. The speaker was terrible, scratchy and pitching the audio due to its age, not that the audio was very good to begin with.

But you danced to it.

You danced to it.

Danced to these terrible love songs of a different time, of a different couple, not knowing if they were still together or not, not knowing if they were still in love, not knowing if they were even in Korea, but dancing to these retro beats anyway, not caring. Because someone, at one point, tried clumsily to make this for the one that loved, only for it to be sold like cheap candy decades later and you might as well enjoy it, because, hell.

What else was there to enjoy?

Morning.

Night.

You stopped at your doorstep.

Someone was sitting there, wearing a black parka and black sneakers. Black face mask. He raised his head as you stopped. Dark eyes, void of any sparkle. He stood up.

You swallowed. Bowed your head politely.

Opened your door for Min Yoongi.

-

You hadn’t changed the couch all this time. Left everything there, waiting.

Blankets. Pillow. The suitcase of his clothes.

Everything.

Yoongi didn’t say anything.

You went to your room, wordlessly.

In the morning, the blankets were folded neatly and the pillow set on top, as if he was never there.

Pause.

Fast forward.

He would be there one night and then not there several nights. He would stay several nights in a row, but not be there in the morning. Never saying anything. You didn’t say anything. You just went to your bedroom and danced to sad songs with happy beats, door closed, the pressure in your chest unbearable.

Replay. Turn the tape around. Replay. Turn the tape around. Replay.

You wanted to fast forward. You wanted to pause. You wanted to rewind.

But you had to press play.

You had to live the moments.

You had to run as you exited to night train, run and run and run, sometimes finding Yoongi sitting at your doorstep, sometimes finding nothing but air. And it didn’t matter. They were all bad days, ending with you dancing to gloomy songs with upbeat tunes, dancing and dancing until you passed out.

You were stuck.

Stuck in this odd loop of reality.

Trapped in sad lyrics with a happy melody.

-

You talked to your former therapist about it. 

Explained the situation, trying to remember all the details. He was retired already, but as usual he listened patiently and with kindness. He didn't have to. When your therapist retired, he let you know that he meant it when he told you that you could call him any time and he would set aside some of his day to talk with you. You were grateful and never tried to abuse it. Sometimes you would just call and say hello, ask him about his health. Send him cards every once in a while, wishing him well. He had been a great therapist and now he was a good friend.

Those were really, really hard to come by. 

You saw Yoongi once again, sitting in front of your apartment doorstep. Bit your lip seeing his crumpled form wrapped in his black parka. You walked up to him and smiled, but Yoongi didn't look at you. He only stood up and moved out of the way for you to unlock your door. 

Your former therapist's words echoed in your head. 

You need to consider the effect of your kindness, not only on him, but on you. 

You held up your keys and found your hand shaking, missing the keyhole. 

It is up to you how much you want to say. But remember to communicate with empathy. He is a victim and he may not respond rationally because his thought processes have been manipulated and warped.

"I'm sorry."

Yoongi's whisper was very soft, almost inaudible. You wanted to scream, cry, laugh it off, hug him, all at once. Instead, you took a deep breath and put your key in your front door. Turned around and beckoned him warmly into your home. 

"Come in."

Everyone's reality is different. Even if you're sharing moments together, one person might have a completely different way of interpreting and processing events. 

Yoongi stepped into your apartment once more, carefully taking off his shoes. Trying to keep his eyes on the floor. You didn't see any visible bruises on his face, but you could see the bruises to his soul as he timidly walked to the couch.

In life, you get to choose only how you feel about things. You only get to choose your own reaction.

You closed the front door, locked it.

You can't choose for other people. 

You turned around to see Yoongi looking at the pillow, blankets, the little bag of toiletries. The suitcase of his clothes, washed and folded. You kept them on the couch, all this time.

"Yoongi."

He didn't turn his head, but you saw him move his chin slightly to indicate he was listening. 

"This time... this time, before you leave in the morning," you said quietly, gently. "I hope you reconsider. Even if it's only for a second."

Yoongi didn't respond. 

-

The next morning, you didn't know what you would find. The same folded blankets with the pillow on top? The same empty couch?

You went out to the living room. 

Folded blankets. Pillow on top. No Yoongi on the couch. Your heart sank. Okay. It was worth a shot. 

"I told myself this would be the last time."

A familiar raspy, soft voice. You jerked your head to the door. Yoongi was standing there, fully dressed, face mask on, sneakers on his feet. He wasn't looking at you. He was staring at the couch. 

"I told myself I wouldn't take advantage of your kindness anymore."

It's okay, you wanted to blurt, but you hesitated, because was it? Was it okay to watch this all the time, to witness this toxic relationship, and not be able to help because you can't help unless they want to be helped?

"I'm weak."

Yoongi raised his head. He made eye contact with you. And it hurt so much, seeing those eyes and knowing you could do nothing, knowing he was just going to go back because that's all he knew. 

You smiled even though it hurt so, so much to smile.

"You might think you're weak," you said softly. "But you always have a choice, Yoongi. Even if it's a small step. Even if it's something dumb, like taking off your shoes."

You couldn't tell his expression, most of it hidden behind the face mask. You thought of that time, in the convivence superstore, where his fingers had accidentally gotten caught in your sweater and unfurled the yarn, tangling you two together with red string, an awkward, embarrassing moment. Your lips curved a little wider, remembering that time. If anything, at least there was that one precious memory.

Yoongi looked down. 

He placed his hand on the doorknob. 

You closed your eyes, not wanting to watch him go. 

You heard shuffling. Then a presence close to you. Your eyes snapped open. Yoongi's shoes were by the door. You looked up, right in front of you. Yoongi gazed back at you with uncertainty. Then he pulled down the face mask and stepped closer to you. Voice trembling, still so soft. 

"What... what should I do now?"

You couldn't help it. 

You began to cry. 

It all came out, the tears spilling like a broken dam. Yoongi's eyes widened, startled at your sudden reaction. You wrapped your arms around yourself and buried your face in your chest, sobbing ugly tears. You turned away quickly, wiping them away and attempting to talk, but it was impossible. They kept coming. 

Was it happiness? Relief? Stress? Anxiety? The crying racked your entire body. All those weeks, all those days, all those moments. You were just a person. You wanted to say, don't do this to me anymore, but that wasn't a fair thing to say, so you never said it, but, please, please Yoongi, don't do this to me anymore. 

Arms appeared around you, black parka covered arms, and they encircled you, first a tentative hold, then tighter and firmer, steadying your sobs, turning them into sniffles. You realized your sweatshirt sleeves were wet and gross now, covered in snot and tears.

"Thank you."

The whisper behind your head, making you freeze.

"Thank you so, so much."

You didn't want to start crying again. 

You started crying again. 

-

Pause.

Fast forward.

-

Yoongi looked back at you, face full of uncertainty. Black face mask on his chin, squishing his cheeks together. You smiled at him from the waiting room, waving. The doctor’s name was printed clearly on the door. The name of the therapist you had helped Yoongi find. They specialized in domestic violence victims.

“I… I can’t do it.”

He said it softly, but the waiting room was dead silent.

You smiled at him.

“You only have to take one step,” you replied gently. “I’ll be waiting right here.”

Yoongi looked forward again. He took one step. Then another. Then more, walking into the door and closing it behind him.

Pause. Rewind.

You remembered your similar moment. You were by myself at that time, years ago, confused and alone, about to walk into an old man’s office who you thought could do absolutely nothing, but you didn’t know what else to do. You knew there was something wrong with you and you didn’t know what and you knew you needed help. But there was no one to tell you to take a step forward. You were frightened, scared of being alone. Equally scared of being with someone else, which was why you were so boring in every relationship, never putting in any effort, because you were afraid.

The therapist had noticed your hesitance. He stood up and said your name kindly. You snapped to attention, nodding slowly. The old man had smiled, hands crossed in front of his waist.

“You only have to take one step,” he had said. “Just one.”

You looked at the ground.

Took one step.

That seemed too small. Maybe one more.

One more.

One.

More.

You were now in the office, standing in front of the sofa.

The old man had beamed at you proudly.

“You did it.”

Pause. Fast forward.

“You did it.”

Yoongi stepped out of the office. His eyes found yours. “I did.”

You smiled proudly.

“Wanna go buy some bread?” you asked, pointing in the direction of the market plaza next to the clinic. “There’s a bakery nearby. It would be nice to have bread for breakfast, don’t you think?”

Yoongi gave you his little half-smirk. “Yeah, it would.”

-

Reset.

Pause.

Play.

-

“Why do you have that?”

You looked up from your bed to your desk. Yoongi was pointing to the cassette tape player. His face was white, almost tense. His other hand was holding yours. He held it tighter, biting his lip.

“I bought it at a garage sale,” you answered truthfully. Yoongi lowered his hand, not quite looking at you. You continued. “I was walking around the neighborhood and someone was selling their old stuff and I saw some cassettes, so I bought one. The lady upsold me the player too. It was after the first time you…”

You left me.

You felt a painful pluck of your heartstrings, like a guitar strand pulled too tight and producing the wrong sound. Yoongi turned to face you, but you shifted your eyes, taking a deep breath. It’s not his fault. But it had hurt. You couldn’t pretend it didn’t.

You laughed apprehensively. “It was full of eighties love songs anyway. The audio is scratchy and old. The couple probably aren’t even together anymore.”

“That wasn’t that long ago.”

“The eighties were forty years ago, Yoongi.”

Silence. Yoongi was still holding your hand.

“How many times do you think it’s been replayed?” Yoongi murmured.

Your eyes shifted back to the silver and brown tape player. “I don’t know. But I kept playing it.” Your voice was a little choked up now. “I kept playing it until you… until you came back.” And sometimes I think… sometimes I think there might be a chance you’ll leave again. And maybe that was impossible, but you knew better, because impossible things happen all the time and it would be easy to think a person could fully heal, but things like that don’t heal so easily.

You know, because you witnessed it firsthand.

“They’re all terrible,” you said quietly.

Yoongi squeezed your hand. “But you kept replaying them.”

“Yeah.”

He took a deep breath. And then another. You waited. He seemed like he wanted to say something. You rubbed his thumb gently with yours. He kept staring at the cassette player.

“That… was the first gift I gave her.” His dark brown eyes were misty, gazing into the past. “Our hundred-day anniversary. I gave her a cassette of my favorite songs. I thought it was more original than a mix CD or a link to a Spotify playlist.” He looked down, not quite at the floor. “She was so excited and happy. She told me she was going to play it as soon as she got home.”

Silence.

When Yoongi spoke again, there was a quiver of hopelessness.

“I never saw a tape player at her place.”

You saw the pain in his eyes.

“Did she play it even once?”

He shut his eyes, hiding them with his hair. His voice was getting smaller and smaller, almost disappearing.

“And then she smashed it.”

He was clutching your hand so tightly that your fingers felt numb, but you didn’t move away, listening carefully.

“She smashed it so that not even people like you could pick it up years later and listen to it. Smashed it so that not even one person in the whole world could appreciate it.”

“The Yoongi at the time appreciated it,” you said softly.

Yoongi hid his face with his hair.

“The Yoongi back then was a fucking fool,” he sighed.

“It’s not so easy to have a pure feeling.” You placed your other hand on top of his. “Not everyone can feel that way. It’s not fair when someone takes advantage of that.”

He hung his head. “I could have gotten out. I could have been a man and left. But I kept going back. I enabled her. I was just as bad.”

You sighed softly. “You know things like that are easy to say and impossible to do in the moment.”

“Aren’t you mad at me?”

Yoongi lifted his head, looking at you through his bangs. Not wanting to fully show you the pain in those dark brown orbs.

“For going back?”

You shook your head. “No.” Your lips curved into a sad smile. “I watched my dad crawl back over and over. I watched it happen right in front of my eyes.” You exhaled the tenseness from your chest. “He kept thinking that because they had kids he had to come back.” The next breath was rougher, pushing out all your anger. “I think it would have easier if she was my stepmother. But she wasn’t.”

And the fear stabbed through you.

