#this is like the darts debacle

[clubsmarties]

@4fter-hours

[corroded-hellfire]

Hail to the Princess - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish story

Summary: Halloween is here and all of the Munson children are excited. Putting a little makeup on your husband gets you excited as well.

Note: Happy Halloween!

Warnings: pregnant!reader

Words: 3.8k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Autumn was always the best season in Indiana. There’s a chill in the air, but there’s no bitter cold. The leaves turn beautiful colors and float down gently to meet the earth. All the spiced scents and soft clothes make it such a cozy time. Not to mention…Halloween.

The spooky holiday was always a favorite in the Munson household. You can still remember the very first Halloween after you met Eddie and the boys. You dressed up as a fairy, Ryan as Scooby Doo, Luke as a pirate, and Eddie decided to be boring and not don a costume. He also wasn’t planning on wearing one tonight when he takes Luke and Eliza out. 

Usually, both of you liked to go out with the kids—it was always fun to see them so excited and to check out the costumes of other trick-or-treaters darting from house to house. But this year, the end of your first trimester has you exhausted. This pregnancy seems to be making you even more tired than the first one did. Some days you barely have the energy to keep up with your rambunctious four-year-old when she gets home from school. 

This year, Ryan is going to a Halloween party at one of his friend’s houses. Eddie was a little nervous when he first heard the news, but you calmed him down by reminding him that Ryan is a good kid. It’s not that Eddie doesn’t trust Ryan, though–it’s that he doesn’t trust the other kids. But he has to let his son be a teenager.

Luke’s best friend has the flu, so instead of Sean joining your kids to go around your neighborhood, it’s just going to be the brother and sister duo. Plus Eddie, of course. 

Since you don’t get to go out and see Eliza and Luke in action (or Ryan, for that matter) this time around, you all decided that you will help them with any hair or makeup that needs to be done as part of their costumes. 

The moment she steps foot in the house after school, Eliza wants to start getting ready. After a quick shared snack of cut up grapes and pretzels, the transformation begins.

The first step for Eliza is to take a bath and wash her hair. Your headstrong daughter told you that she wanted straight hair because she doesn’t want her crown to snag in her curls. You can’t blame her honestly—you remember the tiara debacle from her second birthday. 

But to achieve your little girl’s request, you have to use a blow dryer to give her a proper blow out. You had no clue how to do this, so thank God for YouTube. You must’ve watched every tutorial you could find—which was not a lot, honestly—on blow drying a child’s spiral curls. 

Surprisingly, Eliza is calm and patient while you do your best to remember advice from the videos. The four-year-old sits in a chair parked in front of your vanity as you buzz around behind her. The plethora of clips you have prepared to section off the hair lay in front of Eliza, practically begging for her to pick them up and play with them. And being four, that’s exactly what she does.

“Okay, here we go,” you say once you have every section of hair parted like you want. “Ready?”

Eliza gives you a thumbs up in the mirror, a neon green hair clip on the tip of her finger. 

Drying the first few chunks of hair makes you feel a bit uncoordinated and wish you had a few more hands to help out, but once you get into the groove, you find the blowing out pretty easy. It also makes Eliza’s hair soft and silky, the strands running through your fingers like a cool breeze. 

“It feels so pretty!” Eliza exclaims once you’ve finished her entire head. She laughs as she runs her fingers through her straightened hair. Neither of you have seen it this way before. Of course she looks absolutely beautiful, but you do miss her curls. 

Eliza hops down from the chair and looks up at you, batting her unfairly long eyelashes. 

“Now makeup?” she asks, voice syrupy sweet.

You let out a bark of laughter as you put your hair dryer away.

“Do you want your father to divorce me?” you joke. 

“It’s Halloween!” Eliza argues.

“I know, I know,” you say. You’re too tired to argue with her and if Eddie wants to argue later, he can say whatever he wants to your sleeping body. 

“Just a little?” Eliza holds her thumb and forefinger half an inch away from one another. 

“Just a little,” you acquiesce. 

You pat the seat in front of your vanity and Eliza climbs back up. She continues to admire her straight locks as you dig out your makeup bag. 

“Okay,” you say as you rifle through it. A pale blush catches your eye and you scoop that out along with a coral lipstick. You’re not going to put any eye makeup on her though—you need to save your eyeliner for Luke, anyway. You hold up the two items you plucked out and show them to Eliza. “Good?”

She stretches her neck to give them the best inspection she possibly can. What she’s trying to determine, you have no idea. Eventually though, she must find it.

“Good,” she affirms with a nod of her head. 

Dusting the blush on the tops of her round cheeks makes you smile. You’re having fun with this. Sure, you and girlfriends would have fun getting all dolled up when you were younger, but that doesn’t hold a candle to being able to do that with your daughter now. 

“My goodness,” you say, mostly to yourself, as you finish applying the blush. “Next thing I know you’ll be going to prom.”

Eliza giggles at this.

“Mooooom! That’s Ryan!”

You smile and nod your head in concession. Ryan will be going to his junior prom this year. 

“Alright,” you say to Eliza. “Put your lips like this.” You open your mouth, showing your daughter how to position herself best for you to apply lipstick. “This will probably come off when we have dinner, but we can reapply.”

Once you’re finished and capping the small golden tube of lipstick, Eliza examines herself in the mirror. Not just her straightened hair now, but her doe brown eyes study her face as well. An adorable, dimpled grin grows on her face, and it makes your heart swell. 

“Do you know how beautiful you are, Eliza Marie Munson?” 

You pick her up from the chair and hold her on your hip. She’s getting too old for this—plus, you probably shouldn’t be doing this since you’re pregnant—but you want to hold your baby girl. 

“I don’t mean just right now. Always so beautiful,” you say. “Your smile, your eyes, your hair. Your adorable little nose that I just wanna bite.” You teasingly scrape your front teeth over the tip of her nose. She giggles and pulls her face away. 

“I’m pretty like Mama,” Eliza says. 

Even if you didn’t have pregnancy hormones coursing through your body, her words would have caused the same effect. Warm tears flood your eyes, and it takes maximum effort to keep them from spilling. 

“Maybe I’m pretty like Eliza,” you say once you’re able to speak.

The little girl shakes her head, straight hair swaying like a sleek silk sheet in the wind.

“You were first!” she says.  

“You’re such a smarty.”

“I know!”

Eliza is practically vibrating in excitement when you pull her Halloween costume out of the closet. She gasps with joy when her eyes land on the pink Sleeping Beauty dress. You slip the polyester over her head and she’s quick to pull her soft, straight hair out of the way. As soon as you have the back zipped up, the little girl starts galloping around her room.

“I’m a princess, I’m a princess!”

“We’ll save the crown for later, okay, Your Majesty?” you say as you close her closet.

“Kay!”

Eliza’s galloping turns to skipping as she goes through her bedroom door and down the hallway. There’s a smile on your face as you follow her out—walking slowly in your case, though. 

“Mama? Can we watch Sleeping Beauty?” she asks once you’re in the living room with her.

“Sure thing, sweet pea.”

You pop in the DVD, then plop down on the couch, your body thankful for the rest after you’ve been so active the last hour or so with Eliza. 

You’re expecting your daughter to climb up on the couch with you, but instead, she starts marching in circles between the coffee table and the television. Her costume goes schwick, schwick, schwick with every step she takes; the polyester rubbing up against itself and her short legs. 

The movie opens upon the kingdom celebrating the birth of the new princess, and Eliza begins to sing along, her step never faltering. 

Hail to the Princess Aurora

All of her subjects adore her

Hail to the King, hail to the Queen

Hail to the Princess Aurora

Health to the Princess

Wealth to the Princess

Long live the Princess Aurora

As the narrator comes back to speak, Eliza comes over and settles herself next to you on the worn couch. She sits on her knees, facing you. It’s silent for a minute—unusual for this household. Then, the small girl leans forward and rests one hand on your swollen belly.

“Mommy?” she asks.

“Yes, my love?” You tuck a dark strand of hair behind her ear.

“Ryan named me, right?”

“Well, he was the first one who suggested the name. Daddy and I are the ones who decided on it,” you explain.

She nods her head in understanding, the piece of hair you put behind her ear falling forward again with the motion. 

“Can I sugges…uh, uhjest, zuh…”

“Suggest?” you offer kindly.

“Yeah, that. Can I suh-gest a name?” she asks.

“Go ahead, sweet pea.”

Eliza leans in closer to your belly. She rubs her small hand from side to side; it almost looks like she’s a waitress trying to wipe down a table. 

“If the baby’s a girl, I think you should name her Aurora,” she declares. 

You watch as Eliza stares at your bump, like if she looks hard enough, she’ll see the baby growing beneath your layers of skin and muscles. It brings a smile to your face, how much she already cares about her little sibling. 

“I think that’s a beautiful name.” And you do, you’re not just patronizing her.

“Yeah?” Eliza’s head tilts up and she looks at you with wide eyes. Eyes so much like her father’s that it sometimes takes your breath away. 

“Yeah,” you reply with a nod. “I’ll bring it up to Daddy.” 

A proud smile grows on your daughter’s coral-painted lips. She gives one last loving pat to your belly before situating herself so she’s sitting next to you, hip to hip.

“We’re not going to know if the baby is a boy or girl until they’re born, though,” you explain before the four-year-old gets caught up in the movie again. “I have the doctors soon and they’re going to let us see a picture of the baby. But Daddy and I decided we want to be surprised.” 

“Did you know me?” Eliza asks, her head tilting to the side like an inquisitive puppy. 

“Yep! They told us you’re a girl and Daddy and I were so happy.”

A thoughtful hum emanates from the small girl as she turns her attention back to the movie. A minute later, she lifts your arm so she can snuggle into your side. You happily wrap your arm around her and enjoy the cuddles. 

When it’s time for dinner, Eliza does not want to change out of her princess costume. So, in order to keep it stain-free through the meal, you wrap her up in her fluffy pink bathrobe. She finds this hilarious and waddles to the dinner table like a pink Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. 

The moment her bottom lands in her chair, Eddie is looking at the little girl with a raised eyebrow. His gaze then shifts to you. When he pointedly looks back at Eliza, then you, you realize it’s about the makeup. But you’re going to make him say it out loud.

“What?” you ask, spearing a green bean with your fork.

“I didn’t know we had Tammy Faye coming to dinner tonight,” he says. 

You roll your eyes as all three of your kids chime in with, “Who?”

“Eliza is a princess, Eddie. She deserves the royal treatment,” you say. 

“Uh huh,” he hums before taking a sip of his water.

“What time is Chase’s mom picking you up tonight, Ryan?” you ask.

Your eldest wipes his mouth off with an already messy napkin before responding.

“Like, eight, I think.”

“Make sure his mom takes pictures of you all!” you add.

“Whatchu gonna be?” Eliza asks, twirling a green bean around on her fork.

“Me and my friends are going as The Beatles,” he tells her.

“You’re gonna be bugs?” Eliza’s eyes practically pop out of her tiny skull. 

“No,” Ryan says with a chuckle. “The Beatles are a band.”

“Yeah, you like that one song they sing,” Luke chimes in. “Desmond takes a trolley to the jeweller's store. Buys a twenty-carat golden ring. Takes it back to Molly waiting at the door and as he gives it to her, she begins to sing!”

Eliza’s eyes light up.

“Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on, brah! La-la, how their life goes on. Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on, brah. La-la, how their life goes on!”