“I keep thinking, what if I’m like her? What if I’m just like her and I don’t know?”

You shut your eyes.

“All of my previous relationships ended because I didn’t invest into them.”

You suddenly let go of Yoongi’s hand, pulling away, but Yoongi held on, held on desperately, interlocking his fingers with yours. You dropped your hand, all strength gone, measuring your breathing, trying to calm yourself down.

“What if…?”

Silence.

“We’ll never know unless we try.”

Pause.

“I can’t ask you to try after what you’ve been through, Yoongi.”

“You don’t have to ask me.”

You opened your eyes and slowly, slowly raised your head. Your eyes connected with his.

“You know you won’t be that way,” Yoongi murmured quietly. “Because you know and can recognize it. You recognized it when… when I saw nothing.”

You held his hand.

Fell back on the bed and the two of you stared at the ceiling, holding hands.

-

You laughed as you exited the train car with Yoongi. At the last stop, stepping out to the harsh streetlights and concrete.

“What do you mean, is that where I got my dance skills? It’s just a music video! They’re supposed to be weird!” you were saying, shouldering your backpack.

“That was bizarre and that’s putting it lightly,” Yoongi chuckled.

He didn’t look at the edge of the train station anymore. He was only looking at you, with his dark brown, cat-like eyes full of sparkle, smirking at you fully now. There was still space between you two at this particular place, this last train stop, but somehow it had gotten smaller. Shrunk. Not because he was shrinking either. He was a smoothed-out piece of paper now, still winkled; the old marks erased but still etched on the page. Not forgotten, but finally able to be written over.

“Get the fuck over here, Yoongi.”

Both of you froze.

Yoongi frowned and looked up. The pressure on your chest returned.

The woman. Yoongi’s girlfriend.

No.

He cocked an eyebrow at her.

“I told you it was over. It’s still over.”

Ex-girlfriend.

She furrowed her brows, bristling. “You can’t do this to me, Yoongi! I’m the only one who loves you! Me! Or did you forget, you stupid bastard?”

Yoongi paused. He took a deep breath and stared up at the streetlights, up to the sky. For a second, you despaired, thinking he was going to consider it, thinking he was going to walk away from you. Then he let out a puff of air and ticked his head.

“I don’t have anything more to say to you,” he said evenly, not looking at his ex-girlfriend.

Yoongi turned away.

He caught your eye. He wasn’t smiling, but you could tell there was something different this time. Resolve. He nudged your arm with his.

“Wanna race?”

The pressure on your chest lifted suddenly, leaving you breathless.

“What?” you gasped.

Yoongi chuckled. “You’re gonna lose.”

And then he tore off. You started, running after him, the young woman shouting after you two, but neither of you heard, neither of you listening, because you were running, running, chasing after that black parka with indignation, calling his name and him mockingly bellowing yours back, causing you to run faster, faster, smile on your face, tackling him into your front door laughing. Yoongi snickered, stating he won and you chastised him, telling him he cheated as you unlocked the door.

“Your fault for getting distracted.”

“I wasn’t ready!” you flailed, dumping your backpack onto the ground. You took out your phone and accidentally pressed the play button on your music. Your Bluetooth house speakers started blasting quirky guitar, snazzy drums, and twanging bass, ridiculous lyrics singing along. In frustration, you tossed your phone on the couch and began to wiggle your arms, pointing accusingly at Yoongi, as if to say, this isn’t over, but kicking off your shoes and prancing about your apartment, bouncing your shoulders to the beat.

Yoongi shook his head, but you didn’t care, singing on the top of your lungs.

“Don’t know a night without dancing, don’t like the night without dancing…”

“Is that dancing?” Yoongi interrupted, but you just wiggled up and down like a fish out of water, and Yoongi shook his head once more, looking exasperated. You spun, you frolicked, you whipped your hair around until you were lightheaded, not caring about anything, not caring about what Min Yoongi was seeing, because this was your time, your time to shine, your nighttime dance party.

You tripped on the couch and Yoongi darted forward to snatch you from the air. You laughed at your own clumsiness, dizzy from spinning so much, not realizing how close you were to Min Yoongi, not realizing until the song ended and you were staring up at him and he was staring down at you, still in his black parka and face mask squishing his cheeks.

The next song began.

But for some reason you couldn’t brush it off. You couldn’t get up and begin dancing again. You were only looking up into Yoongi’s eyes and he was looking down at you. You were reminded of his face that day in the grocery store, when the red yarn from your sweater unraveled due to the Velcro on his sleeve, reminded of that split second where you were happy and sad at the same time, happy and sad at the idea of red yarn attaching you and Yoongi together.

Happy because it was funny.

Sad because you knew you had to pull away.

Yoongi’s dark eyes looked down at you and he leaned down a little. Stopped.

You raised yourself a little. Stopped.

Pause.

Heart beating fast, so fast. Was it from running? From dancing like an idiot? From staring into Yoongi’s eyes? From being so close to him? From knowing you shouldn’t kiss him, because maybe he wasn’t ready yet, but really, really wanting to?

Yoongi leaned down the same time you rose upward.

Your foreheads knocked together.

“Ow!”

“Motherfuc–”

You swore and he jerked up, rubbing his forehead as you winced, massaging yours. It was a hard hit and you felt woozy from all the emotions and the physical exertion. You grabbed his arm for balance as you stood, and he grabbed yours, grimacing as he rubbed his head.

“Damn, that fucking hurt,” he mumbled.

“Ugh, am I bruised?” you asked, removing your hand.

He squinted. “No?” He leaned forward a little.

You leaned forward too. Stopping just a centimeter away. Yoongi’s eyes widened. You looked into his wide eyes with your wide eyes, waiting. You shouldn’t kiss him, because you didn’t know if he was okay with it, you didn’t know if he was even thinking about it. It was way too early, it was too soon, and you should just back off–

He pressed his lips to yours.

You both stared at each other with unblinking, huge eyes, lips on lips.

You jerked back, sputtering. “Y-You’re making this weird!”

Yoongi pointed to you and all around him. “And this bizarre indie rock isn’t making this weird?”

“D-Don’t blame the music,” you stuttered, fingers on your lips. “You shouldn’t stare like that!”

“You were s-staring back!” he accused.

“F-Fine!”

And then you grabbed his face and kissed him, deeply, fully. You kissed Min Yoongi, kissed his soft lips with your eyes squeezed shut, breathing in his scent and his presence, a presence you never wanted to go away. You didn’t know if it was right or wrong. You didn’t know if this was the start of a wonderful story or the end of a rollercoaster one, but it was yours, your cassette tape with your love songs, and you wanted Yoongi on the playlist, you wanted his song to play on repeat, and he grabbed your arms and pulled you close, kissing you back, murmuring your name, wrapping his arms around you, and you knew you had his song, his song on your cassette to dance to.

Don’t let this beginning end.

-

4. smut.

--

masterpost

[kingofhearts709]

Bill and Ted do a scary movie marathon but then cant sleep

hello yes its no surprise that my first thought was nightmare on elm street so we're going with a 5 movie marathon of THAT up to the 1989 film HAHA 🤙 hope you enjoy!!

A/N: there are some very vague spoilers for the nightmare on elm street series (i mean like VAGUE) and also uhh small warning for like mentions of the slashing in the films?? its NOES i mean 🤷

this came out very kinda cute and idk if that's what you wanted but it's what my brain created 🎸

---

Bill and Ted have never done very well with especially scary movies.

Of course, they could handle one by itself, so long as it's followed up by something else lighthearted and definitely not The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

However, the newest A Nightmare On Elm Street was supposed to be coming out soon, and it was Bill's brightest of ideas that they marathon the first five in preparation for the plotline. The last thing Bill remembered happening, vaguely, is an unborn baby and something about a nun. Ted hardly remembered the first one.

Hence, the marathon.

"Dude, we're totally gonna dominate this horror marathon," Bill said as he started busting out the VHS box set, laying them side by side so he wouldn't forget what order they had to watch them in. "I highly doubt that we, as mature adults of modern society, will cower in the face of Freddy Krueger." Bill looked up to see Ted's face scrunched with pension, and immediately started to back away from the whole thing entirely, putting the first movie back down.

"I just...," Ted huffed where he was slumped on their couch, and whipped his head up to look at Bill. "Remember when we saw the first one in the theatre and screamed so loud that the attendant dude had to escort us out?"

"Yeah..." Bill remembered the memory well. They totally missed out on the ending of that movie the first time. Bill shook his head, "But Ted, that was, like, seven years ago. We've totally grown up! I'm sure that it'll be a most excellent experience."

Ted could hear the hope in Bill's voice, so he gave a small huff and a firm, brave nod for Bill to put the tape in. Bill pumped his fist as he inserted the tape, jumping back up onto the couch next to Ted and nearly knocking their popcorn bowl over. Bill suggested they start the marathon around five, considering they were about to embark upon nearly eight hours of monster movie magic. The two had already spent the afternoon together making sure they had easy meals for when they got hungry later.

Ted had almost wished they didn't need the marathon as an excuse to do so, but of course, it was quickly a thought to be pushed to the back of his head.

The opening sequence of the first film began, and soon enough, both Bill's and Ted's eyes were laser-trained on the small TV, Ted giving a jump at any scare and Bill giving a gasp at any gore.

They managed okay through the first one. "The first one's never the scariest, dude," Bill said with forced confidence, though Ted could clearly see him shivering as he set up the next tape. He was shivering too, and he kind of wished Bill would sit closer to him, just to make sure he was actually there, and it all wasn't a dream where Freddy was about to slash open his insides at the last second.

They pushed their way through the second and the third without moving from the couch, and Ted finally chanced a glance over at Bill as soon as the credits started rolling.

Bill was visibly shaking, in a way that made Ted wonder if he was having some sort of horror-induced seizure.

"Dude," Ted said quietly, and Bill blinked as he let out a deep breath and looked over at Ted. "Are you okay?" Bill swallowed as he nodded.

"I'm totally cool, duder," he said assuredly, though his face didn't say the same. "Uh... Snack break?"

"Yeah, dude, definitely." Ted looked up and over at their wall clock to see it was almost ten at night, and they hadn't eaten a single mouthful of anything since their popcorn. "I'm egregiously starved."

Bill nodded as he stood up before stopping completely in his tracks.

"Dude," he said, quiet. "I have a most terrible feeling." Ted swallowed thickly as he watched Bill turn away.

"Dude, whatever joke you're about to pull, I swear, I'll punch you," Ted warned immediately. "Don't."

"Dude, it isn't a joke, I think-" Bill suddenly whipped his body around towards Ted and Ted let out a loud scream as he cowered away from Bill's figure. Bill let out a relieved sigh and Ted slowly uncovered his face to see Bill rubbing at his back. "I twisted my back, dude."

"Oh," Ted breathed out. He shook his head, "Dude, I totally thought you were about to Krueger me." Bill looked at him for a long moment before he started to laugh, and Ted couldn't help but join in.

The thought was so ridiculous, of course, but Ted could never be too sure with the things he'd experienced in life.

"C'mon, Ted, let's eat dinner," Bill huffed as he stretched out a little more before heading to the kitchen to heat up their pre-made spaghetti. Bill returned five minutes later with two bowls of noodles and two forks, passing one into Ted's lap and setting the other on top of the TV before reaching for the next tape.

"Bill, dude, already?" Ted said as Bill slid out the tape and inserted the next (he'd have to remind himself to rewind them all later the next day).

"Ted, the sooner we get through them, the sooner we can be done," Bill reasoned as the fourth movie began, grabbing his bowl and sliding back onto the couch, this time within Ted's immediate reach. Whether or not it was intentional was beyond either of them.

"You make it sound heinous," Ted mumbled, though his eyes were already studying the screen with apt attention.

"Sometimes, my friend, you have to suffer to enjoy masterpieces," Bill mumbled back, mindlessly twirling his spaghetti in the bowl without picking it up.

The fourth movie ended more abruptly than either of them expected, with only half of each of their bowls eaten. Bill blinked into the suddenly eerie and dark room as he abandoned his bowl and fork and dove for the TV to stop the tape. The room went suddenly quiet and Ted didn't dare move.