She wiggles in her seat as she sings, using her fork as an impromptu microphone. 

“Which Beatle are you?” Luke asks.

“George,” Ryan replies.

“Aw, is that because everyone always forgets about you, too?” Luke jokes, a smirk on his face.

Ryan shoves Luke, which only makes the younger brother laugh harder.

After dinner and once you’ve reapplied Eliza’s lipstick, the little girl sits on the edge of the bathtub and watches you do Luke’s makeup. You’re no makeup artist, but you know more than the teenage boy does, so he puts his trust in you to make him look like an authentic zombie.

It mostly consists of making his face look as sickly pale as possible and contrasting that with dark eyes. You’re pretty sure you’ve put so much eyeliner on your son that it will take him all night to scrub off. Or, knowing Luke, he’ll just leave it and try to sneak out of the house like that in the morning. Somehow, you don’t think his school would appreciate that. 

“Do you have any green stuff?” Luke asks as you cap the eyeliner.

“Green stuff? What do you mean? Like, eyeshadow?”

“Yeah! I wanna look kind of moldy.” His eager grin makes you chuckle as you rifle through your makeup bag.  

“Eww!” Eliza wrinkles up her nose.

“Well, sorry, Your Highness.” Luke says as you pull out a palette of eyeshadow containing a forest green shade. “We zombies can’t be as clean and fancy as you princesses!”

Your four-year-old stands up and smooths out the ruffles of her skirt with an air of someone five times her age. 

“Try,” is all the little girl says before walking out of the bathroom. 

You and Luke look at one another before bursting into laughter.

“How do I look?” Luke slides into the room on his socked feet with his arms held out at his sides. He’s changed into a pair of jeans that incidentally are ripped almost all the way down the left side after he tore them trying to hop over a fence. Luckily, it was only a few weeks ago, so Luke knew he could keep them for this very night. On top he’s wearing an old grease and oil-stained white t-shirt that Eddie will throw on under his coveralls for work, and an old blue and green flannel of Wayne’s that he took a pair of scissors to, so it looks ripped and ragged. 

“Wait, where’s your costume?” Ryan asks sarcastically, adjusting the black skinny tie he’s wearing. “I thought you were going to put on makeup?”

“Ha ha,” Luke deadpans while Eliza’s brow furrows.

“He does got makeup on,” she says.

“Ryan was just trying to be mean and say Luke looks like this all the time,” Eddie leans down to her on the couch to explain.

“Oh. Mean, Ryan!”

“Well, you look lovely, Your Majesty,” Ryan replies, bowing down before her.

The flattery clearly works with his little sister as she smiles proudly and kicks her feet excitedly. 

You stroll into the room just as there’s a knock on the front door.

“That’s probably Chase,” Ryan says before heading in that direction.

“Looks good, Luke,” Eddie tells his younger son. 

“I have a good makeup artist,” he replies. 

“What about Daddy?” Eliza pipes up.

“What do you mean, sweet pea?” he asks her. 

“You don’t got a costume or makeup.”

“I don’t need any,” Eddie tells her with a shake of his head.

“I don’t know,” you say with a shrug. “I kinda agree with her.”

Your husband cocks an eyebrow at you. “Oh?”

“Mhmm,” you hum. “Luke, can you go grab the eyeliner from my makeup bag?”

The zombie salutes you before heading back down the hall.

As you start to slowly walk towards the couch, Eddie looks at you with an unamused expression. 

“Do I really need makeup, babe?” His voice is as flat as his interest.

“I guess you don’t need it,” you say, shrugging one shoulder. When you come to stand in front of him, you place one knee on each side of Eddie’s hips, straddling his lap. “I think you’d look really good in some eyeliner, though.” Your hands slip up into his hair, where you give a gentle tug. “Since I don’t get to go trick-or-treating, maybe that could be my treat tonight?”

Eddie’s look of disinterest quickly morphs into excitement. 

“Whatever my princess wants,” Eddie croons.

“Uh, Daddy!” Eliza complains from the cushion next to you. “I am the princess!”

“Right,” Eddie says, turning his head to look at her. “Silly me. I forgot I have two princesses tonight.”

Ryan pops back into the room, his friend Chase right on his heels, when he sees you sitting in his dad’s lap with your hands in his hair. He automatically skids to a stop and begins to turn around.

“Nope,” he says, pushing his friend back towards the front door. “Don’t wanna be here for whatever this is. I’ll be back later!”

“Be careful,” you shout after him, while Eddie calls out, “Have fun!”

Luke returns with your eyeliner, and you happily accept it from him. Eliza stands up on the couch cushion and leans against your shoulder as you take the cap off the black pencil.

“I wanna watch,” the little princess says. 

“You can be my supervisor,” you say as you adjust yourself in Eddie’s lap. “Look up,” you tell him.

Eddie lifts his chin to look at the ceiling, but you guide his head back down where it was. 

“With just your eyeballs, please,” you clarify.

Following your instructions, Eddie’s eyes look skyward as you gently pull down on the lower lid of his left eye. Your hand is steady as you run the pencil back and forth against his waterline. 

It’s a good thing two of your kids are in the room because, just having a little bit of eyeliner on, you’re already eager to jump your husband’s bones. 

“It’s a crime you don’t wear this more,” you murmur as you move your concentration to his upper eyelid.

“Well, maybe after tonight I will,” Eddie answers in a velvety tone.

“Dad, why would you—ugh, gross.” 

Eddie smirks as Luke catches on to what the two of you are alluding to. You let out a soft chuckle as you move to his other eye.

“Why don’t you have Luke put your crown on you?” You suggest to Eliza.

“Yes!” 

She quickly hops off the couch and runs over to Luke, grabs his hand, and attempts to drag him down the hallway with her. 

Eddie rests his hands on your hips as you finish up, rubbing his thumbs against the material of your sweatpants. 

“Want me to be your rockstar tonight?” Eddie asks.

“And I will be your groupie,” you say as you pop the cap back on the pencil. Arousal kicks up in you as you take in the sight of your already-sexy husband in eyeliner. “Your groupie who will let you do whatever you want to her,” you purr.

“Happy Halloween, indeed,” Eddie says, waggling his eyebrows at you. 

“You done?” Eliza asks as she bursts back into the room, her plastic golden crown perched on top of her head. “Good! Let’s go, Daddy!”

“But Mommy’s on my lap,” Eddie says.

“Mamaaaaa,” Eliza whines. “Get up!”

“Excuse me?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Please,” she adds softly.

“Yeah. Please,” Luke adds as he follows his little sister back in the room.

Both you and Eddie chuckle as you slide off his lap. You press a kiss to his lips.

“Alright, you guys,” you say to all three of them, “be safe and have a good time.”

“We will!” Eliza assures you.

She picks up her pink pumpkin bucket from the coffee table and hands her older brother his blue one.

“Let’s go!”

You, Eddie, and Luke watch as the little girl marches towards the front door in her pink princess dress.

“I guess we’re going,” Luke says as he follows after her. 

Eddie presses one last kiss to your lips.

“Maybe I’ll be wearing something different when you get home,” you tease. “Something…lacier, perhaps.”

Eddie groans and drops his head back.

“I’m about to make these kids get their candy in record time,” he says.

You giggle and shove him towards the front door.

“Alright, Mr. Rockstar. Go have fun.”

“Love you, baby.”

“Love you, too.”

Once the door closes behind the three of them, you let out a deep sigh and grab a handful of candy from the bowl that’s prepared for the trick-or-treaters. 

“How about it?” you ask your baby, looking down at your stomach. “We deserve some candy too, right? Right.”

The small batch of fun-sized candy bars fall into your lap as you plop down on the couch and grab the remote.

“Ooh, Beetlejuice,” you say as you come upon a channel playing the movie. “You’re in for a treat, kiddo. This is a good one.”

[cobalt-sugar-punch]

every time Lisa has physical contact in the movie it's really awkward and she's tense. when Taffy hugs her in front of the mirror at the beginning, the whole cursed debacle of Doug, her boss claps her on the back honestly really demeaningly and it knocks her sewing lenses forward, when Dale is looking at her hands, even when of her own volition she hugs Taffy at school, it's tense. two little pats to Taffy's back before she darts away.

but not with the Creature. when he can't walk well at all she's physically guiding him, very confidently if a bit unkindly kicking his feet into the closet door, readjusting his clothes for the fashion show scene, petting his face while sat at the piano, petting his hair sat at the bed. she asked him to get her off with the vibrator like are you fucking kidding me. not only is he the only one she's comfortable with emotionally but it's also physically.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt: Danny goes to Gotham and meets a dead Robin.

There are options for ways to approach an unfamiliar ghost–especially a baby ghost, and from the look of him Robin can’t be more than three or four years dead, if that–but since Robin is a superhero, Danny takes the obvious one. He sticks Tucker’s ghost-proof GPS into his chest or a pocket dimension or some cross between the two and then he glides down through Gotham’s smog and starlight and lets the invisibility and intangibility drop to give the kid a light little greeting swat. Very light–it only knocks Robin halfway across the roof he’s racing across. Which might be a little patronizing, but sue him, the kid is tiny. 

Lady Gotham croons, mournful and adoring, and her Robin tumbles through a roll and pops up alertly out of the bat-winged shadows that surround him, doing a perfect flip to land right on top of one of the gargoyles at the edge of the roof. His eyes are wide and white-lensed behind the domino mask, and the moment he sees Danny he laughs. 

stranger stranger, careful careful, gonna tell my daaaaad, Robin’s core sing-songs, bright and shiny and secure in that threat, and Danny’s mouth quirks in wry amusement. Yeah, definitely a baby ghost. But it’s nice to see Batman’s kid feels safe with him even dead; is still confident in his protection no matter what. Apparently Batman is a little more down with ghosts and spirits than Danny’s own parents started out, but really, of course he is. He is Lady Gotham’s boytoy, after all. 

show me what you’ve got, Danny hums back through his own core–the traditional ghost-introduction for any haunt, even with a baby ghost. Honestly, it’s more impressive a ghost this young has a haunt, but given how thoroughly Lady Gotham’s favor surrounds him, it’s not exactly a surprise either. 

Danny’s surprised Robin ever managed to die at all, though, considering how much Lady Gotham loves him. 

Robin springs forward across the roof and Danny side-steps his attack and tries to trip him, but Robin flips right over his leg sweep and throws a fistful of–what are they, batarangs, Danny guesses? batarangs, sure–right at his face. Danny goes intangible because he just does not have the reflexes to dodge that from this close, but the second he phases back in gets a double kick to the gut. 

Robin is definitely a trained fighter, yeah. A trained fighter with experience. 

Nice, Danny thinks, and grins as he zaps a tangle of tiny ecto-blasts at the kid in playful mimicry of those batarangs of his. Robin cartwheels out of the way and then darts in low and leaps up into Danny’s face. 

Very nice. 

Danny inspects Robin’s core thoughtfully as the kid tries to roundhouse-kick his head off his shoulders with another bright, cackling laugh, which is frankly adorable, and it’s actually really impressive? Like–Robin is a surprisingly strong ghost for his age, glowing with faith and shining like a beacon in the dark, and since Danny’s never heard anyone call him a ghost before, he’s gotta at least be strong enough to manifest in a way where he can pass for human when civilians and other heroes are around. 