"One more," Bill whispered despite the fact that they were the only ones there, and Ted listened to Bill insert the fifth and final tape.

"Dude," Ted pleaded, unsure what he was pleading for. Probably for Bill to finish and get back up on the couch so Ted didn't throw himself in a full-fledged panic. They'd already come so far and they weren't about to give up now, but it would help immensely if he weren't alone.

Bill jumped back up onto the couch, thigh to thigh with Ted as the last opening sequence of the night played in their dark living room at nearly midnight.

Bill's closeness was more distracting than ever, Ted almost missing the best and most heinously gorey pieces of the film every time Bill tensed up and shook against him. He's sure he'd been doing the same thing, though Bill didn't seem at all affected by it.

It was strange how fear seemed to literally bring them closer together, and it almost made Ted laugh at the thought that Freddy Krueger could possibly be some kind of ingenious cupid, creating connection through collective terrorising.

However, as he listened to the children sing Freddy's rhyme at the end of the movie, he thought better of that notion because Bill was hiding his face in his shoulder, and he was pretty sure no cupid would do such a thing as to make his best friend cry.

"Bill, dude, you're shaking," Ted whispered quietly. "The movie's over." Bill breathed in as he lifted his head to look at the TV, relieved to see that it was over. He subtly began to wipe at his eyes, and it amazed Ted how this had all been Bill's idea, and yet he was the one most terrified.

"Ted, I do believe," Bill began, doing his best to puff up his chest, "that we are truly the most bravest of all the brave." Ted smiled as he nodded. He would've made fun of Bill for getting scared were it not for the own lingering terror he was still feeling.

"Bill, we are most definitely two of the bravest men alive," Ted agreed with a nod. He paused for a second before adding, "Next time, though, maybe we should just see the new movie by itself."

It took a moment before Bill nodded, and they both collectively said, "Agreed."

Ted did the liberty of turning the lights back on and throwing out their half-eaten dinners, Bill putting the tape pile aside for rewinding later. They both finished and met up at their bedroom door before nodding and heading to their respective beds.

It was quiet as they slipped underneath their sheets, Ted reaching and turning off the bedside lamp, shrouding them both in darkness. Ted could hear Bill's unsteady breathing from the other side of the room, large breaths in and out like he was having trouble calming down.

Ted was having a similar issue, wincing every time he tried to close his eyes and seeing gruesome scenes from the movies behind the lids. He did his best to think about other, less Krueger-y things, but ultimately, it seemed like even through film, Freddy seemed to have a hold on both of them.

After nearly a whole hour of heavy breathing and occasional wincing, Ted finally spoke up, "Dude, I totally can't sleep."

"Yeah, me neither," Bill said instantly, taking another deep breath. "I keep thinking that Freddy dude is gonna get me as soon as I fall asleep."

"Dude, me too." Ted huffed. "You think if we fell asleep at the same time, we'd have the same dream? That way if he does end up coming after us, at least we'll be together."

"Ted, that's total bogus," Bill groaned, rolling over to look at Ted. "He isn't real."

"Yeah, but our brains think he totally is," Ted countered. "So, if we trick our brains into thinking he can't fight the both of us at once, maybe we'll get some sleep." A long silence seemed to stretch before Bill let out a snort, and Ted let one out right after. "Yeah, dude, that's definitely not how it works."

"Nah, dude," Bill laughed. "But your idea would be most outrageously correct within the Elm Street universe." Ted laughed as he watched Bill shake with his own in the darkness.

"Let's try to sleep, Bill," Ted said when the chuckles died down, and he tried to shut his eyes. The images still flashed, however, and he had to open his eyes again. Bill was still staring at him. "Dude, this is most non-triumphant."

"...Hey, Ted," Bill spoke up, voice nervous, and Ted gave him his undivided attention. "D'you... Like, would it be okay if-"

"-we shared the bed?" Ted finished the thought, and Bill let out a barely visible grin. "Yeah, dude."

Since Bill had the bigger blanket of the two of them, Ted was the one to climb under Bill's covers and lay down inches from his face. Somehow, this was far better than sleeping ten feet away from him. This way, Ted could feel him and make sure he was there.

"Hey, dude," Ted said, breath hot against Bill's face, and he managed a smile.

"Thanks, Ted," he found himself saying, and Ted furrowed his brows.

"For what, dude?"

"I would've never gotten through five of the most egregiously gorey and triumphantly horrific movies in cinema without you."

Ted laughed as he hid his face in Bill's chest, and Bill found himself holding him as he did so, until they were just lying there, together.

"And we'll get through the new one together, too," Ted mumbled into Bill, whose breathing had finally gone steady.

This time when he closed his eyes, he didn't catch the flashing images of Freddy Krueger. Instead, he saw the flashing images of Bill and his grin that said there was no way Freddy Krueger could ever best the both of them as long as they were together.

[thefanficmonster]

Kick Some Ghost Ass

”Until Dawn Gang x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Swearing, Sex jokes (excuse my bad humor)

Genre: CRACK, Humor

Summary: It’s one thing when trouble finds this gang, but why don’t we take a look at what happens when they go actively looking for trouble. Needless to say, chaos ensues and no one is spared. Some are more affected than others, and some are dead-ass traumatized, but isn’t that just how life is in general?

Requested by my dearest ever - Until Dawn Anon. Hi lovely! I’ve missed writing your requests and I’m really happy to be back, creating another chaotic fic! I’m sorry it has taken me so long to post it but here it finally is - crazy as ever! I hope you enjoy it! Love you to Blackwood Pines and back baby ❤❤❤

I don’t know how I’ve found myself in this situation but I’m not complaining. If I get to do dumb crazy shenanigans with my crew, I’m ready for just about anything. Not to mention I’m no stranger to ghost hunting. I’m that kid that made DIY Ouija boards and took them to cemeteries with their terrified friends. You should’ve seen us leaving after capturing no ghostly activity - my friends relieved as fuck, and me pissed as fuck.

But today, I’m not expecting nor will I be accepting any disappointment. Especially not with Jess swearing on her Chanel purse that she wasn’t making things up when she said she had a haunted house she wanted us to visit. I must say, I appreciate this group’s enthusiasm when it comes to the paranormal. Never have I had someone who catches my vibe on the subject so well, let alone an entire gang all sharing the same opinion as me - that ghosts, demons and poltergeists are so fucking cool. Sure, Emily took a bit of convincing and Jess is not one to give a shit about the other world creatures invisible to the human eye, but something allegedly happened that changed her mind.

Her a-hundred-and-something-year-old great-grandmother passed away recently and though the death itself didn’t shake Jess up as much as it probably should’ve, the events that followed led to this moment right now - the eleven of us pooling out of two minivans that have pulled up to a terrifying looking house in a wooded are of the suburbs. Jess literally gathered us all on an ‘emergency meeting’ in the courtyard of our college just so she could explain the situation in detail - she doesn’t do well with explaining things in general, let alone when she’s hysterical - so we only understood what she was trying to say when she mentioned the word ‘ghost’. That’s when we all started listening more closely, with the exception of Emily, Beth and Sam but the latter two were intrigued despite trying yo hide it. You can only imagine how excited Josh, Chris and I were, Mike and Matt following a close second behind. Ash was a tiny bit more hesitant but Chris convinced her to give in. And just like that, a week later, here we are.

“I gotta ask, did your great-gran own a VHS player? Or a chest in the attic? Bonus points if there’s a creepy, child-sized doll in there.“ Josh asks as he yanks all the equipment he insisted we bring out of the trunk of the minivan.

“Quit fucking around, Josh! This is serious!“ Jess complains from the spot she’s standing in, shivering in the cold autumn breeze.

“Yeah, Josh! VHS players, creepy dolls, that’s all child’s play.“ I scold him as I pull on my jacket, wrapping it around me more tightly, “Shit gets serious when there’s a secret basement.“

“Y/N!“ Jess shrieks in exasperation. Honesty, how am I supposed to NOT bother her when doing the opposite is so much easier and brings more amusement? “You’re not helping!“

“Wasn’t trying to.“ I wink at her, driving her into a new level of fury that almost leads her to chuck her phone at me. If it weren’t such a prized possession of hers, I’m pretty sure she would’ve chucked it with the intention of knocking me dead. I’m lucky she has the aim of a drunk toddler that spun around fifteen times.

“Hey, quit pissing my girlfriend off, will ya?!“ Mike, who is basically halfway inside the trunk of the other van calls out to us.

I roll my eyes but choose to let it slide. However, someone else doesn’t. Emily does a dramatic turn on her heel, turning to face Mike, or at least the only part of him which is visible. You can imagine how hard it is arguing with an ass like THAT. I don’t know how Emily does it but oh well, I guess I do it too, in a way.

“So it’s girlfriend now, huh? No space between the words?“ Oh that smile she’s flashing him, it could make the Devil himself shiver. I find it kinda hot though - it means shit’s about to go down or hit the fan, either way, the rest of us will be entertained.

Mikey boy straightens up, gracing the rest of us by-standers with his dazzling features. Nah, I’m capping. I honestly think Mike is as attractive as I am patient - very little, almost not at all. It’s surprising how him and Jess are now apparently together since I always pegged her to be the superficial type.

“Got a problem with that, Em?“ He asks, eyebrow raising, head tilting to the side. Oh yeah, it’s on now. But, as someone who’s been quite excited to do some ghost hunting, and also as a representative of the peanut gallery formed of the rest of us who find it amusing and annoying, I feel the need to cut it short before it goes where it shouldn’t. I came to see some exorcist shit, not Keeping Up With The Bitter Exs.

“Jess, I sure hope your grandma is a blood-thirsty ghost cause I can think of at least two people I’d serve to her on a silver platter.“ I snatch the keys the blond has been jingling nervously between her fingers and jog up the stairs to the front door.

Ok I maybe overexaggerated the eeriness of the house. It sure wouldn’t sit right with you if you saw it around sunset or at night, especially not if it’s foggy, but a horror movie house it is most certainly isn’t. It’s pristine and well kept, not a single crack in the walls, the only reason it’s unsettling is because: 1) We’ve all seen a few too many horror movies; 2) There’s been reports of ‘ghostly activity’ - as far as Jess is to be trusted.

While I’m surfing through all the keys, checking each and every single one of them on the door because the real key is unmarked, I can’t help but overhear the conversation going on behind me on the porch.

“Can you believe we got all this in a single day and for a discount on top of all?! Whoever says Craigslist sucks isn’t doing it right.“ Chris’ enthusiasm over the deal him and Josh got on the ghost hunting equipment has been what’s keeping a wide grin on his face this whole time. Though I’m proud of my boys for not getting murdered by the Craigslist seller, I must say I hate that I lost the bet we had - I had to pay them each ten bucks if they didn’t get scammed/kidnapped/murdered and I’m now twenty bucks poorer. I’m not saying I value those twenty bucks more than my friends, though my broke ass needs all the bucks it has and all the dollar bills it could get, but Lord knows I hate losing.

“Yeah, and the guy was only mildly sketchy.“ Josh adds just as excitedly and proudly, “To be honest, Cochise and I were probably the scary looking ones in that parking lot.“

A look over my shoulder shows the twins, Sam, Matt and Ash giving the duo skeptical and somewhat disappointing looks and shakes of their heads. I’ll admit, the equipment is in very good condition and it’s the complete set for ghost-hunting, according to BuzzFeed at least. I’m impressed with the purchase - probably had something to do with how scary Chris and Josh actually look. The all-nighters we’ve all been pulling lately have taken a toll on them worst with the dark circles and bags under their hollow eyes, pale faces and brains turned to mush. I know I’d give them a discount to avoid them pulling out meat cleavers on me.

“That’s all fine and dandy guys, but do you know how to work any of this?“ Sam asks, hesitantly lifting the EMF reader and turning it in her hand, analyzing it with a curious gaze. 