Which, understandable, really. Danny would also not let anyone know his kid was a ghost if he were Batman, after the Anti-Ecto Acts debacle and how long that’s been taking to clean up. Tall Dark and Paranoid would never let the government know his baby was dead, with that kind of nonsense going on. 

He smashes the kid into the roof–gently, because he doesn’t want Batman getting the wrong idea if he’s in the area, but also not too gently because he doesn’t want to offend Robin by giving him the impression that he’s not taking him seriously. Robin yelps, then kicks him in the chest with both feet and actually knocks him back while simultaneously using him as a springboard to flip backwards and get some distance. 

Talk about parkour, damn. Danny really is impressed. 

not bad, he lets his core rumble approvingly, because Jazz has had some things to say about encouraging the baby ghosts–Jazz has a lot to say about encouraging the baby ghosts, in fact–and Robin’s thrums with laughter and delight and too slow too slow, keep up! Then the kid darts forward again, ducks under his arm, and twists around to elbow him in the back of the head. Danny lets out a snort of laughter and throws him off the roof. Robin laughs, and all those bat-winged shadows embrace him as he vanishes in a twist of the dark.

Not even the shadows. The dark. 

Danny is definitely impressed, yeah.

[jo-harrington]

Incremental Planning (A Store Manager Verse Story - Steve Harrington/Reader)

Previous Part: On-The-Job Training

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Wicks'n'Sticks!Reader (you'll see)

Summary: You and Steve have been going out for a little while and he suddenly feels the need to step up his game.

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Fall 1985, Steve and Robin work at Scoops, Reader works at Wicks and Sticks (formerly at Dippin' Dots; you job hop...it's a thing), New Relationship "Troubles," Infatuation/Crush, Cute Dates, Tie in with the Store Manager Verse

Note: Dedicated to @dr-aculaaa (late bday gift), @rosewaterandivy and @carolmunson who've heard little tidbits intermittently but this has taken a minute to come together. And @ghost-proofbaby for the last date idea. Enjoy <3

You can find my masterlist here for more fics featuring pretty much exclusively Eddie Munson content but also a little Steve.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

If Steve had to pick one thing that was his best quality, it would be that he was reliable.

"Psshh, yeah right," Robin scoffed. "Reliably late to picking me up for work every day."

"Hey!" Steve argued. "I promised to drive you to school when it starts next week, so could you...I dunno...gimme a break here?"

"You don't need to do your hair every morning; I have band first period so if you could please be a little better with time, I'd appreciate it!"

"Robin!"

Reliable, unfortunately, was boring. And you were anything but boring.

Steve learned quickly that his favorite thing about you was that you changed with the seasons. If the wind blew in a different direction, so would you.

Just like the whole vanilla debacle, you were never satisfied with one flavor. Yeah you liked a root beer float for a while, but before long, you were a banana split person. And shortly after that, hot fudge.

And while changing tastes in ice cream was endearing and made him a little looser--and got him a date--it was how quickly you changed tastes in other things that had him a little worried.

"I quit Dippin' Dots!" you announced one afternoon in early September, throwing your visor at him from across the counter.

"You what?" He stared at you with wide eyes.

"I quit," you raised your eyebrows and tilted your head towards him. "Dippin' Dots."

"No I got that I just...why?" He held his hands out around him. "Rival ice cream shops. That's kind of our thing."

"Well, you're just gonna have to get a job at a rival candle store because you're looking at the new sales associate at Wicks'n'Sticks."

You grinned at him and proudly pulled the little name badge from the back pocket of your jeans, your name already engraved and everything. Steve's eyes darted between it and you, unable to comprehend that you were joking.

"No, I'm not serious," you laughed. "Unless you hate it here, which I know you do."

"Shhh, not so loud!"

"The pay sucks, you always go home sticky, and you get yelled at by every mom in Roane County for getting their order wrong. I've heard you say it enough times Steve."

You were right; he just liked sticking to routines. Routines were nice...reliable.

"So what does that mean for us?" he asked.

"Means we're just gonna have to get another thing," you offered. "Like...making out in the service corridors instead of up against the kiosk after hours."

Ok, so...he could live with that.

What worried him was, well, if you were just just dating reliable old Steve Harrington all the time, you'd get bored with him. Nancy had gotten bored with him and looked for someone...better. You'd already gotten mad at him for being slow on the uptake about the small vanilla cup. What if he was boring in some other way? What if you tired of him just like you tired of your job at Dippin' Dots?

He'd already established a routine with your dates. Movie nights on Thursdays whenever new shows came out, then dinner at Benny's on Sunday nights, and lunch at the food court on Tuesdays when your shifts aligned.

You always said you liked your "dates."

"Is that what they said?" Robin asked as he aired his fears to her on the way to school one morning. "'Dates.' With air quotes?"

"Yeah?" He stumbled over his words. "Why? What are you--why are you--what is that...is that a problem? It's our routine."

"Oh god," she groaned and slammed her head back against the headrest. "You already have a routine? Dating isn't about routines. Is this...did you have routines with Nancy?"

"Yes, why?"

"Ok, new plan of attack," she waved her hands in front of her. "New date ideas. Every week. You, Steve Harrington, are hopeless."

---

The whiteboard in the backroom suddenly became the "Date Idea Board."

Robin had told him to do it as soon as he got to Scoops, brought the board out to the counter with him. Ice cream was less popular in the mornings, it seemed, especially with kids back in school--

He could see why you jumped the Dippin' Dots ship. Aside from the handful of mall employees taking their breaks and wanting ice cream, he was bored.

--so he had plenty of time to think of something before the closing lead came in.

But the board remained blank all the way up until lunchtime.

"What did I do during school?" he threw his hands up in the air as he started towards the food court. "Movies...dinner...parking up at the quarry and making out? We haven't done that yet. I guess..."

He roared in frustration as he got in line at Hot Dog on a Stick, earning dirty looks from several lunch-goers.

"What?" he scoffed at them, and then tried to nonchalantly glance around.

And that's when Steve spotted them, tucked at a table near JCPenney, heads close together as they each held an earpad of a set of headphones connected to a walkman on the table, free hands reaching periodically for a basket of cheese fries: Eddie Munson and the Claire's manager.

It kind of made Steve a little antsy, like he was observing a private moment, the way they smiled at each other and bantered back and forth. He didn't even get this feeling watching couples make out in the hallways at Hawkins High. He wondered for a second if anyone felt that way when they saw the two of you together...

No one saw you together at the movies, or late Sunday nights at Benny's. And during lunch on Tuesdays, you definitely sat across the table from one another...not next to each other like that.

Was that it? Was that the answer? Just...go more places together. He really wished he had someone to ask about this.

And his wish was granted when Eddie looked at the time on his watch and then, with a flick of his girlfriend's dangly earrings, he ran out of the food court.

Steve abandoned his place in line and rushed across to plant himself in Eddie's vacated seat.

"Uh," the manager squinted her eyes at him in recollection. "...hi cherry lipbalm guy."

"It was strawberry, actually," he then pointed to his name tag, "and it's...Steve."

"Hi Steve," she amended and pointed to her own name tag to introduce herself.

"Hi."

It was awkwardly silent for a moment.

"I don't have any lip balm down here," she chewed her fingernail for a moment. "If that's why you stopped by. You have to go ups--"

"I need dating advice," he blurted out. "Again."

"Wha--"

"Where does Eddie take you out for dates?"

"I don't...they're not..."

"Because I...ok you remember the Dippin' Dots cashier?" he launched right into his story, despite her deer-in-the-headlights expression. "They agreed to go out with me--thanks, by the way--but they're...I'm afraid they're getting bored of our routine."

"Routine?" she winced.

"That's what Robin's reaction was too. Sorry, Robin, that's my friend, she works at Scoops too. Anyway..."

Steve continued his tale, telling her about your new job and general shift in likes and dislikes from day to day. How unpredictable you were, how much he liked that about you but how much he feared that meant you wouldn't like him before long.

"And I just...like them so much? I don't want to screw it up."

The Claires manager's expression had softened the longer he talked and once he was done and out of breath she smiled.

"Well this is a really nice development."

"That's all you have to say?" he asked incredulously.

Her expression fell.

"Listen, Steve, I only have 5 minutes left of my lunch and I'm very happy to give you advice if you need it but it seems like you don't really need it. You know what it is your friend likes, or rather...how your friend's likes change...you just need to be...spontaneous and deliver the unexpected!"

"But what is that?" He raked his hands through his hair. "What should I do? What does Eddie do?"

"Eddie doesn't..." she sighed. "You shouldn't just mimic what he does, but he's himself. He's goofy and loud and we do goofy and loud things. He likes snacks, I like snacks...we're constantly sharing food."

She gestured to the cheese fries.

"Just do what feels right? Be yourself. Incorporate them into things that you want and need to do. Need to go to the laundromat? Ask if they want to go and watch the soaps with you while your towels are in the dryer."

For a minute that didn't make much sense to him. That wasn't a date. Who went on dates like that? But...you know, once upon a time he used to watch his parents pretend to waltz as they folded bedsheets together. The love that used to be in their eyes during a menial task.

Not that this was love with you but...he knew he could be a little bit of a romantic. One day maybe...

"I do like All My Children," he finally nodded. "Ok this could work."

"No Steve, wait..." The manager held her hands out as he stood from the chair and started jogging back to Scoops.

"Thank you!" he shouted and waved.

---

Thus began the gauntlet of unexpected, inventive, spontaneous dates.

He started with the Laundromat; it was stuck in his head now and it was either going to be a win or the biggest failure he had. And you'd break up with him.

You were a little baffled when he told you his idea, but you went along with it. He picked you and your basket up promptly at 9am on Wednesday.

"Did your mom stop doing the wash for you Stevie?" you joked as you tossed your basket in the backseat.

"Ha ha," he deadpanned. He actually begged his mom not to snatch up his dirty Scoops uniforms from the hamper so he could take care of them himself. She gave him the proudest smile and a kiss on the forehead.

But he would never tell you that.

You, by chance, were a regular at the All Washed Up on Main Street. Said hello to Cheryl the Attendant, who was folding the hourly drop offs. Had your dollar bills all ready to go and you did a little dance as the change machine chugged and spat out quarters.

You took the lead for him, when he--understandably--looked a little confused.

"Obviously they don't have soap for you to use," you rolled your eyes and slotted coins into the little machine with different soaps and fabric softeners. "You need to bring it yourself. Or buy it. What do you like? Snuggle? Do you like lavender?"

But he still had a few tricks up his sleeves.

He brought Uno and a deck of cards to teach you to play Gin Rummy.

"Just like my granny taught me," he smiled and your expression melted.

And when you started shuffling your clothes into the dryers, he got snacks from the vending machine for you both.

"Dr. Pepper and HandiSnacks." He proudly handed you your treat.

"How did you know I always get this when I come do my laundry?" you held them to your chest excitedly.

---

A night at the arcade was next.

To be honest, Steve thought with everyone's latest obsession over StarCourt, he'd be free to show his face at the Palace Arcade.

Unfortunately, his heart stopped when he saw the gaggle of familiar bikes chained up outside.

"Ooh, ok what do you say to pizza after we play some games?" you asked when you saw the pizzeria further up the strip mall. When you turned to him, you noticed his stricken expression. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing," he shrugged, trying to act cool. "No nothing, it's just...some kids I used to babysit..."

Great lie there Harrington, you still babysit them.

"...are here. Those are their bikes."

"Aww," your eyes got soft and you put on the baby voice you used to tease him sometimes. "Big bad babysitter Stevie and little his Kindergarten Crew. It'll be fine, they won't bother us playing Skee Ball."

You walked confidently into the arcade, straight to your favorite game, all while Steve sent cursory glances down each row of machines and tried to be as stealth as possible.

Like a ninja, he told Nancy once.

"Steve?" Dustin called as he spotted him ducking between a few Pac-Man cabinets. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh," Steve's eyes slid in your direction and then he waved awkwardly. "Hey Henderson, you know. Killing time."

"Max is trying to unlock a secret level of Galaga," he thumbed over his shoulder. "Maybe you can get next turn if she can't."

"I'd love to I'd just--"

"Steve?" He winced at your voice behind him. "You coming?"

"Yeah," he shot you a smile and then turned back to Dustin with murderous eyes. "I was just telling this little twerp to beat it."

"This one of the kids?" you sidled up next to him and smiled at Dustin. "Hey."

"Hey!" He got a sly look on his face and wiggled his eyebrows at Steve, who looked positively livid. "You on a date there, Harrington old boy?"

"Who are you, Jay Gatsby? I like you," you laughed at Dustin and then clapped a hand on Steve's shoulder. "I like this kid; you might as well introduce me to all the little rascals. It'll explain why you're such a PTA mom all the time."

Steve groaned as Dustin grabbed your arm and dragged you over to the rest of the kids, but he couldn't help the way his heart skipped a beat when you gave him a look of sheer glee and affection.

Maybe he was doing something right?

---

He blindfolded you for the next date--the last idea he had for this two week sprint full of creative dates--although...he might not have needed to do it for the whole car ride.

"Steve I'm gonna be sick," you had groaned pathetically from the passenger's seat of his car.

But it was worth it.

He'd gone to the mall office to grab the mail--who knew stores at the mall got mail--when he saw a pamphlet for local tourist attractions and he'd been inspired.

The Fort Wayne Children's Zoo.

You were in awe, it's such a sweet date idea.

The two of you held hands as you dodged groups of field trip goers, parents with their kids on playdates, and other bored adults. You told him fun facts about your favorite animals and his.

"I always wanted to be," you told him, nose scrunched in embarrassment. "I dunno...a vet or a...marine biologist or something. One of those big jobs that kids always dream about. Now I work at StarCourt Mall and I'm on the verge of finding a new job again."

"So do I," he chuckled. "At least you've thought about your future. I sort of never did."

"There's always time," your eyes sparkled. "We're still young and have our whole lives ahead of us. I've been looking at pamphlets for the Tri-County Community College. We could take classes in the next semester."

"Yeah?" he asked, slyly. "We?"

"Shut up," you pushed him to the side.

"Didn't know you'd still plan on dating me next year."

"Why not?"

Steve shrugged but kept his mouth shut, and then steered you towards your final destination.

The Reef.

So it wasn't a full aquarium, but it was close enough. He couldn't drive you all the way out to Indianapolis without arousing suspicion. Besides, the Reef had enough of an array of colorful marine life to make you happy. You gushed over all of the different fish that you recognized as the two of you wound through the small aquarium building.

You'd actually told him about your dream career as a kid before and he'd stored that little tidbit away. Pulled a favor with his mom to pull a favor with someone she knew and low and behold--

"Steve!" you exclaimed as you saw the little setup on the bench in front of the tank of Moon Jellies, an assortment of sandwiches and sodas basking in the blue glow emitted from behind the glass. "What's this?"

"Surprise!" He held his hands out a little pathetically. "The real date...not just the zoo but...a little picnic too."

"I love it!" you laughed.

"You do?" he beamed in relief. "I've...I've really been trying. I know...you're always so...and Robin said I was boring, so I thought maybe we could try some new dates. Not just...dinners and movies. I wanted to make you happy. Make you smile."

He kept rambling on about the other ideas he had, but then confessed that he sort of missed late dinners at Benny's on Sundays because he got to hold your hand across the table. He didn't notice the way your gaze got softer as he said the things that you'd been thinking all day--because these spontaneous dates were great but you missed the sweet dinners at Benny's and the movie nights where you made out in the back row at the Hawk during boring scenes--or how you inched closer you him until your hands were caressing his cheeks and your lips descended on his.

From the outside looking in, it was almost picturesque.

Something from a John Hughes movie as the two of you rocked back and forth in the glow of the jellyfish tank and one big smooch turned into little sweet ones, soft lips pecking at each other, over and over. Tasting the words that you each wanted to say to one another but...didn't quite have the courage to.

Yet.

Next Part: Developmental Achievement

[highdramas]

hey bae!! can i pls request a fluffy steve harrington imagine, s3/s4 er’s with the fake dating friends to lovers trope? ty!!

eeeee i loved this!!! i drew some inspo from to all the boys i've loved before <3 love a shy reader moment!!! thank you for sending and i hope you enjoy [wc: 3249.] <3

--

you don't know how the letters got out. how the hell would the letters have gotten out?

you're going through things to get rid of in preparation of going to college-- sure, you were just going to school in indianapolis, but it was better than staying this hell hole of a town even one second longer-- but the hatbox was gone. no, not gone. worse. it was empty.

the expletive you let out has your father screaming from down the hall. "what did i say about language?!"

"sorry!" you squeak as you continue to throw clothes over your shoulders, furrowed brows. "no, no, no..." you groan and cover your face with your hands. this is cruel. god is a cruel, petty thing, you decide.

haven't you been good? you volunteer at the humane society. you never got detention in high school. you'd never stolen anything. you liked to think that you were a good person-- quiet, maybe. introverted, definitely. shy more than anything. and, well, that's how you got into this debacle in the first place.

a hopeless romantic by nature, you could never fathom truly confessing to the loves of your lives. especially considering all of those loves definitely did not feel the same way towards you. i mean-- was king steve going to have a crush on you? no way. which was why it was easy to write your love confession on the page, seal it up, address, stamp, and all-- and place it in the hatbox to never be seen again.

until now.

"honey--" you hear your mother call from downstairs. "someone's asking for you on the phone."

"who?!" you yell back, gripping the banister.

"steve harrington."

your blood goes cold.

you would take ten extra volunteer shifts at the humane society if it meant that all of this would go away.

you shuffle downstairs and take the phone from your mom, leaning against the wall, glancing from right to left as if he was really there with you. "hello?"

"and his hair-- he has the most gorgeous hair i've ever seen. i want to run my hands through it and--"

"STOP!" you run your hand over your face and squeeze your eyes shut. "oh my god, literally, please--"

"oh, c'mon. i'm giving you shit. you know, this whole letter is really sweet. you're a good writer. and sending right before you go off to college? bold move. i respect it." steve's voice has the warmth of a smile embedded into it. you can picture him on the other line, the crisp strawberry stationary in his big hand.

you don't know why you had picked strawberries for steve. it seemed fitting at the time.

breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth, you say slowly, "that wasn't meant to get to you. and, for the record, that was written, like, three years ago."

"wow. you wound me. well, either way, really boosted my ego. i figured i would come by and thank you in person. you live off church street, right? the little green house?"

stammering, you can barely get a word out before he says, "okay, cool, i thought so. see you in ten."

and he hangs up on you. just like that.

it reminds you exactly why your crush on king steve went away in the first place.

--

steve makes it to your house in eight minutes. he comes right up to the door and knocks, and when you open it, frantic and frazzled and with your sweater on backwards, he looks you up and down.

"your tag's sticking out." he tucks it back in for you. "and... it's backwards."

"i realize that now."

"great."

for a moment you're just staring at one another. then steve cracks a smile. "c'mon. can i get you, like, a milkshake or something? you look a little shaky, some sugar would probably--"

but everything goes silent. because approaching your door behind steve is ryan stewart, holding a letter of his own.

"fuck," you hiss under your breath, eyes darting to steve.

"woah, she curses! cool. i always thought you were super uptight, you know--" his words are cut off when you take him by the face and bring him to you, your lips crashing against his. it's slightly awkward; you're mostly kissing his top lip and your noses are crushed together a bit. but his hand finds a home on your waist and you feel his fingertips grip into your skin slightly. when you pull away, you can feel the fire on your face. and when you look over steve's shoulder at ryan, you feel a sick sort of triumph.

"milkshakes sound great, steve," you say the words loud enough for ryan to hear and you wrap your arm around his, calling over your shoulders to your parents that you'll be back soon. the look on steve's face is nothing short of befuddled, but when he turns around and sees ryan stewart standing there with a letter in hand, something seems to click into place.

he shifts your position from an awkward arm lock to a natural draping of his arm across your shoulder. he offers ryan a smile that says-- hey, can i help you? "hey, stewart," he says, nodding his head at him as he walks by.

ryan opens his mouth to say something but steve has already shuffled you into his car. he even opened the door for you. by the time the two of you are inside and steve is driving away, ryan has barely turned in his spot.

silence fills the car. you touch your bottom lip and you feel steve's eyes on you. "well," he begins. "your technique could use some work, but not a bad kiss, all things considered."

dumbfounded where you sit, you slowly glance over at him to see him wearing the biggest smirk imaginable.

and some of your lipstick.

you groan and cover your face with your hands, a muffled, "i'm sorry." getting out. barely. all you can hear is his laughter and when you drop your hands, you can't help but admire just how pretty he looks when he's laughing.

"you don't have anything to be sorry for. a pretty girl kissed me? wow, what a hardship." steve looks over at you. "i'm more curious as to what ryan stewart did to make you kiss me like that."

crossing your arms over your chest, you look out the window. "okay, well-- remember when i told you about the letters?" he nods his head. "well, like i said, you're not the only one who got one. you, ryan, eddie munson, and a boy from summer camp when i was twelve. instead of risking embarrassment and putting my feelings out there, i wrote the letters. and i always felt better when i did."

steve is quiet for a moment before he says, "that's sorta sad, and doesn't answer my question, really."

you roll your eyes and continue. "well, ryan's letter was different than the other ones. it was... a heartbreak letter. ryan and i had dated for six months last year but wanted to keep it a secret. from everyone. and then he ended things with me and got with someone else. prom king and queen." your head falls back against the headrest. "so i wrote how i felt. just like i always do. and you know what? you getting your letter, fine. eddie? he'll be nice about it. the boy from summer camp? who knows if he even got his. but that letter getting out..." you shrug, feeling meek in all the worst ways. "i didn't want him to feel sorry for me. or think that i'm sad and hung up over him, because i'm not. and you were... right there. and i wanted him to see that someone else would kiss me. in public." you press your lips together. "i realize that also sounds sad."

"it does, but not because of you. it sounds sad because ryan is a total dickhead." steve pulls into the parking lot of the diner and he turns and looks at you. "i think i have an idea."

--

"this'll never work."

"it'll absolutely work," steve says with a grin. "it'll make ryan jealous as hell, and remind girls what they're missing when they're not going out with me. i mean, it's basically foolproof. and at the end we go our separate ways with no ill will for one another. c'mon-- give credit where credit is due."

you slide your milkshake closer to yourself and take a long sip. "well, how long do we do this for?"

"you're moving away in three months for school. that seems like a good chunk of time, don't you think?" steve leans forward on his forearms. "look, i know i say a lot, but you don't have to do this if you don't want to. it was just... an idea." he shrugs and you don't know if you've ever seen steve so... sheepish before.

"no. no. it's... it's a good idea, unfortunately." you pause. "but there's going to need to be rules!"