Josh and Chris exchange a look before the former replies, “Just the cameras and voice recorder, the rest falls on them.” He points a finger at me and laughs, “Though they aren’t able to work something as simple as keys, they are more than qualified to be a ghostbuster.”

“You know, Josh, jokes on you, I can work keys! Jess, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to be able to work well with organizing things, hence my problem with these keys.“ I hurl the bunch of keys connected my a scarlet keychain at Josh, “Lemme demonstrate my true skills.“ I hop down the flight of stone stairs and approach the pile of equipment the guys have created smack-dab in the middle of the house’s driveway. 

“Oh, I gotta see this!” Mr. Ex-Class-President all but runs over, frowning when we all turn to look at him just as I pick up the spirit box to show off how it works, “Oh that’s what you meant. So you aren’t taking your clothes off?“

Jess and I are alike in one thing - the need we feel to chuck objects at people who piss us off. “You’re girlfriend is, like, right behind you, Munroe. Have some decency!”

“I was gonna enjoy a show as well, but I’m guessing we won’t be getting one.“ The girlfriend in question replies, looking at me quizzically as though that’s gonna convince me into discarding my outfit.

“No, unless you’re a ghost.“ I point the device I’m holding at Mike, “But if your boyfriend here keeps acting up I might turn him into one.“

“That sounds kinda kinky.“ Beth’s comment surprises me. The wink she sends me even more so. “And I kinda like it.“

Ok, ok, ok, hold on. 

Flirting with Munroe is one thing, but Beth is a completely different story. I can be threatening Mike with a knife one moment and cracking sex jokes with him over cold beer the next. While Beth actually has the ability to get me flustered and blushing, and my close relationship with her brother doesn’t help. Mother fucker can just whack me upside the head every time he catches me fussing over my silly crush on his sister.

“Ew, you too! Keep it in your pants or at least get a room.“ Emily doesn’t miss a beat when it comes to being herself. She’s truly a garbage bin full of treasure.

“We’d do the latter if SOMEONE could get the door open.” I glare daggers at Josh who is making hopeless attempts at what I was doing earlier - unlocking that damn door.

“I’d be more than happy to come through for you ladies.“ Mike says, getting in a stance of a runner before a race, his body directly opposite the door.

Oh I can’t wait to see where this is going. I SHOULD RECORD IT.

“Mike, it’s still breaking and entering and it’s still against the law even if the person’s dead.“ Sam points out, entering her mother-like mode, ruining the fun and causing me to pout at her. She gives me a look of disappointment - one worse than I’ve ever seen on my parents - so I just shut my trap before she can also express said disappointment through words and have me feeling guilty for the rest of the day.

A loud crash suddenly echoes causing us to turn our heads to look for the source of the terrifyingly startling sound. One glance is all it takes to put our minds at ease and a second one is enough to provoke different reactions in all of us - the broken window telling the story of where Josh has disappeared.

“What did I just say about breaking and entering?!“ Sam shouts after him while the vast majority of us are cracking up like hyaenas. Jess is just gaping at the broken window next to the front door in disbelief. She obviously can’t decide whether to join in on the fun or serve as back-up to Sam. Josh did technically damage private property that’s partially hers, but if you ask me it serves her right for not marking her keys.

“Sorry, I was too busy breaking the window to hear that part of the conversation!“ Josh’s apologetic smile appears on the other side of glassless frame. I can’t tell if he’s genuinely sorry or holding back laughter but either way, he looks innocent enough for Sam to let him off the hook as long as he doesn’t cause any more trouble - in which case: tough luck. Chris, Josh and I are nothing if not troublemakers, especially when we’re together. Chris tones it down when Ash’s around, and the same goes for Josh with Sam while I’m simply problematic regardless of who’s watching. My chaos is untamable, it’s a blessing and a curse and I love it, even though it’s landed me in hot water more than once. It’s nice to be around people on the same wavelength - chaos resides within this group and not a single one of us can hide it.

“At least we have a way in now.“ Ash offers Josh a helping hand in this argument after she recovers from the overwhelming fit of laughter. “I hope the broken window doesn’t anger your gran, Jess.“

The blond snaps out of her trance briefly, “No, she was a very sweet lady, but damn is Josh creative!” She hurries to correct herself, “Destructively creative.”

I hurry to correct her once again, “Chaotically creative.”

“Guys, do you mind coming in? It’s very creepy standing here alone!“ Josh calls out to us, looking over his shoulder at the interior of the house, “I’m expecting to be snatched and dragged to that secret basement we mentioned.“

“Mention it one more time and I swear to God-!“ Jess screams, fists tightened.

Before her angry wrath could crash atop us, we all make our way into the house through the broken window, carefully avoiding the shards of glass strewn about. One step inside and we’re met with the upmost of horror clichés - a drop in temperature. We’re all wearing thick hoodies because the weather outside is chilly in and of itself, but said hoodies aren’t as efficient at holding the house’s cold at bay and away from out skin.

Chris and Matt make their way in last, carrying the equipment consisting of three cameras, flashlights for everyone, an EMF reader, a spirit voice box, a voice recorder and a motion detector. I help them hand a light to each group member as well as a ghost-hunting device before we venture onward.

“If I were your grandma’s ghost, I’d be ten times more pissed about that window. It looks to me like that lady payed a lot of attention to keeping things in order.“ Matt comments while he examines the expensive looking painting hanging in the hallway.

I hear Emily scoff, “Unlike some.” but the remark is said so quickly and quietly I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who heard it.

Jess laughs, “She did like things in order, but she was never as strict as you might think. As I said, she was very sweet.“

“So do you just not take after her at all or were you adopted?“ Emily’s remarks are no longer a mumbled jumble of words, “No, nevermind, of course you’re not adopted. Your parents are smart people, they wouldn’t have chosen you if they had the chance.“

Jess laughs again, much more menacingly this time, causing me to exchange a look with Hannah who’s walking beside me. “Twenty bucks says one of them isn’t making it out of here.” It’s just a matter of time, to be honest. If not the lodge, or any party we’ve ever attended as a group, this haunted house is the perfect opportunity for a murder. We could even argue it was a ghost.

Luckily, the two cats clawing at each other’s throats don’t overhear, “No, my parents aren’t stupid, but your boyfriend clearly is. He chooses to date you! Or are you holding him captive or something.“

Ok that’s enough. I can tolerate a lot of things, but people calling one of my best friends stupid is not something I’m about to put up with, “How dare you call one of my hoes stupid?” I sneer at Jess, eyes narrowing.

“I thought I was your hoe too!“ She fights back, looking almost offended.

“Even more reason you shouldn’t have called him that! I don’t tolerate my hoes not respecting each other.“ 

I don’t get to see where this argument goes because Ashley’s shriek echoes throughout the hallway, stealing mine as well as the attention of everyone else. 

“There’s a ghost in here!“ Making it to the doorway of the room she’s in first, I peak my head inside and see the EMF reader she’s holding going nuts as if it’s detected something.

“Don’t worry, Ash, there’s a dead cactus here. That’s not the ghost we’re looking for, is it?“ Chris, my amazingly bright friend says, quirking an eyebrow suggesting that remark was nothing short of dead-ass serious.

“Chris, darling, that’s not how it works. Cactuses are plants.“ I point out as sweetly as I can as to mask my laughter.

“Don’t the same ghostly rules apply?“ The genuine look of confusion he gives me almost makes me lose it.

“Ok children, leave the room, we need to set up a motion detector to be sure.“ Beth says with a tone that suggests she’s more than over our insanity. Jeez, count on her and Sam to start parenting us through our chaos. They are of high authority, must admit - one genuinely feels bad if they don’t comply to whatever these two girls demand.

We all pile out in the hallway while the twins set up this interesting motion detector with green dots. I don’t know what Jess’ granny looked like, but I bet that even the most unattractive of people would look hella good with this lighting. Thankfully the room is dark enough with the shutters closed and the curtains drawn, allowing the dots to be perfectly visible.

We stare at the minimalistic room littered with fluorescent green dots on every surface for maybe a minute or two but not much happens to the disappointment to some and relief to others. However, as if not wanting to let us down, the ghost makes a shy appearance if the shift of the green dots is anything to go by.

“Oh shit, is that a ghost?“ Chris whispers, sounding as amazed as I feel in this moment.

“It better be.“ I mutter in response, refusing to blink and risk missing anything important.

The sudden presence of the obnoxious noise of the spirit voice box makes us all jump. As I turn my head to glare at whoever’s using it, Josh speaks up. “Are you an attractive ghost?”

“Josh, that’s my great-grandmother, you ass!“ Jess barks with disgust in her voice.

In the meantime, I catch glimpse of Mike rolling up his sleeves. Oh shit, this ain’t good.

“I’ve been waiting for this!“ He shouts victoriously, cracking his knuckles.

Knowing this won’t end well, the first thing I do is snatch the camera from Chris’ hands and turn it on.

“Um, Mike, what do you mean?“ Sam’s back to being concerned, turning to the rest of us when Mike doesn’t give her a response, “What’s he gonna do?“

“Fight it.“ I answer as though it’s the most normal thing to ever have been done, “Or, ash he calls it - kick some ghost ass.“

“A freaking ghost?! He’s gonna try to tussle with something he can’t see?“ I can’t tell if Matt’s tone is disbelief, amusement or disappointment, but I believe he isn’t about to try and stop or dear ex-president in his pursuit and that’s all that matters. I ain’t about to let someone stop whatever’s about to go down from going down.

“That’s still my great-grandmother, you dumbass!“ Jess shrieks with something alike terror.

“Don’t worry Jess, I’m sure she’ll go easy on him.“ I say in an attempt to reassure her but I can’t even be bothered really, I’m too laser-focused on the circus that’s about to take place in front of me.

Mike, as if encouraged by my words, charges into the room. Much to his dismay, before he could even reach the ghost, he’s met with a much more vigorous enemy - the carpet. The rascal trips him up and Mr. Munroe falls flat on his face.

The group stays silent, looking at the glorious aftermath of the glorious fall. Told ya these lights could make everything fabulous. Must say, it’s truly an honor for me to have been able to catch all that on tape.

“10/10, would ghost-hunt with Mikey Munroe again.“

[bulletballet-arch]

REALLY LONG  CHARACTER  SURVEY. RULES. repost ,   don’t  reblog !    tag 10 ! good  luck ! TAGGED. I took this from Minnie’s archived Bioshock blog. I’ve been looking for this meme all this month. TAGGING. @hammurabicomplex. @bluuxriising. @ Me - for Sal on @bulletsoverbensonhurst​. @immaterialed (charlie) @soypeor (bella) @svmmercmance​. @mrflayed. and you!

BASICS. FULL  NAME :  Eve Delores Littlejohn NICKNAME : Evie, Little Evie (by her maternal side of the family), Delores, Didi NAME  MEANING / S  Eve is from the ancient Hebrew name  חַוָּה (Chawwah), which was derived from the Hebrew word חָוָה (chawah) meaning "to breathe" or the related word חָיָה (chayah) meaning "to live". Delores is a variant of Dolores, meaning "sorrows", taken from the Spanish title of the Virgin Mary María de los Dolores, meaning "Mary of Sorrows." Littlejohn is a surname that has historically been found in England and Scotland. With potential origins being either ‘to distinguish a beloved child that was not the eldest.’ Or, ‘a contradictory nickname for a large man.’ HISTORICAL  CONNECTION? : She’s named after her grandmother, Evelyn Hollins.