"rules! rules, we can do rules. easy. what rules are you thinking?"

"well... how much time are we going to spend together? how much will we kiss? we're gonna have to go out in order for people to see about us and hear about us, so where are we gonna go? what about--"

steve's hand reaches out and covers yours. it's warm, and calloused slightly. like he's a star baseball player. "we'll figure all of that out. i promise." his thumb swipes across your skin. "contrary to popular belief, i do know how to date someone. how to make someone feel... special." he peers at you. "i can do that stuff for you, too. you know--" he clears his throat. "to make it all more believable."

breathless, you nod your head. "yeah," you smile. "believable."

--

you and steve harrington were the absolute talk of hawkins, indiana. one month into this... experiment and everyone had an opinion, everyone had a comment. even the kiss in front of ryan had become public knowledge. ryan told one person, one told another person, who told five people... and suddenly, after feeling mostly invisible through your high school career, you feel very visible. almost uncomfortably so.

but steve is a good partner in it. there's a reason why you wrote him a letter those years ago-- maybe even then you had seen something in him that other people didn't always recognize. regardless of the bravado, you always felt like there was something... soft about him. a soft underbelly that few people ever got. and now, you know that you were right all along.

because after a day at park, rolling around in the grass and reading to steve and looking around to see who's watching... he could be anywhere else. but he's here, at your house, with you. watching grease.

"your hair kinda reminds me of danny's," you say with a smile. you reach across the couch and run your hand through it; in the weeks that you've been putting on this ruse, you've gotten extremely comfortable around steve. that part is not fake. not one bit. "i like it."

steve smiles and settles further into your couch. "well, does that make you my sandy?"

"i guess so." you scrunch your nose up. "but i never really liked sandy's ending. i mean, why should she change herself to fit in with everyone else? she knows who she is. i never thought that was fair." you scoot a little closer to steve, subconsciously. you'd both agreed that no one could know about your arrangement, especially not your parents. so you supposed that sitting close to him on the couch wasn't that weird.

even if your parents weren't home.

"it's not fair. sandy was cute before the jumpsuit." steve shrugs his shoulders and looks over at you. there's a silence as you two stare at each other. "i'm cool with you being my sandy," the corner of his mouth turns up and he opens his arms. "c'mere."

"steve-- my parents aren't home, we don't have to--"

"it's not for anyone to see. you don't like to cuddle?"

you huff and settle into his arms, your cheek squished against the strong plane of his chest, your legs stretched out across the couch. "of course i like to cuddle."

"that's what i thought."

you both fell asleep like that. you're awoken by steve's gentle touch, brushing your hair from your eyes and shaking your shoulder. "hey-- hey, baby, we fell asleep."

you grumble but don't make any moves to get up any time soon. you feel steve's laugh on your cheek more than you hear it. "alright, you leave me no choice--" you groan in discontent when he slips out from under you. but then he's scooping you up into his arms.

steve takes you up the stairs and into your bedroom, laying you down gently. he pulls back the covers and tucks you beneath them. your eyes flutter open to find him watching you with a lovely smile. truly lovely-- it's the smile that gives you butterflies. "you can't stay?" you whisper, and if you were fully awake, you'd be mortified for asking such a thing.

"don't want to get you in trouble." he pushes your hair back and kisses your cheek, your forehead. "i'll come by in the morning, take you to breakfast. how's that sound?"

you nod your head and yawn. your hand rubs at his arm, a matching smile on your own face. "okay."

"okay," steve whispers. he leans forward and kisses your cheek again. "sweet dreams. see you in the morning."

--

you're not sure how three months went by so quickly.

you also don't know how to reckon with the fact that they went by so quickly because you loved every single moment of them.

it wasn't just that steve was a good fake boyfriend-- steve was just a good person. a good friend. every moment that you spent around him, you wanted to bottle that moment up and live in it forever. he was, whether you wanted to admit it or not, your favorite person.

ryan was an afterthought. none of this was for him, anymore. this... it was all for steve.

"where should i put this one?" steve asks, holding up a box labeled books. "you have, like fifty books boxes. do you even get a bookshelf in your dorm?"

your childhood bedroom is in tatters, picked apart and almost all packed up for your drive tomorrow. you'd be staying at steve's tonight prior to your drive. an occurrence that wasn't all that rare, anyway. you always slept side by side, and it always ended with his strong arms wrapped all around you.

steve and the kids would be there for your send off. another wonderful addition to bringing steve into your life-- the kids that came along with him. dustin was your favorite, but you weren't going to tell that to the others.

and while three months ago, you couldn't wait to get out of hawkins... you don't feel that same excitement now. you're still excited, definitely, but... you have something that you're going to be missing, now. you hadn't exactly planned for that.

you have someone who you'll be missing.

"i can always make room for books," you say, turning your nose up at steve. "you can set it there," you point to another stack of boxes. "thanks for helping."

"'course. that's what a boyfriend's there for."

silence falls over the two of you and you think that steve realizes what he said, because he suddenly goes rigid as he sets the box down with the others. "i mean-- like, a friend. a boy that's a friend. and also your fake boyfriend. i--" he sighs and rubs his face. "fuck."

setting down the tape in your hand, you turn your attention more fully to steve. his hand drops and he meets your gaze and for the first time, you can see everything written all over his face. like he's dropped a mask that's been hiding his real, true feelings. or maybe you'd just been too blind to see it. "say that again."

"a boy that's a friend?"

"no. before that."

he pauses. "that's... that's what a boyfriend is there for?"

you nod your head slowly. "is that... is that how you view yourself? with me? my boyfriend... for real?"

steve's cheeks start to go pink. "i mean... i know you're my best friend. and i know that i fucking love being around you. and i know that... i know that shit started to get a little blurry for me. probably a few months ago. i-- you know, i just... i don't really feel like i'm pretending anymore." he blinks and you can see the nerves on his body. it's what leads you to cross the room towards him and take his hand in yours. "is that... is that what you want?"

"steve," you whisper. "you got a letter in the first place because when i was fifteen i was crazy about you. and i think... i think i've always been a little crazy about you. so... yes. that's what i want."

gentle fingertips trace down your jaw. "i guess not much changes, anyway." he smirks a little. "we've been dating for..."

"three months. two days." you shrug your shoulders as his eyes widen. "i pay attention, i guess..."

steve laughs and he brings you in by the waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck. "that's my girl." he goes quiet. "i'm gonna miss you. i was always gonna miss you, but... you know, indianapolis isn't far. i'll come and visit. you'll come home for holidays. we'll... we'll be fine."

your fingers run through steve's hair. "i'm gonna miss you too. what you said earlier? about me being your best friend? you're mine too."

he squeezes your waist and it wrings another smile out of you. steve makes you hopelessly lovesick, in the best of ways.

--

steve ended up driving up with you, helping you set up your dorm alongside your parents. and after you shed your tears when your parents left, after you anxiously paced the floor anticipating the moment that steve would have to leave. "hey, hey, hey," steve finally says, stopping your movements. "i have something for you before i go."

you open your mouth and he shakes his head. "no, no. let me do this." from his back pocket, he procures a letter. complete with your dorm address and a cute stamp in the top right corner. he holds it out to you. "i want you to read this when you miss me most. not tonight-- tonight, i want you to go and have fun and make friends. your roommate seems cool. i'm talking, like, october." he pauses. "can you do that for me?"

your eyes shine with unshed tears. "steve..." it's practically a whimper. you look up at him and you say, "i love you."

wrapping himself around you, his hand rubs your back. "i love you too," he whispers into your ear. "never loved anyone like this before."

butterflies swarm in your stomach. and you still don't know how those letters got sent-- but you've never been so thankful for fate working its magic than you are for that letter being sent, and bringing steve to your doorstep on a warm may afternoon.

[puhpandas]

Rabbit Burrow

(5180 words) part 2 (1 found here)

Tony Becker, one year after surviving the attack from GGY, tracks down Gregory post-SB. But he has to get through Vanessa and Freddy before he can get to Gregory.

Its only after Tony has run through the interaction with Vanessa ten times over that he realizes she never told him how she knows Gregory.

He'd been nothing but restless since she left. His eyes have been darting to and from the digital clock on the end table on the other side of arm of the couch, and his brain has been so scattered, all he can focus on is the awaiting reunion.

The baking show has long since switched to a new episode since he last checked the TV. Tony's worried that at this point, his fingers will start bleeding if he keeps picking at them like this.

The only saving grace in a long chunk of nothing-but-anticipation is when Tony's phone buzzes at 6:01pm, right when he had started to gather his thoughts and began plan out the reunion in his head like remembering a speech.

Ellis: dude where r u????

Ellis: yr mom said u arent home and she keeps asking me if ur with me and where u r

All Tony does is sigh. He cant even find it in him to feel bad that his Mom and Grandma are probably worried. All he can think about is how his arms are shaking and his stomach feels floaty.

He types back with thumbs that have peeling skin on the edge of the fingernails.

Tony: Remember how I covered for you that one time?

Tony: I need you to cover for me. If you need to tell her that I'm with you and I'm staying over do that. I just need any excuse.

Ellis: yea i remember but why?

Ellis: if a guy covers for u u can at least tell him what the deal is

Tony: I'm doing something really important. I can't tell you all the details yet.

Tony: I just need you to trust me. Please. It'll help me out a lot, Ellis.

Tony: I promise I'll make it up to you next time you need something.

Ellis: dude didnt know it was that important

Ellis: dont worry then. u know i can tell a mean lie when i need to

Tony: Dude thanks. That's a big relief. It wont be in vain.

Ellis: my services will not be for free tho

Ellis: i will need something in return

Tony: What do you want?

Ellis: for u to buy me a cookie next time i see u at lunch

Tony finds it in him to roll his eyes at that. He smiles a bit, and right as he goes to send back I'll buy you two, Freddy Fazbear makes some sort of clunking sound.

Its enough to make his already fluttery heart clench and himself almost fly off of the couch. He jerks and yelps and can only stare Freddy Fazbears black eyelids phwip open, and his pupils glow..

They're blank, though, like they're on but Freddy himself isnt. His body whirs and shifts slowly, as if running a diagnostic, and after his ears wiggle, theres a clear difference.

Tony just sits rigid as a board with eyes wide as saucers as Freddy doesnt notice him right away. He just takes the jump cables off of his ears and sets them on the carpet, and moves his torso to face the window.

Which Tony is blocking. Since hes on the couch sitting directly next to the animatronic.

Theres a staring contest with a distinct lack of breathing for all but a few moments, before the small black plastic pieces that are Freddys eyebrows tilt downwards.

"Wait wait wait!" Tony holds out his hands, but Freddy doesnt get off the couch and attack him like his fears. Freddys eyes dont leave his once, and it reminds him too much of those few times Freddy would stare him down and be hot on his heels in the Pizzaplex during the GGY debacle.

Freddy pauses, not even so much as twitching as he burns an LED hole into him. Tony tries to get over the unease and stutters out, "Um, Vanessa trusts me. I talked to her. She told me to stay here."

For a fleeting moment, Tony believes he somehow said the wrong thing and that Freddy is now going to grab him and beat him into a pulp like he feared back at the Pizzaplex all that time ago. But during the rigid silence, the glow in Freddys eyes flickers for half a second, and some sort of beeping sound emits from a hidden speaker.