AGE : 42 BIRTHDAY :  June 2 ETHNIC  GROUP : Black-American. Meaning she’s mixed with a lot (Some of her relatives are respectively Creole and Italian) but uses Black as a catch-all term. NATIONALITY :  American LANGUAGE / S : English, Italian, Spanish, Latin, some French SEXUAL  ORIENTATION :   Bisexual ROMANTIC  ORIENTATION :  Biromantic RELATIONSHIP  STATUS : Verse dependent, usually married -or connected- to Salvatore Scozzari in some way. CLASS : Upper-Class HOME  TOWN / AREA :   Brooklyn. Spent time between Bedford-Stuyvesant - with her paternal grandfather and Park Slope - with her maternal grandparents.  CURRENT  HOME : In her childhood home in Bedford-Stuyvesant. PROFESSION : Ballet Instructor. Former Professional Ballerina. ( Other verses see her as a professional thief. )

PHYSICAL. HAIR : Black. In terms of her natural hair, Eve has springy, 3C hair she seldom shows off because she was raised in a family where straightened hair was deemed presentable and professional.  EYES : Thin almond eyes. Dark brown. NOSE : Straight and small. FACE :  She has a prominent, high forehead, that’s accented with high cheekbones and a pointy chin. LIPS :  Full. COMPLEXION : She has a light brown (tawny) complexion.  SCARS : None major. TATTOOS : None. HEIGHT : 5′4″ BUILD : Eve has a slender build. One of those people who have been small and petite since childhood. Despite this, she also stays skinny because she is obsessively conscious of the food she consumes. The older she gets the more she weighs, however. USUAL HAIR STYLE :  Her hair is cut short. Reaching her shoulders in a neat, even bob. She either curls it in a retro fashion or curls the tips. For work she wears it in a traditional, pinned bun. USUAL FACE LOOK : In public, she appears stoic for the most part. Any emotion shown (such as the length of a smile) is carefully calculated. She has to seem perfect.  USUAL  CLOTHING : Form fitting dresses. Incredibly chic and fashionable for the time. Shoes include heels - never open-toed, unless she has on stockings. Extravagant earrings. Jewelry that can include either necklaces, crosses, pearls, or dainty rings. Prone to wearing black sunglasses in public.

PSYCHOLOGY. FEAR / S : Thunderstorms, airplanes, creatures like weasels, snakes and ferrets, break-ins, men she doesn’t know, harm coming to her children ASPIRATION / S :  Formerly wanted to become a major [black] ballerina in the elite world of ballet, now she just wants to expose more [inner city children] to dance through her job. Personally, she wants her children to change the world in some form or fashion, too. Eve also has good ideas on improving the community, but at the moment has no idea how to go about these ideas. POSITIVE  TRAITS :  Generous, compassionate, patient, protective NEGATIVE  TRAITS : Strict, sullen, hard to read, represses her emotions, secretive MBTI :  Advocate - INFJ-T ZODIAC :  Cancer TEMPERAMENT :  Melancholic ANIMALS :  Lioness VICE / S :  Pride & Lust FAITH : Christian. Grew up Baptist, but Catholic influences have been around her since childhood. Attended a Catholic High School in Park Slope, her grandmother Evelyn was also a practicing Catholic.  GHOSTS ? : Yes and no. She feels that objects formerly owned by the deceased posses the essence of their previous owners and that they essentially live on through these pieces of property. AFTERLIFE ? : Yes. REINCARNATION ? :  No, but it’s a romantic concept. ALIENS ? : No. POLITICAL  ALIGNMENT :  Democratic ECONOMIC  PREFERENCE :  She likes being where she’s at now. But honestly, being upper class is all she’s ever known. SOCIOPOLITICAL  POSITION : Bourgeoisie, basically. The Littlejohn’s represent The Historical Black Elite.  EDUCATION  LEVEL : College level. FAMILY.

FATHER :  William ‘Bill’ Littlejohn MOTHER : Linda Littlejohn ( nee Hollins ) SIBLINGS : None EXTENDED  FAMILY : Amos Littlejohn (paternal grandfather) Liza Littlejohn (paternal grandmother) Evelyn Hollins (maternal grandmother) Giuseppe D’Aietti (maternal grandfather) and a wide host of cousins, aunts and uncles.

FAVOURITES. BOOK :  Night Song by Beverly Jenkins. The Color Purple by Alice Walker. Some sort of old, French erotic novel that was published before she was born. MOVIE : Eve watches films along the lines of...Waiting to Exhale, Beaches, The First Wives Club and Fatal Attraction. She loves Made-For-TV movies from the time period. In regards to plays, her favorite one is Sunday In The Park With George. 5  SONGS :  Meet Me On The Moon / Essence of Sapphire / No One In The World / People / The First Time I Saw Your Face  DEITY :  Persephone  HOLIDAY : New Years Eve, Christmas, Thanksgiving. Major holidays during the colder season. MONTH :  October SEASON :  Autumn PLACE :  The dance studio she works at. WEATHER : Sunny, but cool. SOUND : The voices of Anita Baker and Sarah Vaughn. A skilled hand running over piano keys. Soft trumpets. Running water. Cats making chipper little meows. SCENT / S :  Perfume, floral scented lotions, her partner’s cologne TASTE / S :  Caramel, the tang of dark chocolate, strawberries coated with either chocolate, or sprinkles of white sugar. Light Vinegar.  FEEL / S : Performing in front of an audience. Hot water engulfing your skin after a long day. Satin - whether it be the fabric of her clothes or sheets, your fingers tightly intertwined with another’s, feeling your significant other’s chest raise and lower against your skin with each breath they take. ANIMAL / S : Cocker Spaniels, Afghan Hounds, Cats, Birds - she loves all ( well, a majority ) of animals. NUMBER :  Doesn’t have one. COLOR :  White, Pink, Gold.

EXTRA. TALENTS :  Dance, Eve is trained in ballet when it comes to her main verse. She has attended ballet classes since the age of eight and ever since then she placed all of her focus into it. Similarly, Eve has always had the makings of a good artist - as a child she enjoyed drawing and had informal art lessons with a man who lived in the basement of her grandfather’s brownstone, but she never invested into that half of her. BAD AT : Singing, Being interviewed, Public Speaking (as in Speech Giving), Decision Making TURN  ONS :  Charisma, Leadership Skills, Temperature Play, Phone Sex, Heavy Kissing, Light Roleplay TURN  OFFS :  Public Sex, Tearing [ Her ] Clothes, Threesomes, Cruelty, Senseless Violence HOBBIES :  viewing plays & some musicals, reading romance novels, shopping, working out (she was into the whole celebrity VHS tape exercise trend), playing tennis, decorating AESTHETIC :  Vintage Black Glamour, Black Ballerinas, Champagne and Wine Glasses, Paintings by Melinda Byers and Edward 'Clay' Wright QUOTES :  "I'm bad with words, I hope you're good in reading eyes." / "There are truths I haven't even told God. And not even myself. I am a secret under the lock of seven keys."

FC INFO. MAIN  FC / S : Lynn Whitfield ( A Thin Line Between Love & Hate ) ALT  FC / S : Kylie Bunbury ( Twisted ) OLDER  FC / S :  Lynn Whitfield ( Greenleaf ) YOUNGER  FC / S : N/A VOICE  CLAIM / S : Lynn Whitfield

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 :   if  you  could  write  your  character  your  way  in  their  own  movie ,   what  would  it  be  called ,  what  style  would  it  be  filmed  in ,  and  what  would  it  be  about ?       A1 : Recently I decided that if/when I try to write anything serious about Eve again, it’ll center on her being a jewel thief because it presents me more fun, and emotionally diverse, opportunities. That and I have a very specific cover image in my mind. Ideally, her adventures would be a series of books. I have no title in mind, no idea about how ‘it would be filmed’ ( although a style replicating 90s films would be excellent, film grain and all. ) but, I do have a bunch of plots in mind that I really don’t feel like typing out here.  

Q2 :   what  would  their  soundtrack / score  sound  like ?         A2 :  Her score would have a vintage sound (or a jazzy Spike Lee sound, if you will) with instrumentals by Dorothy Ashby (a Jazz Harpist) the Ahmad Jamal Trio, Pharaoh Sanders, Yusef Lateef and Tarika Blue. For music with lyrics, the soundtrack would include the likes of Julie London, Sarah Vaughn, Ella Fitzgerald, and Dionne Warwick.

Q3 :   why  did  you  start  writing  this  character ?   + Q4 :   what  first  attracted  you  to  this  character ? A3 :  Whenever I make NPCs for my character’s lives I actually can’t just let them just be NPCs. I start thinking about them too much. Developing them too much. And then I’m like, ‘wow! I really like this character!’ Eve was a different character when I began writing her, and likely wouldn’t be considered the same character as she was previously, if I told someone in real life who knows about my writing (like my grandma) about all the changes she has undergone. Originally Delores was a university professor, because I thought it could lead to interesting interactions with college-age muses. And her previous history with the mafia was also something interesting to tap in. But then I started thinking about what was realistic, what wasn’t realistic, what did I feel comfortable/interested writing? What didn’t I feel comfortable/interested in writing?  So as time went on, things would alter about this character. And the new things I came up with attracted me more. 

Q5 :   describe  the  biggest  thing  you  dislike  about  your  muse.         A5 :  I have a love/hate relationship with Eve’s quiet demeanor. On one hand, I think quieter characters need love and the ability to be fully dimensional but on the other hand, writing louder characters has always been more fun for me. But really, Eve’s guarded behavior makes writing her stressful in some cases with others because sometimes...if I’m going to be honest...people don’t know how to carry a thread and interact with someone of her demeanor effectively. 

Q6 :   what  do  you  have  in  common  with  your  muse ?       A6 : We’re both black, we’re both into art (although our exact interests and aesthetics with art differ)

Q7 :   how  does  your  muse  feel  about  you ?         A7 : Realistically she would think I need to take better care of myself.

Q8 :   what  characters  does  your  muse  have  interesting  interactions with ?   A8 :  We skippin’ this question.

Q9 :   what  gives  you  inspiration  to  write  your  muse ?       A9 : Films such as, “Waiting to Exhale,” “The Kitchen” and “Widows.” Books by Alice Walker, like “The Third Life of Grange Copeland” as well as her short story, “Roselily.” The historical mob figure Stephanie St. Clair.

Q10 :   how  long  did  this  take  you  to  complete ?       A10 : A few hours.

[hopelikethemoon]

the three of us (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: the three of us Rating: PG-13 Length: Warnings: discussions of pregnancy planning, angst, heartache Notes: this chapter made my heart hurt. Set in 1996. You can find the Maybe Today, Maybe Forever Timeline here. Summary: Javier and Reader have not had the success they hoped for. 

Taglist:  @grapemama​​​​  @seawhisperer​​​​ @huliabitch​​​​ @pedropascalito​​​​ @rogrsnbarnes​​​​@thewallpapergoesorido​​​​ @twomoonstwosuns​​​​ @gooddaykate​​​​ @livasaurasrex​​ @ham4arrow​​​@hiscyarika​​​​ @plexflexico​​​​ @readsalot73​​​​ @hdlynn​​​​ @lokiaddicted​​​ @randomness501​​​@fioccodineveautunnale​​​​​ @roxypeanut​​​ @just-add-butter​​​ @snivellusim​​

Maybe Josie had been a fluke. 

Your doctor had given you a full bill of health — both times you visited the doctor. There was no reason for why nothing had taken hold. Five months. Four negative tests. Four periods. Even Javier had visited the doctor, just to make sure his swimmers were in working order. They were. Everything was right and yet…

You swallowed thickly as you pushed the bathroom door open, eyes lowered to the floor as you shook your head. Another unsuccessful month had slipped by. 

“C’mere.” Javier murmured, holding his hand out and gesturing for you to join him at the foot of the bed. “It’ll happen.” He reassured you. 

“Yeah.” You almost wished you hadn’t decided you were ready to try. To actually plan on having another kid. 

Javier curled his arm around your waist, drawing you into his side. “It’s okay baby.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“I just thought that this time…” You shifted, laying back on the bed and bringing him down with you. You stared up at the ceiling, brows furrowed. “I was two days late and I was certain.”

“I know.” He slid his arm out from under you, rolling onto his side. You could feel his eyes on your face, “Hey.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eyes. “Hmm?”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It’s neither of our faults.” You said a little quickly. You were both healthy, but you were the one that wasn’t pregnant. You had been so certain this time around. For a fleeting few days you had felt different. Maybe you had been, maybe it ended before it even began.

“We’ll just keep trying.” Javier draped his arm over your middle, giving your waist a reassuring squeeze. “If you want to.”