"I have just contacted her." Freddy finally breaks the tension, and Tony sighs at how his voice does not sound aggressive. In fact, Freddy hadn't spoken at all when Tony had been afraid of him last year. "You are telling the truth... my apologies."

"Theres no issue." Tony manages when Freddy looks so undoubtedly apologetic theres no doubt that he's not genuine. He scratches the back of his neck. "...I guess I wouldnt be too keen on a stranger being in my house when I wake up either."

"Yes," Freddy nods, and his ears bob at the motion. Theres a split second of silence where the baking show Tony hasn't caught a single second of is the only noise in the room. "so that begs the question; why are you here?"

Tony jerks. "What?"

"You are a stranger in my house, like you said." Freddy points out, not unkindly. "I would appreciate knowing why. Even if you already went over it with Vanessa."

"Oh. Well. I dont know what all Vanessa told you, but... I'm here for Gregory."

Freddy doesnt immediately turn distrustful or wary like Vanessa had. Probably because he already knows Tony is a friend. "She said you were an old friend of his." Freddy confirms. His "So, you are the boy Gregory talks to much about."

Tony doesnt really know how to respond to that. He grabs a fold of fabric from the arm of his jacket in-between his fingers. "Uh...yeah."

"I'm sure you've already talked to Vanessa. So I wont beat around the bush." Freddy says. "But Gregory has tried so hard to remember you."

Tony brows furrow. "...She said he has dreams sometimes. And that's how he knows I-- we exist."

"Yes." Freddy nods."But she probably did not tell you that he tries to figure out what reminded him of you, so he can continue to keep dreaming."

Tony's eyes widen, and he picks at his fingers. No. Vanessa did not mention that. She said nothing about Gregory actively searching for Tony around his life to see him in his dreams.

Freddys LED eyes dim, and his ears and eyelids droop in a clear sign of upset. "It breaks my heart. To see Gregory try to gather the broken pieces of his memories." His eyes stare at the couch cushion below them, before they dart up to look him in the eye. "You were obviously very important to him, if he searches like this."

"He is to me too." Is all Tony can manage. He's suddenly getting a sense adjacent to deja vu.

"Its clear that he is." Freddy is still looking him in the eye, but somehow, Tony feels like he's smiling at him. "If you came all this way to see him."

And he really did come a long way, didnt he? He took a bus to a different county. He spent hours and hours scouring the internet for any mention of Greg after he suddenly up and went missing as soon by the time Tony had recovered enough to look for him.

Greg has searched too, apparently. Tony cant help but be aware of. Even after losing his memories.

"What is your name?" Freddy suddenly asks him.

"Tony Becker." Tony answers easily. "I guess he doesnt remember my name, huh?"

"No. But he has tried. Believe me when I say that." Freddy says. "He wants to know more about his life before what happened more than anything."

"...You think he'll be happy to see me?"

"There is no doubt, Tony Becker."

The last time he had seen Greg, it was in a dusty back room with a knife in his back.

But despite that, it isnt what Tony thinks when he thinks Greg. When he thinks of Greg, he thinks of the sleepovers and the days Greg would show up at school one day with his hair different lengths. He thinks about how He, Greg, and Ellis would Vs. eachother on the air hockey machine. He thinks about the stories they'd come up with in creative writing.

When he thinks of that afternoon at the Pizzaplex, he doesnt think Greg. He thinks GGY. Maybe its that first inkling of separation that got him here.

Theres been a stretch of silence while Tony soaked it in. The rain outside has slowed, and the sun peeking through the gray clouds shines through the window, white lines on the coffee table like the blinds are a stencil.

"But the truth is... I do not think Vanessa feels the same." Freddy suddenly says. "She wants to protect him from the awful memories. I do not have to deal with them like she does, but I assume they... that they haunt her."

His ears droop. "I believe that she does not want Gregory to have to as well."

"So shes trying to keep them from him?" Tony asks, a brow raised. "But that's his choice, isn't it?"

"That is how I feel." Freddy agrees, looking at him again. It's starting to become less uncomfortable. "Listen, Tony Becker. I may not know for sure, but I feel that Vanessa is afraid to let you near Gregory. Seeing you will make him remember so much."

His mind immediately jumps to a thousand implications at that."If shes scared, what does that mean?" He asks. "She'll make me leave? She'll change her mind?"

"I do not think so." Freddy assures. "But my point is that she has been trying for so long to keep Gregorys memories under wraps. It is not with malice, but this is why I ask you this."

"Gregory has long since chosen to remember, even if Vanessa does not want him to." Freddy says havent left his once, and Tony doesnt look away, either. Freddys pupils suddenly appear brighter in a way when he speaks again, "To keep them from him after he has already made his choice would be cruel. Which is why I would like you to help him, Tony Becker."

Tony hasnt forgotten how Greg fought for him that day at the Pizzaplex. He hasnt forgotten how all that mattered was Tony escaping. Not if Greg would get in trouble. Not if something would happen to him.

Gregory has, though. Greg has forgotten a lot of things.

But if seeing Tony in danger that fateful afternoon made him remember himself enough to fight, and win against mind control?

Tony can fight for Greg's memories, too. Even if it takes another year.

"He deserves to remember his old life." Freddy says. "Vanessa has told me that his parents are dead. Any life he had before is nothing but a faint memory." He hums, melancholy. "But it's one I want him to remember."

Me too Tony almost says. Because all Tony has wanted throughout this last year is his friend back.

"Greg was one of my best friends." Tony says quietly, eyes downcast. He counts the threads in the couch cushion. "I want him to remember me and Ellis and... everything. It's why I'm here."

"I have not been able to help him, no matter how much I've wanted to." Freddy responds, sounding sad. "But I am glad you are here. Now Gregory truly has a chance of obtaining what hes been chasing for so long."

"Me too." Tony replies, not knowing which exactly hes responding too.

"So," Freddy pauses. "what do you say?"

"I'll do it." Tony responds immediately. "But... I just have to ask. Why do you trust me so much? Vanessa wouldnt even tell me anything until I answered her riddles."

Freddy hums. "It is exactly as you said." Freddy answers. "You earned Vanessa's trust. So in turn you have earned my trust. I trust Vanessa to trust you."

Tony doesnt respond, for a moment, just taking that in.

The amount of faith you have in someone to trust them that much. To know you can rely on them. To have no doubt...

Tony glances at the hallway he can see just over the back of the couch and down the hall into the room with the slightly open door, with the pens and pencils and bed and desk, and wonders how tightly wound the people in this house are with eachother.

"...Then I'll return the favor." Tony smiles. "You're friends of Greg's, and, well... I was friends with him, once upon an time. And he still seems to think so." He holds out a hand. "Any friend of Greg's is a friend of mine."

Freddys ears wiggle, and his eyelids come up in a way that make him look overjoyed. "Any friend of Gregory's is a friend of mine." Freddy repeats, shaking Tony's hand. "We are in this together, now. We will have to be there for Gregory if he remembers not so great things."

"And for the great things." Tony smiles, going over the few months worth of memories of their three amigos friendship he has in his head. "Its worth it, I think."

After all, if Tony's found a way to seperate killer Greg with his Greg, then he thinks Gregory probably can as well.

"I'm glad we have that settled." Freddys ears wiggle, and his eyes do that dimming thing again for half a second. "Because Vanessa has just contacted me and let me know that she is almost back with Gregory."

He makes some sort of choking noise. Theres a thousand things on the tip of Tony's tongue in seconds. His eyes blow wide as saucers, and he twists his back to look at the clock that reads 6:34.

He immediately feels like someone dumped a bucket of ice water on his head. He stutters, trying to gather his thoughts, and eventually gets out "How long?!"

"Soon." Freddy smiles. "It wont be long, now. It seems all the work you've done has paid off."

Tony cant find it in him to move his mouth after that. Just too rigid. It feels like theres electricity buzzing up his skin and a wildfire in his chest. It feels like he cold start floating like a balloon at any moment.

He doesnt respond to Freddy, after that. He just twists his body to face the front door (his back twinges. maybe he shouldn't slouch over his laptop and desk so much) and waits.

A few minutes is nothing in the grand scheme of things. Not really when its put up against the year he's taken to track Greg down. But its somehow more agonizing waiting now when he knows Greg is in arms reach, instead of it being uncertain if he'd ever see him again.

It's not uncertain, now. Is the thing. Greg is on his way, and Tony, for once, doesn't even know what to think. All he can do is sit there and be clammy and impatient.

Freddy chuckles. Tony ignores it. He burns a hole into the front door just across the living room, only hearing his own jumbled thoughts and roaring in his ears over the baking show on the TV.

Its Winter right now. So by 6:45, all the light outside has darkened into pitch blackness. The residential street lights outside the apartments make the raindrops on the window glow. The TV is still going in the background.

Freddy is as still as he is, joining him in watching the door as restless as a bored puppy. Listening to the ventilation inside of Freddys inner workings is the only thing that reminds Tony to breathe.

After multiple agonizing minutes, Tony jerks when the slam of a car door is heard distantly outside the window.

"Are you ready, Tony Becker?" Freddy breaks the silence. Looking back at Freddy is the first time Tony looks away from the door. "We do not know how much he will remember at first. It may be messy. It may not."

Messy is definitely a word he would use to describe a lot of the things that have happened, here. So he just nods, a tilt of his head. "I'm ready."

"He is ready, too." replies Freddy.

And that's all that's said until the doorknob begins to rattle.

All that Tony manages is a strangled gasp before he's bolting off the couch, almost tripping over Freddys legs. His converse slide on the laminate wood, and he stands there. In perfect view of the door.

His legs feel cold and his chest airy as he watches. He waits for movement, and cant help the tremble in his hands when the deadbolt unlocks. He can hear voices. Only because hes straining his ears, but he can hear a high pitched voice muffled and faint behind the door.

The doorknob rattles, and Tony watches as the deadbolt unlocks from the inside. His heart stutters in his chest when he hears voices outside, and he can pinpoint one of the pitches as Greg's.

"Come on, Vanessa. Were home. Now tell me what the suprise is!"

"I think you'll want to see it for yourself, Greg."

"Its inside? Well what could it possibly be if you wont even give me a hint--"

The knob twists, and the door creaks open. Its steady and agonizingalmost as if it's in slow motion.

And there he is.

Theres the pale skin and short stature and blue clothes. Tony isnt breathing when he just looks, and sees the boy he'd been searching for so long right in front of him.

He has raindrops in his chocolate brown hair. Greg doesnt look away from Vanessa while he walks in, at first, but Vanessa looks away from Gregory. She meets his eyes, and Tony doesnt have it in him to dissect what the look could mean.

All he cares about is how Greg follows her gaze.

He stops in his tracks, his mud stained Pizzaplex brand sneakers planting him firmly in place.

It's like everything else falls away when Greg meets his eyes. Huge, amber eyes that grow as wide as saucers when they see him. Theres a dark jagged scar wrapped around his cheek that makes it to his nose that wasnt there before.

The silence is deafening, as they just stand there and stare at eachother. Tony thinks he isnt breathing. Theres electricity shooting up his spine. His fingers twitch and tremble. Greg just stares, mouth agape.

Tony's own twitches, and he smacks his lips together, testing if he can still speak at all. His legs are rooted to the ground as he says, just above a whisper, "Greg."

Greg's face shifts ever so slightly, and it's only now Tony realizes his eyes are a bit faraway. Like he's...

Remembering something.