“I do.” You sighed heavily. “I just didn’t realize how hard it was going to be.” Your eyes drifted back up to the ceiling. Josie had been easy — one night was all it took to give life to a beautiful baby girl. Sure, it had been sheer hell, but she had been easy. 

This time, you were actually trying and nothing was working. 

“I’ll go back over the calendars the doctor gave us. Maybe we’re off by a day.” You scrubbed your hands over your face, before you looked at him. “I’m sorry.”

“Baby, you haven’t got a damn thing to apologize for.” He cupped her cheek, rubbing his thumb over the rise of your cheekbone. “And as much as it pains me to leave you right now…”

“Get to work, Professor.” You teased, trying to put on the emotions you would rather be feeling. You were depressed. But you didn’t want to ruin his first day back in the job force. 

“I am just a teacher.” Javier countered, “And it’s just orientation.”

You curled your fingers around his tie, pulling him in closer so you could kiss him. “But Professor sounds sexy.”

Javier bumped his nose against yours. “I love you.” He whispered, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “Are you going in today?”

You pursed your lips thoughtfully. “Probably. It would be a nice distraction.” You forced yourself to smile. You needed the distraction, otherwise you’d spend the day in sweatpants with a bottle of wine trying to forget your inadequacies. 

“I’ll pick up dinner on the way home so you won’t have to worry.” Javier told you as he pulled back, straightening his tie. “Pizza?”

“Sounds nice.” You nodded, peeling yourself off the bed. “Good luck today, Javi.”

“Thanks baby.” He murmured and you could feel his eyes on you as you moved around the bed room to get ready for work. You knew he was hurting too — maybe not the same way as you were. But he wanted this baby as badly as you did. Each month that slipped by killed you. At one point in your life you had prayed for a negative test, but now it was all you saw.  

——

Your 1 PM meeting took you by surprise. Not the meeting itself; but the person leaving the meeting ahead of yours. 

“Lance Collier.” You remarked, stopping dead in your tracks. “What are you doing here.”

He held his hand out to shake yours, “Working with the local law enforcement on a case. How the hell have you been?”

“I actually have a meeting.” You glanced at your wristwatch. “It’ll be about forty five minutes.”

“I’ll wait.”

“Great.” Lance nodded. “Hope they don’t bore you to death.” 

“Chances are slim.” You quipped, before you headed into the conference room. He certainly was a welcome distraction from the thoughts weighing on your mind. And one of the last people you expected to see from your time in Colombia. Second maybe only to Chris. 

 ——

It was surreal to have Lance Collier standing in your little office with an obscured view of Dodge Island. The last time you had seen him was the night you broke up with him and promised to call him in a week or two. You hadn’t. 

“Niece?” Lance questioned, nodding to a picture of Josie you had framed on your desk. 

“Daughter.”

His brows shot upwards, “Wow. When did that happen?” You couldn’t exactly blame him for being surprised. He’d actually mentioned having kids with you when you dated and you had been pretty against the idea. You had a whole career you were building. 

“She was born in ‘93.” 

“And who’s the lucky father?”

You arched a brow, “Would you believe me if I told you I’m with Javier.” You turned one of the pictures on your desk towards him — a family shot Connie had taken for you in their backyard at Easter. Josie was clutching a stuffed rabbit, nestled in between you and Javier. 

Lance’s jaw dropped. “Peña? What the hell did I miss after I left Colombia? I figured you must’ve moved on — you never called.”

You grimaced. “It didn’t feel fair to string you along, Lance. It’s not like I moved on to Javi right after we broke up. Far from it, actually. I just wasn’t—“

“There’s no hard feelings.” Lance cut you off. “I’m getting married next month.”

“Oh, wow! Congratulations.” You smiled at him. ”So what has the CIA poking around here?”

“Clearing up soon loose ends from Medellín. We received intel that La Oficina de Envigado was laundering money out of Miami. Due diligence, really.” He lowered his voice, pointing at Josie’s pictures. “Is she why you’re persona non grata with DEA? I was down at the embassy a year ago and—“ He whistled as he shook his head. “They’re not fond of you.” 

You shrugged a shoulder. “Javi and I lied about our relationship for a year. I was already on thin ice for being pregnant and…” You made a face. “Straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“Jeeze, I’m sorry.” He gestured around the office. “But check this place out.”

You laughed. “Yeah, who knew Miami had the budget to give consultants offices with windows?”

Lance shook his head, staring at the family picture on your desk. “I can’t say I’m surprised, but… I just can’t picture Peña as a father.”

“He’s amazing.” You told him, your eyes drawn to the picture. “Josie is a complete daddy’s girl.” You glanced back at Lance then, “What do you mean you’re not surprised?”

He gave you a look. “Do you remember the first time you brought me along to drinks with him and Steve?” You nodded. “I realized pretty quickly that night that he was my competition.” 

“Really?” Your brows furrowed together. “I just remember him being a dick that night.” Then again, he always got pissy whenever Lance turned up with you. 

He was going to lose his shit knowing that Lance was in town. 

“I’m glad you’re happy.” Lance told you with a genuine smile. “That’s all I wanted for you.” 

“Thank you.” You sank back in your seat, “I mean, look at us. You’re getting married next month and I’ve got a family.” 

“With Javier Peña no less.” 

A laugh bubbled out of you, “Right? I’m still waiting for the pigs to fly.” 

“Any wedding bells in your future?”

“Not our thing.” You shook your head, “But we’re good. He’s started teaching a criminal justice course at the university. I’ve got this.” You gestured to your office. “Life is good. Miami was the right move for us.” 

Lance pursed his lips and nodded in agreement. “You deserve it.” He glanced towards your office door, “I should probably get going. I’ve got a deposition to sit in on later.” 

“It was good to see you Lance.” You offered with a warm smile, watching him leave. Once upon a time you probably would’ve settled for him. But there was nothing about Lance that made your heart skip a beat — even back then. That would’ve been an easy path. Everything with Javier had been difficult. It still was difficult. 

But all that difficulty made the quiet moments worth it. The uphill battle was justified every time Josie roped Javier into wearing a princess crown and attending tea at her make believe restaurant. 

You couldn’t imagine a life where you didn’t have both of them. And maybe it was okay that you weren’t having any luck. Maybe it was meant to be just the three of you.  

———

“I don’t know why we bother trying to expand her dietary options,” You remarked as you picked a piece of cut up pizza off her abandoned plate as you took it to the trash to throw away. “She’s always going to just want chicken nuggets.” 

“In futile hope that she’ll kick her chicken addiction.” Javier remarked from the living room, where he was fastforwarding through the trailers on the VHS he’d rented. Four Weddings and a Funeral seemed like the right kind of movie to unwind to. 

You grabbed two beers out of the fridge, gripping them in one hand as you snatched up the pizza box off the counter and headed into the living room to join him. “I wish it were that easy. I think she’s hooked, Javi. Our baby’s a chicken addict.”

Javier looked back at you over his shoulder, a grin spreading over his lips. “Guess there’s worse things she could be hooked on.” He settled down onto the sofa, loosening his tie. “I’ve got a full class. I guess everyone wants to meet the guy who helped bring down Pablo Escobar.” He swept his fingers through his hair, before taking a beer from you.

“They’re going to love you.” You said as you took a swig of beer before sitting it down on the coffee table. “You’ll never guess who I saw today.” 

“Who?” His brows drew together. 

“Lance.”

Javier huffed, “Really?”

You nodded, leaning back on the sofa. “He’s still chasing down money launders from Escobar’s predecessors.” You explained. “Still a CIA suit.”

Javier gave you a wary look, before he leaned forward to grab a slice of pizza. “That’s good.” He said before taking a bite.

You chewed on the inside of your bottom lip, heart pounding a little quicker as you stared at him. “Are you going to be an asshole about this?”

“No.”

“Our entire conversation basically revolved around you.” You told him, lips drawn into a faint smile. “It was a nice distraction from everything else.”

Javier grabbed the remote and paused the movie. “I’m not going to be an asshole about this, but I just never liked the guy.”

“I know.” You reached out and stroked his cheek, before sliding your fingers into his hair. “He wasn’t surprised that I was with you.”

His jaw rocked tensely before he relaxed under your touch. “What? Did he tell you about the time I pulled him aside and told him he better take care of you?” Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth.

You shook your head and tilted your face to look up at him. “When did you—“

“You had just started seeing him.”

“Well, that explains everything.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest. You could easily picture Javier pulling that shit. He had been in fine form that evening from the second that Lance sat down at the table. It was a miracle it hadn’t run the poor man off then and there. You had a sneaking suspicion that he had said a lot more than just ‘take care of her’. Everything had been so new back then — Colombia, Javier and Steve, your outlook on the future. Maybe things didn’t turn out how you had planned, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world. 

Javier gave your shoulder three little squeezes, pulling you in close to his side. “Is he going to be around for awhile?” He questioned as he picked up the remote with his free hand, loosely holding onto it.

“I didn’t ask, but probably not.” You reached out and took the remote out of his hand, sitting it aside. “We should talk about this morning. 

He exhaled heavily, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “I’d planned for us to talk about everything but that.” 

A nervous laugh escaped you as you interlaced your fingers with his. “I know.” You swallowed thickly. “It’s not bad… it’s just—” You squeezed his hand tightly. “I think we should try for another month and then I think it’s time to accept that it’s just the three of us.” 

Javier lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to it. “The three of us are perfect, baby.” 

“Yeah.” You whispered, sinking into his side feeling defeated. You wished you could make it happen. That tomorrow you’d magically wake up pregnant. The thought of both of you being able to enjoy this from the start seemed like a vain wish now. “Are you excited to start teaching?”

He rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand, “I met a couple of the students this afternoon and they seem keen. We’ll see.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “They even gave me an office with a window.”

“We both ended up with windows,” You mused.

Javier chuckled. “I wanna bring you and Josie by later this week so you can see it.” 

“That reminds me.” You squeezed his hand before you got up off the sofa. You headed down the hallway to the bedroom to get the gift you’d wrapped and hidden on your side of the closet. You returned, holding it out to him. “I meant to give this to you this morning, but…”

Javier took the parcel from you, unwrapping it slowly. “Baby, you shouldn’t have.” 

You had taken the negatives of the photos from Colombia and had duplicates made to be framed. Four photos that captured so many memories from that era of your lives. Josie resting on Javier’s chest, both of them fast asleep a few days after you had brought her home; you and Javier kissing, a slightly blurry photo you’d relied on the timer for; Josie’s first bath; and a photo of the three of you when Josie was still so tiny. 

“I thought you might like taking us to work with you.” You smiled at him as you settled down onto the sofa beside him. 

“Maybe we should stop now.” Javier suggested as he looked up at you. “I hate how much this is stressing you out, baby.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, “Maybe we can just try to see if it’ll happen naturally.” You still weren’t ready to call it quits. Not entirely. 

He nodded his head, staring down at the frame. “We’re good as three, aren’t we?” 

“We are.” You leaned into his side. Part of you regretted that you had started this whole endeavor. You had thought it would be easy, free of heartache. But you had been wrong. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was the planning and the stress that was causing it to fail. 

[asteriismos]

Tear You Apart -- Bill Denbrough

Authors Note : wooo this was a whirlwind to write. self quarantine is slowly starting to eat me alive, but I hope everyone is doing good! stay healthy and wash hands! also, if anyone wants to be on the tagging list, just shoot me a message or an ask! I also changed around the request slightly but it’s pretty much the same thing. Requests are still open.

Warning(s) : smut ( obviously ), seventeen! bill denbrough, choking, this is kinda just filth but what’s new, im going to hell

Request : 

Loved your last bill smut you posted! Can you do one where the losers all have a sleepover and Bill has to share an air mattress with the reader and they end up having really hot sex while trying not to wake up the losers yet fail bc the reader is loud asf and maybe the reader has a choking kink and tells him while they’re making out to choke her harder. and the next day they have marks all over? (Sorry my thirst for Bill is unreal rn 😂). Ok so I also wanted to add to my bill x reader smut where he tries to push the reader to her limit and see how many times she can cum and it gets to the point where she’s screaming and crying at the same time bc oof 🥵 that’s hot (again I apologize for my horny ass I just wanted to add a little to my request)

When Richie Tozier gave the suggestion that the friend group should have a sleepover over Labor Day weekend, you were one of the first to scream yes. It was the beginnings of your senior year and you weren't going to waste a second of it, you wanted to spend every second you could with your friends and boyfriend, Bill.

The only problem was that it took a while to find the house you all should sleepover at. Though Richie had the idea, he said that his parents were planning something Saturday night, which meant a no from his end. Eddie’s mother wouldn't allow anyone over because of germs, and Bev’s aunt was not about to have eight teenagers in their apartment. 

Luckily, Bill’s parents were out of town for the weekend because of the holiday, so you all finally could take the plan for action.

The rest of the day was dedicated to getting supplies for said sleepover. You and Bill went to the dollar store on the corner for snacks, Mike and Stan went to get as many blankets as they could, Eddie and Richie got movies, and Ben and Beverly set up the spare air mattresses in the large living room.

Once all of you got back, the party finally began.

“We have to watch Jurassic Park. It just came out on to VHS tapes,” Richie begged to the group. “And it’s so good, you gotta admit.”

“Richie, no, come -” Eddie’s rejection sentence got cut off by Richie already putting in the tape. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer, obviously. “Fine, whatever.”

All of you laughed at the two bickering and settled in for the movie. You were sharing an air mattress with Bill, the giant bowl of popcorn sharing both of your laps. You two were all snuggled and cozy under two blankets. As the movie got started, you felt his left hand land on your thigh. It wasn’t unlike him to put his hand there, considering you two weren’t prudes to types of PDA, but for some reason it felt different this time. It felt like there was a motive behind it. 

You looked at your boyfriend, and even in the dim lighting of his living room you could see a smirk on his face. 

Well, you thought to yourself, two can play at this game.

Your own hand came down under the covers and laid on his thigh, giving it a good squeeze. Bill tensed up under your touch, breathing in a very big amount of air as he kept his eyes on the movie. He wasn’t going to give up without a fight, that was sure.

A good ten minutes passed with no other touches from Bill, maybe he had stopped for the night in fear that your friends would start to notice the strange behavior between the two of you. You two weren’t all that good at being subtle, to be honest.

However, your previous thoughts seemed to be wiped away when you felt his hand go to your waistband of your sweatpants. Your legs tensed up for a moment and your stomach churned, looking around at your friends to see if they noticed. They hadn't, all of them were focused on the movie, since it was getting to the good part. That was a good thing, considering if any of them found out about this ( particularly Richie ) you two would not hear the end of it. 

His hand slipped under the waistband and stilled for a moment, almost as if he was asking permission. You grabbed it and squeezed it, signaling that you were okay with it. And with that, he proceeded up go under your underwear lining. You breathed in sharply, causing Ben to look your way.

“Popcorn kernel,” you whispered his way. He nodded and turned his attention to the movie once again. From the corner of your eye you could see Bill laugh a little bit. Glad to see he was enjoying this. You tried to keep your face from reacting when his middle finger entered you. 

But it felt really fucking good.

He stayed with one finger for a while, pushing in and out slowly, with rhythm. You turned to look at him and awkwardly held up a peace sign, signaling that you wanted another finger. Bill happily obliged, slipping another finger into you. That was enough to start changing the pace of your breathing, your focus at the bowl of popcorn on your legs. The movie was playing in the background but you couldn’t even think about it. Instead, you were thinking about the earliest you could fuck the shit out of Bill.

Which was now. You couldn’t take it anymore. You had to feel him inside of you, all of him. The want and desire was enough for you to quickly grab his hand, stand up and say, “We’re going to go make some more popcorn.” The Losers nodded, their eyes still fixated on the film. You pulled Bill by the hand into his family’s kitchen, not wasting a second of the limited time you two had before one of them would get suspicious.

His lips caught yours first, his body pushing you up to the top of the island counter. You obliged, scooting so that your butt was seated on the edge of the island, your legs wrapping around his torso. There wasn't an open space between you two as you kissed, the air in the room got hotter and hotter. It was the thrill of you two doing this in his kitchen, but also the thrill that someone would come in and witness the very unholy thing that was going down.

Bill pulled away from your lips, his kisses instead going on your cheek and along your jaw. They got up to your ear and he whispered, “I want to see how many times you can cum.” It sent shivers down your spine. You two probably only had about ten minutes or so before someone got suspicious and would investigate. The thought made a pool begin in your panties.

His hand went back to where it had previously been prior to the kitchen, two fingers reentering you. You moaned into his shoulder, the soft cotton proving to be quite helpful in muffling your moans. But that didn’t seem to be enough for Bill, he was not looking to be caught early. So his hand came up to your throat, squeezing a little bit. Instead of pain, you felt pleasure. Bill had complete control over you and you loved every second of it.

The first orgasm came soon after that, your moans being stifled by his hand and his shirt. You thought that he would stop so he could have some action of his own, but he didn't. Instead his fingers kept going in and out at an even faster rate. It felt good to ride out your high, but now you were so sensitive to his touch.

“Bill, I’m still pretty sensitive,” you choked out against his shoulder. He just nodded his head and kept going. The dominance he was showing was unlike everything before, and you hated to admit that it was turning you on so much.

His lips attached themselves to your neck, his teeth almost expertly biting in just the right spots to get you closer and closer. You counted all the spots that he reached, but lost count in your second orgasm after seven. You’d have to do a lot of damage control with makeup the next day.

Both of Bill’s hands left your body, and for a moment you thought that he was leaving. You opened your eyes and reached out to him, putting your hands on his shoulders. He wasn’t leaving, he was just taking off his belt and unzipping his pants, quickly getting himself out of his boxers.

It didn’t take long for him to enter you, his pace slow as you adjusted to his length. Despite your past two orgasms, you still felt yourself moaning in pleasure from his actions. His hand went back to your neck, repeating the same squeezing motion every time he would thrust into you. You looked past his shoulder at the clock on the wall, seeing that about eight minutes had passed. You were praying that your friends didn’t find you in this position. 

“Bill,” you breathed out quietly, feeling the same fire in your stomach grow with each thrust. “I think I’m going to-” Your words were cut off by your third orgasm, hitting you like a tidal wave. He kept thrusting into you faster and faster, then finally reached his own peak, his thrusts becoming sloppier as you both rode it down. 

He kissed your forehead, pulling out of you and getting a rag to clean up the mess you two had made. Once you two were moderately clean enough, he redressed and helped you off of the kitchen counter. You semi felt bad, considering you have helped Mrs. Denbrough prepare dinner on this counter many times before and done homework with Bill here too. 

“I would just try not to think about it too much,” Bill said, obviously thinking the same thing that you were. Both of you laughed and hugged, your breathing coming to a safe pace again. 

When you two walked back into the living room, the movie was showing it’s credits. Both of you tried to seem as normal as possible, but it was inevitable that someone would ask something.

“You two said you were going to get popcorn, where is it?” Eddie asked, his eyebrow raising. 

“Yeah, we also didn’t hear the microwave on in there,” Richie added, a smirk plastering his face.

A blush creeped onto Bill’s cheeks and soon your own, realizing that you hadn’t been that quiet and discreet as you two thought. 

[lemonz-and-limez]

The Amends Consideration

A/N: @ailurophilia72 if you ask, you shall receive.

This one is a heavy one, I'm not going to lie. Saw this prompt on tumblr and it got my brain going I just couldn't get it out of my head. Death has reared its ugly head in my life again and that kind of fueled a lot of this story. I am in a lot of pain right now and I needed it out. This story was the product.

I know in Young Sheldon, George is portrayed a lot differently than what is let on in Big Bang. I tried to go for the way he was described in BBT, a darker version definitely compared to what we see in YS. Just for full disclosure.

Prompt: Sheldon gets sad when he realizes his dad will never get to meet his child

Sheldon didn't know what to think as he pulled his mother's unexpected package out of the mailbox. Mary hadn't mentioned anything about sending him something, so the contents of the small box in his hand was a mystery.

He sorted through the rest of the mail on the elevator ride back up to his and Amy's shared apartment. Bills, adds, a couple of congratulations cards for the upcoming birth of their son. But nothing interested him more than the nondescript box he cradled under his arm.

As the elevator doors dinged open, Sheldon paid no mind to the obvious chatter coming from 4A. Penny and Bernadette had teamed up to throw Amy a baby shower, which his wife wanted but never had time to plan. With her two friends already being mothers themselves, they decided it would be easier to take the responsibility into their own hands. Of course, that meant Amy would probably be gone most of the day, knowing how those ladies like to chat. Sheldon didn't mind though, he never cared if he was on his own.

He had planned on getting some work done that he had neglected during the week. No day like Saturday to get things done, after all. However, the second he stepped back into his apartment, he threw everything from the mailbox except his mother's package onto the kitchen counter.

Sitting down on the teal couch, Sheldon inspected the parcel on the coffee table in front of him. "Alright, let's find out what you are," Sheldon whispered to no one, taking out his tiny pocket knife and carefully cutting the tape. The box opened from the side, so he spilled the contents out before him. There was a loud clunk as something heavy, and plastic hit the table. A couple other things fell out with it, one of which was a note from his mother.

Shelly,

Found this while cleaning out the garage. Figured it was something you should have. Forgive me for watching it without you, but I needed to know what was on the tape.

Please watch it, baby. He would have wanted you to see it.

Love, Mom

Sheldon set the note back down on the table and picked up the item that had caused the most ruckus on its way out of the box. A VHS tape. Probably the last thing Sheldon expected his mother to send. Upon further inspection, Sheldon found his father's handwriting scrawled across the label.

Make Amends – For Sheldon

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sheldon sighed heavily. A part of him didn't even want to give this tape the time of day. His father had been dead a long time; there was no need to dig up dirt from twenty-six years ago. But his curiosity couldn't help but wonder what his father could possibly have said to him on this tape.

According to her note, Mary had watched it already. Should he just call her and just have her tell him what was on it?

No. Sheldon was mature enough to watch this recording without calling his Mommy for assistance.

He moved quickly around the small living space and in front of the television. After the "football game tape over" incident last year, Sheldon invested in a used VHS player. Amy had teased him about it for weeks, but he couldn't possibly tell her the real reason he got it. Not to watch old movies from his childhood, which he did so Amy couldn't call his bluff, but to listen to his father's voice again when he started to forget what it sounded like.

With a few expert moves, Sheldon had the video playing in no time. Cradling the remote in his hands, back on the couch now, he leaned forward with rapt attention.

George Cooper was already in view, adjusting the camera on whatever he had it perched on. Which, according to the date, also on the label, was in 1994.

It was only a couple of seconds before his father had settled into the chair of his old office at Sheldon's old high school. From the looks of things, it seemed dark, like it was late in the evening. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to think about it too much because the dead man started talking. Literally.

"Hello, Sheldon," George sighed. "I don't know when this video is going to find you or how you're going to take it, but this needs to be said, Son. I have to say this to you. Especially to you."

His father paused for a moment as if to compose himself. The moisture in his eyes told Sheldon enough.

"I'm in a twelve-step program, Sheldon. For my drinkin'. And before you think of it, no, your mother is not forcing me into it. I am going on my own free will, but I am doing it for her. I love your mom, Sheldon, I know you probably don't believe that, but I do."

Another pause.

"Step nine of this program is to make amends with people I have harmed. And a part of me knows you will never fully forgive me, but of all the people I need to apologize to, you're at the top of the list, Sheldon. Not just because of what you have seen, or the things I have said to you drunk, but because of my shortcomings as a father."

"I always had this idea of what a man should be. The typical, all things masculine, into sports, rootin' for the Dallas Cowboy's kinda stuff. But you never did fit that role, did ya, son?"

Sheldon watched his father smile at his question. There wasn't malice in his eyes like he was angry, but instead, he seemed almost proud of him.