In an instant, they dart and blink, and Greg is looking at him again.

Tony dares to break through the water by taking a step. He never tears his eyes away from Gregory's own.

At some point, Vanessa moved away from the door and somewhere else in the house.

Which means the coast is clear when Tony takes a step, and then another, and Greg is meeting him in the middle.

Hes almost sprinting when they crash into eachother like waves. Immediately, Tony wraps his arms around Greg tight, and Greg clutches back just as desperately.

"Tony." Gregory says breathlessly. Tony can feel Greg's hair brush against his cheek and his hands ball up his jacket. "Its you. That's your name. You're the..."

"The one you've been dreaming about?" Tony chuckles, and to his suprise, it's a little wet. His legs ache from pushing himself into the hug so much, but he ignores it. "Yeah. Me and Ellis. Your friends."

"Tony and Ellis." Greg repeats, and Tony could cry at how it's the same voice in all of his memories. A few things are different; Gregory's face has changed a bit, and so has his hair and clothes. But all of the things that made him Greg back then are still here.

"I--" Greg stutters. "I tried so hard to remember anything about you. I was gonna track you down, I hope you know. Cause you're the only things I remember about..."

"I know, Greg." Tony replies. Greg pulls away from the hug, and Tony still has a grip on his shoulders. "They told me everything."

He jerks his head towards Freddy and Vanessa, and when Greg looks over at him, Freddys ears wiggle and Vanessa does a small little wave.

"Some suprise." Gregory chuckles, wiping at his dry eyes. "Jeez, its just-- I just remembered so much. Just by seeing you, and--"

Greg's eyes turn a little misty as he looks in Tony's own. "We were friends." He says. "And I forgot you for so long."

"It wasnt your fault." Tony smiles slightly. Greg still has to look up at him a bit, like he did last time Tony saw him. "Freddy and Vanessa told me you tried your best to remember us."

Gregory nods, glancing over at them. "I did." He says. "I wanted to know what triggered the first dream so bad. But... I never figured it out."

"I guess it doesn't matter now." Tony says. "I'm right here in front of you, and you remember now. Ellis'll be really glad to see you, too."

Gregory chuckles. "I missed him." He says. "I missed you, too."

"Me too." Tony replies, and it doesn't feel like those two words can encapsulate how much Tony has felt the past year. "Ellis really missed you as well. He still is. You don't know what happened to him when you went missing."

Gregory ducks his head, eyes downcast. "I wish I did."

Tony eyes Freddy from the corner of his eye, and he nods. Tony looks back towards Greg. "I can tell you some stuff, if you want. Vanessa said something reminded you of me one day." He smiles. "I can try to help remind you of stuff enough to remember more."

Gregory's head shoots up, and to Tony's suprise, tears gather in his eyes. As quick as they come, he ducks his head, using the sleeve of his navy jacket to wipe them away. "Yeah." He sniffs. "That'd be great."

"I'm glad you guys reunited." Vanessa pipes up to their left. "But, Gregory, I think you should go take a breather. I wanna talk to Tony anyway."

Greg doesnt answer for a second, but eventually he nods, smiling at Tony as he peels himself away. Tony takes note of how the tooth Gregory had been missing last year is still gone.

Tony watches him go, and his eyes dont leave his back until the door to his room shuts.

"Kid," Vanessa grabs his attention. She gestures to sit down on the couch, and he moves over, sitting in-between Freddy and her. "that went well. Really well."

Tony just nods, not able to shake the trembling in his fingers and the floaty feeling in his chest.

"It doesnt seem like he remembered anything bad." Vanessa points out. "He couldnt have. He wouldn't be so calm if he did, trust me."

Tony remembers Freddys words about how Vanessa grapples with the things shes done, so he does. He nods again, and Vanessa smiles. "So that's good. Listen, kid. If you can somehow have Gregory remember his old life without any of the mind control murder stuff, that would be the best case scenario."

Freddy whirs and straightens out a but, opening his mouth to speak, but he stops at the last second. "It wouldnt be unfair to Gregory if he wasnt remembering anything good, Fred." Vanessa points out.

"That is true." Freddy agrees. "There is no point in Gregory remembering anything harmful to him if avoidable. Vanessa knows that better than anyone."

Tony opens his mouth to speak, but pauses.

Not remember anything bad? As in he wouldnt be able to remember that day at the Pizzaplex?

How Greg had put himself on the line and fought for Tony's life? How he'd succeeded? How Tony always desperately wanted to see Greg again just to talk about it?

Words get caught in his throat, but he pushes them down and shoves his feelings aside. He just nods. "I'll do my best."

"Thanks." Vanessa says, and she sounds more relieved than Tony's ever heard anyone. She puts a hand on his shoulder, offering him a smile. "Really. Thank you, kid. I'd do anything for Gregory to never have to remember the same things I do."

Tony just nods again, finding that for the first time in his life, he has no words to say. "Yeah."

"I am sure you're dying to catch up with Gregory." Freddy smiles. "Go on, Tony Becker. We will give you both space."

Tony smiles, shooting up and shimmying past Freddys legs in-between the coffee table towards the hall. "Okay. Sure." He only lingers for another moment to say "Thanks!"

Its jet black outside when Tony passes a window, and by the time he makes it to Greg's room, the only light available is a small table lamp on the desk with paper strewn about. Greg sits on his bed, deep in thought, before snapping out of it when Tony walks in.

"Hey." Gregory smiles, and Tony grins back when he shuts the door behind him. He cant help how his eyes wander about the room, taking in every detail as he moves further into the room. His backpack is tossed on the floor beside his bed, and theres comic pages and drawings thumbtacked up across every wall. Theres a corkboard with blocky letters written on paper sheets scattered around, and his bedsheets have constellations on them.

Tony's eyes linger on the desk, where there are multiple comics covering every inch, some half-finished and some fully colored.

"You would draw comics when we were friends, too." Tony says, making his way over and peering at all of the different drawings. "I'd call them graphic novels. I'd write the story and you'd draw."

"I think I had a dream about that." Greg says. "We'd go in your room and brainstorm, right?"

"Yeah." Tony smiles. He looks at the dates scribbles in the corners of them all, and notices that most of them are recent.

"Its one of the only dreams I had." Gregory says. "It... it would make me so mad because it never went any different. And it had been the only indication you even existed for so long." He chuckles without humor. "The other dreams weren't much different, but, well, I was never really able to figure out how to trigger a new dream."

As he keeps looking, some of the older comics, like the ones on the walls and the underneath the piles of recent ones have dates from a few months ago.

It's like a tiny lightbulb goes off above his head. He turns to Gregory, asking "Do you remember when you had the first dream?"

Gregory pauses for a moment. "Yeah." He says. "It was a few months ago. The first dream I had was about us drawing comics in your room."

Tony smiles, finding the earliest date to be near October last year. Its February now. "Did you ever think the thing that triggered that memory was drawing a comic?"

Tony watches as the gears turn in Greg's head. Hes silent for a moment, before muttering, "No. I didnt."

Tony looks at the window on the wall by Greg's bed and watches as raindrops drip down the screen on the other side. Crickets are chirping faintly, and he can hear Freddy and Vanessa's voices muffled behind the door.

The days events catch up to him, and right as the first inkling of tiredness creep up on him, he says "So how about we try to make a comic together like the dream? Maybe it'll bring back some new memories."

Gregory is silent for a moment, and Tony watches as his eyes widen, and a grin gradually stretches across his face. "Okay." He says. "Yeah. Let's do it."

So it's in Greg's room, instead of Tony's, where they hunker down for the night and squish next to eachother on the same chair at the same desk and brainstorm a comic. Tony makes a point of calling it a graphic novel like he used to, because Greg would always say something about it, and unsurprisingly, this time is no different.

The only light is from Gregory's small table lamp shoved to the very corner to make room for more papers, and it's only when they have everything ready does Greg finally ask about the story.

"You said you'd write the story and I'd draw." Gregory says. His shoulder is pressed up against Tony's on the chair and his voice is loud in his ear. "So what's the story?"

Tony hums for a second, jumbled thoughts and ideas running course in his mind, then he gets an idea.

He grins slowly as it dawns on him. He glances over at Greg.

"You always liked nonfiction better, right?" Gregory says, voice up an octave like a question. "Real life stuff."

"Yeah." Tony confirms. "This is a real story."

"So tell me." Greg smiles, leaning back to get a good view of Tony. Tony himself does the same, and Greg is doing one of those lopsided smiles that shows off his missing tooth. "And I'll start drawing the panels."

Its only after theyve hunkered down does Tony really let himself revel in the fact that he found Greg, and he's here and okay. It may not be perfect, since Tony never really will be able to speak to that Gregory that saved him that day and thank him, but its content. Tony has his friend back, and he can't ask for any more.

He's long since decided on a story when he finally tells Gregory. He smiles softly, before saying,

"This story is about a kid named Gregory, who once hacked the school PA speakers and started beatboxing."

🔎🐰

Ellis: um so how long will i have to keep this up???

Ellis: would be nice to know

Tony: I dont know how long I'll be gone.

Tony: I'll buy you as many cookies as you want for this.

Ellis: we will negotiate when you come back

Ellis: for now ill uphold my end of the deal mr. becker

Tony: I'll uphold mine early.

Tony sent an image

Image ID: A boy with short dark brown hair and a green jacket angling the camera so by his head is a boy with pale skin and chocolate brown hair. The boy with dark hair is smiling and the boy with brown hair is looking suprised at the camera.

Ellis is typing...

ao3 link

[matan4il]

911 ep 710 first watch reactions

Ha, so Chris is upset, Eddie is distraught and his go to person is Buck, who drops everything else and comes over right away. And not for the first, or second, or third time. Yes, this is exactly how every platonic friendship I've ever had has played out.

The way Buck reads Eddie, knows him so well, that Buck can vocalize the part that Eddie can't say out loud right away... Soul mates.

"What you always do." Married soul mates.

LOL The way Hen and Chim don't even blink when Buck and Eddie show up at the hospital together, like the married couple they are. XD

This group of fire fighters being the best amateur detectives on TV since the Scooby Doo gang will never not be funny. Also, highly implausible, but that just makes it funnier.

"You go to hell!" "You first!" So 911 was having a western kink kinda month, and decided to set up this very likely storyline, just to be able to quote Tombstone? Hmmm.

"This one, we both walk out of." See, 911 is the show where I can roll my eyes 30 times during a storyline, but the climax moment still gets to me with its humaneness. That's the show's power. And the follow up reunion with Bobby! I had no doubt he'd live, but it was still very emotional to walk with Athena down the hospital hallway into his room and get to not only see, but also feel it.

"Bobby is the father I've never had." We know, but it was still nice to hear. "Your father's alive." Oh, Tommy. How little you understand Buck. "So maybe we both have daddy issues." "I don't." "But you think I do." "God, I hope so." lol Is this supposed to be flirting? If so, it's so off the mark for me, the dart ended up in outer space. I mean, Buck obviously has daddy issues, and I guess whoever needed that confirmed can celebrate (I'm sure there will be even more fics digging into this now), but pointing that out in the middle of a date is hardly the sexy move this ep's writer seems to think it is? IDK, I'm obviously a Buddie shipper, I like BuckTommy better than any other r/s Buck's had with a non-Eddie person, I do enjoy it as a part of Buck's journey (and I also generally believe in ship and let ship, even when something isn't my endgame), but even if I was a BuckTommy shipper, IDK that I would have liked that line. Especially when it treads a bit close to the issues I had with the BuckAbby r/s, which the show has never properly addressed. Oh, well. I'm still mostly amused that someone thought this was a great flirty line.