"Georgie was always the one who liked to go outside and play catch with me, and go fishin', and do all of the things 'typical boys like to do'. You never had an interest in any of that, and because of it, I never treated you as I should. As a father should. Unconditional love no matter what your child does or likes. I tried to change you at any chance I could get, and that wasn't fair to you. I should have embraced your intelligence. I should have bought you that science kit you wanted instead of that dirt bike. I should have been the father you deserved, Sheldon, because you did. You are amazing, son, and I am so insanely proud to be your father."

Sheldon wasn't expecting this. He didn't think his father was capable of saying such heartfelt words about him. His father could sing praises about Georgie's accomplishments all day long, few as they may have been. But even though Sheldon never heard George say he was proud while he was alive, hearing the words said over tape struck a chord within him.

Before the man on the screen could start talking again, Sheldon pressed pause. At the beginning of the video, he had expected George to discuss the unfortunate affair that Sheldon had unfortunately born witness to. After all, that was his most blatant faux pas. But his dad had dug deeper, past the surface, past the infidelity. He looked for the root problem of his relationship with his son. Sheldon's father was a man much like himself, never liked to outwardly display emotions often, but when he did, they were sincere. So, for the great George Cooper to open up like this, to a camera albeit, meant a great deal to him.

It had been a long time since Sheldon had thought of his dad the way he was at the moment. Like the man who raised him, who helped shape who he was today, and not the man who simply cheated on his mother. That was the title he had held in Sheldon's eyes for a long time. There had been a few cracks here and there. Like he and Amy's wedding or the night they watched the pep talk George gave the football team in the locker room. But those moments were fleeting. Gone as quickly as they came.

Perhaps it was because Sheldon had yet to hear the contents of this tape. The fact that he never made amends with his father before he died had forever tainted his perspective of him. Sheldon couldn't be sure.

All he knew was that he suddenly felt much more at peace in regards to his dad. But in place of Sheldon's bitterness and anger towards him was a tug of grief in his gut that he hadn't felt for years. The twisting knot of pain that permeated throughout his entire body.

His dad in the video, had said he was proud of him. Insanely proud of him. And yet, he didn't even live long enough to see half of his greatest accomplishments. He never got to see him with a Ph.D., win a Nobel, and countless other awards. He didn't get to meet Sheldon's friends, never got to meet Amy. His father's absence was felt heavily at their wedding.

And now, as Sheldon was on the cusp of becoming a father himself, he wouldn't get to meet his grandson.

Even from his seated position on the couch, Sheldon doubled over from the crippling feeling that came with that thought. Missy had expressed similar views when she gave birth to her first child, but Sheldon hadn't expected that feeling to be so intense. So utterly heartbreaking.

Sheldon wouldn't get to see both of his parents cradling his newborn. His son wouldn't be able to enjoy two grandfathers. Or learn football from his Texan Pop-Pop and be forced to root for the Cowboys no matter how bad their record was.

His son would never meet the formidable George Cooper.

The dry sob that escaped his mouth surprised him. But then came another one, and again, and again, until his face was no longer dry. Sheldon could hardly remember the last time he had cried like this over his father. He had done it once in the twenty-six almost twenty-seven years his father had been dead. The day he found out his father passed away when he was alone in his dorm room miles away from home. But he was fourteen then, barely able to understand the true concept of death. Sure, he knew the science behind it, but not the emotions. Not the grief.

Still, the tears he shed in his living room were not unlike those he had shed in his dorm room. Alone, vulnerable, miles away from Texas. But one key element was different; he now could fully understand the scope of what his father being gone meant. How it impacted the lives of his family. How it changed what his son's childhood would look like.

Sheldon was now beginning to dread the day he would have to explain to his son why he only had one grandfather while everyone else at school had two. Hopefully, Amy's dad lived long enough so he wouldn't have to explain to his kid why he had none.

With his elbows rested on his knees and his fingers interlaced behind his head, he let his body feel the emotion running through it. He didn't try to surpass it as he had for years. But that just made it all the more intense.

"Sheldon?"

His head snapped up at the sound of Amy's voice. His heavily pregnant wife stood in the open doorway to their apartment, staring at him with concern.

Amy glanced at the TV for a moment. "What's wrong?" She asked, slowly walking the short distance to the couch.

Sheldon frantically wiped at his face, trying to make himself look more presentable. As if that mattered to Amy. "This came in the mail today." He held up the empty box his mother sent. "Mom was cleaning out the garage when she found this tape of my dad. She wanted me to have it," his voice cracked with the last few words as he threw the cardboard back onto the table.

Amy, now sitting next to him, rubbed his back soothingly. "Well, what was on it?"

"It's nothing, just my Dad explaining he was in a twelve-step program, and he wanted to make amends with me."

"So, why the tears?"

His face scrunched up again. "I don't… it just… it just hit me that our son will never be able to meet him," he sobbed. Sheldon gestured with his hands and tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. "I-I-I don't know that j-just hurt more than I-I expected it t-to," he eventually stuttered.

Amy sniffled beside him, which made Sheldon finally look back up at her. She gave him a sad smile as she continued to rub his hunched back. "What was on the video that made you realize that?"

"I thought he was going to apologize for the affair, the one I walked in on. Instead, it was for his mistakes as a father. How he never seemed as proud of me as he did with Georgie. I didn't think my dad was capable of digging below the surface, but he did. He found the true problem with our relationship, and he wanted to make up for it." Sheldon picked up the remote and rewound the tape a little. "I mean, I have never seen my father talk about me this way. Look."

He pressed play.

"I should have been the father you deserved, Sheldon, because you did. You are amazing, son, and I am so insanely proud to be your father."

The video stopped again.

"If he was proud of me then, how would he feel about me now? Just the fact that I found you… he would have been over the moon. I'm sure of it. But now we're about to have a son, and he won't be here for it? I just…" Sheldon trailed off, not knowing quite how to word what he was feeling.

But Amy nodded in understanding. "Above all else, you wish he were here for our son," she stated, not asked.

"Yes. Despite all of my father's faults, he did care about his family. He would've gone down protecting us, probably, if a heart attack hadn't claimed him first. In light of all of my professional accomplishments, this is what would have meant the most to him."

Sheldon glanced down at his wife's stomach, where their son was visibly wiggling around. He smiled fondly at the sight but swallowed thickly at the emotion that rose with it. In a few short weeks, he would be holding that baby, their families would be surrounding them. Rejoicing with them.

But George Cooper wouldn't be there.

Suddenly, Amy's hand was no longer on his back but on his knee. "Sheldon," she beckoned him to look at her. "There's nothing I could say that would make this any easier for you, but might I suggest something?"

He nodded.

She laid her free hand on her stomach. "What do you think about making the baby's middle name George?"

"What?" He gawked. "I thought you wanted it to be William. You know, for Darcy."

She stared at him long and hard for a moment and then patted his leg. "I did, but I already got Elliot; let me give you this one."

Sheldon shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "You're doing all the hard work; you should get to decide two of the names. Seeing as how you don't want to hyphenate his last name."

Amy grimaced suddenly and held a hand to her side, her face scrunched up in pain. And suddenly, Sheldon was on high alert. "What's wrong? Are you having contractions?"

"No." She waved her hand at him. "Just got kicked pretty hard, that's all." He opened his mouth to point out her hard work again but she stopped him. "Look, Sheldon, I am really not upset about our kids only being Coopers. Seriously. I want to do this for you. I want his middle name to be George."

"Are you one hundred percent sure? You don't just feel sorry for me because my dad is dead and you think this will cheer me up?"

It sounded stupid coming out of his own mouth. Sheldon could only imagine what it sounded like to Amy.

"Sweetheart," she endeared. "Our son's middle name should be special, not the name of a fictional character. We only decided on William because we couldn't think of anything else. Neither one of us suggested George for some reason. I have no emotional attachments to the name William, but I do to the name George. We both do."

Sheldon took her hand in his own. "You're sure about this?"

"Absolutely. Besides, don't you think Elliot George Cooper sounds better than Elliot William Cooper?"

"William did lack a certain panache, didn't it?" Sheldon smirked, finally coming around after more convincing than it should have.

Amy laughed at that, but her face went serious again rather quickly. "I'm sorry you miss your dad, Sheldon. I would have loved to meet him."

"And he would have loved to meet you."

Sheldon looked back at the TV, his father's paused face, still staring back at him. He really did look like his father. His mother had always said so, but he never believed her. Now an adult, it was like looking into a mirror. He really was his mini-me.

If Elliot got Sheldon's eyes, then he would really have George's eyes. Sheldon only had them because of his father. Suddenly, he selfishly understood Amy's hope for their children to have his eyes.

"What are you thinking about?" Amy asked, pulling him from his reverie.

"It's just uncanny how similar my father and I look. I guess now I'm just being selfish in hoping our son looks like me." Sheldon looked over and was met with Amy's blank expression. "Not that I don't want him to look like you," he quickly tried to cover himself.

Amy giggled and motioned for him to stop. "I wasn't thinking that. I know what you meant. Your dad may no longer be alive, but he lives on through his children and their children. Not to sound overly sappy."

"Too late," he joked. "I know I am being overly sentimental right now because I'm thinking about my dad. But seeing his face again, hearing his voice, I guess I'm just trying to hold onto whatever I can of him."

"That's grief, honey," Amy said softly.

Sheldon nodded, acknowledging the truth and the harsh reality behind those words. "I know, and I haven't allowed myself to feel that for a long time."

They sat in relative silence for a moment, the gentle whirring of the VHS player the only sound filling the air. There was still more on the tape; George certainly had more to say. Sheldon was sure of it. He thought for a moment, then turned to his wife and asked, "do you want to watch the rest of the tape with me?"

"Really?"

He nodded slightly.

"I do."

George Cooper's voice sounded once more in a matter of seconds.

"Sheldon, I know you are going to do great things one day. I have known that since… well… forever. I know you're going to find amazing people to surround yourself with who will love you and treat you the way you deserve to be treated."

Check.

"I know you will make countless accomplishments academically, more than you have already."

Check.

"I know you will fall in love with someone someday who will make your heart soar."

Sheldon and Amy smiled at each other, squeezing each other's hand slightly. Check.

"I know you will have exceptional, amazing children one day because you and I both know you are too exceptional to not do so."

Almost check.

"I know you're going to live a full life, Sheldon. Because you have such a drive for greatness, and I know you have my stubbornness, so, you will settle for nothing less."

George leaned forward, on his desk Sheldon was assuming.

"I know I have a lot of making up to do, and I hope someday you will accept this apology. I know you have a kind heart, Sheldon; I have seen it with my own eyes. I will understand if you can't, I have failed you as a father thus far, but I hope that someday you will extend that kindness towards me. I cannot wait to see you grow up, do all the things I know you want to do. Hopefully, I'll be around to see you accomplish most of them."

Sheldon should have finished the video before he started crying earlier. The fact that this was taped less than a year before his father passed away did not escape him. Nor did that make his pain any easier.

He figured, at least now he had Amy by his side.

"I hope that when this video finds you, you will listen and not throw it away. Even if that's what I probably deserve. I'm going to try sending these tapes out soon, so call me if you see this. Just let me know you've watched it. If that's all you can do for now, I'll understand; I've got a lot of things to work on."

His father smiled fondly at the camera. Not the forced one that Sheldon could always remember from his childhood but a genuine, real smile. It was also his smile.

"I love you, Sheldon. Talk to you soon."

The video stopped and began to rewind to the beginning. Amy was rubbing at his back again, soothing him as tears once again fell from his eyes. But Sheldon was still too transfixed on the screen. He whispered it so quietly, he doubted Amy would be able to hear it. Which would be fine. It was one of the few things not meant for her ears anyway.

"I love you too, dad."

A/N: Well that ended darker than I usually end this. This story ended up being surprisingly personal to me for a lot of reasons, and since I am dab smack in the middle of grief it just didn't feel right to have some uber sappy happy ending, because that's not genuine. That's not real. It's bittersweet at the least I hope.

Thank you so much for reading, especially right now, it means the world to me.