"He's 13, he should have a say!" To be heard? Yes. To have the final say? No. He's 13, not 18. There's a reason why at that age, we don't let kids make decisions for themselves yet. Also, the Diaz parents trying to pretend like the fact that Chris suggested him living with them for a while isn't their secret fantasy come true (or that they have no past where they hurt their son with this idea) is just crude. Also, hinting to Eddie that if he doesn't let Chris run away from his problems, then he'll be just like Ramon, is fucked up.

Also, kinda hilarious that Buck and Eddie's daddy issues are both brought up in the same ep. Sometimes being soul mates means exactly that, getting your partner perfectly because you have the same emotional baggage.

So, Chris is leaving, and the first one to talk to him on screen since the Kim debacle, and since he got the green light to go, is Buck? And Buck's also still there for the actual parting moment? Speaking of actual dads rather than bio ones...

I really liked Eddie just hugging Chris, using no words. There might not be anything he can say to fix this right now, but he still loves his son more than anything, and he can still let Christopher know that. And then when the message didn't get through, even though he's not a words person, Eddie managed to verbalize it. Don't mind me, I'll just be bawling quietly in the corner.

Buck's comforting hand on Eddie's shoulder is the real MVP. <3

I'm glad Mara's back in touch with Hen, Karen and Denny, but this feels a bit like a "deus ex machina" moment, even if it's just to wrap up the season finale, and not the final resolution of this storyline.

Bobby and Amir are actually so similar. They both lost everything, they both were at their lowest, they both chose to help others when they had nothing else left to live for. That handshake was a nice ending to their story, and it did feel more "earned" for not coming quickly or easily.

Ha, that ending. It's a good twist of events as a build up for season 8, it's just interesting because 911 doesn't usually do end of season cliff hangers. I also feel like, knowing the show, I can already predict more or less how it will turn out, so I'm not even feeling that much suspense. But it's not a bad turn of events, so long as it works for most viewers, I suppose. Overall, I enjoyed most of season 7, it feels revitalized, better paced and structured (despite being shorter) than seasons 5 and 6, and I have no doubt everyone will flock back to see how things unfold in season 8. Especially when this season was a nice reminder of everything this show can do right, and why we love these characters and fire family so much.

Thank you for reading! If you’re looking for more, you can find my s7 reactions tag here, and more of my Buddie meta and content in my pinned post. xoxox

[theperfectawful]

Blind Item / Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Malibu Rating: Mature

Chapter Summary: You check in to rehab and run into a familiar face.

Word Count: 11.1k

Content/Warnings: Descriptions of drug use/overdose, detoxing/coming down, talk of sex, Hollywood misogyny, angsty angst.

Notes: Hello! Thank you guys again for the warm reception to Chapter 1, it was very encouraging. If you're not familiar with what a blind item is, it is a gossip column with any major identifying details about the subject removed. Every now and then this story will be broken up by excerpts of blind items and other gossip columns about Dieter and our reader. Enjoy! Sorry it's so long!

You felt like you slept for an hour and a half. If that. Your head was pounding when you woke up, the muscles behind your eyes searing red hot when they opened. You snapped them closed again right away, the room blindingly white, bathed in the early morning sun.

To your left, you could hear a soft beeping and the murmur of muffled voices. Your mouth felt as dry as a bone as you propped yourself up on your elbows, blinking your eyes open and squinting to look around the room. Instantly, recognition flooded in. 

With a jolt, you sat upright, the pace of the beeps increasing as you grabbed at the tube attached to your arm in confusion. Your eyes darted around the hospital room, looking for any indication of where you were or how you got there. The hum of a news show on tv drew your attention to the upper corner of the room. 

“She’s now upped the ante from alcohol to alcohol and cocaine and accelerated, uh, frequency of incidents. Alleged– Allegedly, uh, alcohol and cocaine. This isn’t her first drug related incident and the judges in Los Angeles won’t look favorably on a DUI like this. This is not the atmosphere, after Paris, after Lindsay’s, uh, debacle, to be playing with these judges. They have a strict no-nonsense policy for these little starlets and she’s going to be looking at 30 to 60 days, at least, minimum in jail, and three to six months in a drug rehab.”

On the screen, footage of you and Natalie running frantically into the intersection after your car played on a loop. You, snarling at the camera. You, spinning around. You, hauling ass towards Sunset and Fairfax. This was a dream. This wasn’t happening.

You felt it first in your jaw, a blood-draining feeling, spreading and burning hot across your face. Your heart was pounding, panic surging through your nervous system and tightening in your chest.

“Hello?!” Your voice cracked as you called out, unsure who you were even looking for. Your fluorescent dress and your shoes from the night before were in a plastic bag on the chair across from your bed. The voices in the hallway quieted for a moment and then started up again, the conversation quickly wrapping up.

The door opened and a woman in scrubs entered, greeting you with a smile that felt fucking inappropriate, all things considered.

“Well, good morning!” The nurse loudly greeted you, rolling a stool in from the doorway.

“Why am I here?” You answered harshly. “Sorry, I… Hello. How did I get here? Is anyone here with me?”

“You’re at Cedars,” She answered, her tone still a little too casual for your liking. “And you’re lucky. If that young lady hadn’t brought you in when she did, you could’ve been in a lot of trouble.”

You’d kill that bitch Natalie. She freaked out and called 911, no wonder it was already on the news. Corinne must be somewhere having an aneurysm. A wave of nausea washed over you and you swallowed hard, desperately trying to calm your racing heartbeat. You should’ve just left without her.

A reporter on TV used your name and you looked back up, the nurse following your gaze and chuckling. On the screen, you were a spectacle, struggling to climb back into your car, limbs and glittery heels flailing out the door as you clumsily clamored into the driver’s seat.

“Look at that. Boy, imagine ending up on the news on a night like that,” she remarked, her hand on her hip as she watched. “The whole world seeing it...”

You shot her a glare as she turned off the TV, recognition dawning on her face when she looked back at you, chuckling once more.

“Ha! Well, I suppose you don’t have to imagine it, do you?”

This was unbelievable. This was a joke. It had to be. You were being Punk’d. Incredulously, you began looking around the room for hidden cameras.

“Well, now that you’re up,” She says, sitting down on the stool she brought in and rolling towards your bedside. “Can you recount your night for me? Where’d all the fun begin?”

Your brow furrowed, your attention suddenly snapping back to the nurse. You squinted as you looked at her standing with the window behind her - this room was way too bright.

“I don’t know.” You mumbled, pinching the skin between your eyes. “What do you want to know?”

“Give me the highlights.” She said. She was peeling off and replacing a piece of tape keeping a tube fixed to your arm.

After a long pause, you recounted the evening to her as you tried to remember it. Don Antonios. God, you were there forever, your table was completely packed with people you barely knew. It was always like that in LA - an exponential group of people attached themselves to you and everyone just shrugged when you asked who someone was.

One of the guys who showed up kept insisting you try all these different flavors of some vodka company he worked with. Cherry, Grape, Caramel. The nauseating memory of a shot of Blue Raspberry chased by a shot of Peppermint bubbled up in your throat and you choked down a dry swallow.

“Caramel vodka and tacos?” She prodded. “What sommelier came up with that pairing?”

Jesus, what is this lady, a comedian? You glared at her to keep from rolling your eyes. 

“Had you taken anything at that point?”

“What?”

“Any pills, marijuana, cocaine…”

You mustered your best offended expression.

“I don’t know. No. I just take the stuff I’m prescribed.” You answered defensively. This was none of her business. Were you seriously here all alone?

“How much had you been you drinking?”

“Not much. Only a little.”

She hummed, not satisfied. “Was that everything?”

You let the question hang. “Yes.”

You really didn’t remember. You remembered texting Andy. You remembered him never fucking answering. There were shots at Don Antonios. That girl gave you some Xanax, which did nothing. You didn’t even drink that much at Lush, just some champagne and tequila and…

Oh, shit. And Dieter Bravo. What the hell had he given you? You knew it was something, but the night was a blur after you got up from his booth. You went to the bathroom with him and… oh, my god, wait, did you have sex with him? Please say you didn’t fuck Dieter Bravo in the bathroom at Lush. Corinne might literally, actually kill you if anyone finds out that happened.

The nurse cleared her throat and you blinked and looked up, feeling her scrutinizing gaze.

“I don’t remember. That was it. I don’t do drugs.”

“At all?” She was so condescending with her stupid clipboard.

“No, not at all,” - bitch, you continued in your head. Impatience now replaced the panic in your voice. “Hey, listen, is anyone here with me now? Like, is there someone in a waiting room somewhere? I really don’t feel like talking to you about this.”

She stopped writing, making a big deal of clipping her pen and putting down the clipboard and looking at you with her lips pursed, her lingering stare irritating you even further. You hated when people did that - nothing closed you off faster than someone trying to make a big show of how serious they are about getting information out of you.

“Did you deliberately try to kill yourself last night?”

What the fuck? Was this bitch serious?

“Excuse me?”

“We ran tests and pumped out the contents of your stomach last night. We found a combination of opioids and amphetamines in your system. That, in addition to the alcohol, is a very dangerous combination.”

“No, I did not try to kill myself.” You spat, your voice much louder. “I was out with friends and I messed up. Someone gave me something and I had a reaction. I don’t know. I’m not suicidal. That’s insane.”

You had to get out of here. You needed to figure out who the hell dropped you off at the hospital and then went home. You shuffled in the hospital bed, weakly trying to remove whatever tubes were attached to your body.

There were two quick knocks at the door, followed by Corinne hurrying into the tiny hospital room, concern pulling at her Botox-frozen forehead.

“Oh, god, honey,” she said, sitting at the edge of your bed. “Thank god you’re alright.”

Oh, this was too much. It was just a night out. You may have blacked out but it wasn’t the end of the world, Natalie must have just freaked out and brought you here. Why was everyone acting like you almost died?

You rolled your eyes, frustrated with all the fuss and the concerned act Corinne was putting on for the hospital staff. Your voice softened and heightened in pitch. "I'm fine, Corinne. I just want to go home. Please tell them to let me go."

Corinne paused, grabbing your hand and looking into your eyes.

“Honey…” she started, cupping your hand with both of hers. She looked over at the nurse, who was still staring at you with that stupid, serious expression.

“Could you give us a moment, please?” Corinne asked. The nurse obliged, seemingly just now realizing that she wasn’t part of this conversation. She quickly gathered her things and left the room.

Once she was gone, Corinne’s face fell immediately, her tone shifting to something much angrier.

“Are you out of your mind?” she began, whispering harshly. “Do you remember a single thing about last night?”

“Oh, my god, what?! What does everyone want to know about last night?! I went out with Natalie. We danced. I drank a little and I guess I blacked out. It’s that stupid antidepressant they put me on.”

“You don’t remember driving home?”

“I didn’t drive, Natalie drove”

“Oh,” Corinne scoffed, her patience with you clearly nonexistent. “Oh, you drove. You drove your car through three red lights and straight into a BMW.”

She was fully whisper-yelling now, recounting the evening for you. The runaway car, the speeding, the swerving, the driving with your eyes closed. Your stomach sank, Corinne successful in jogging your memory. 

She explained how you passed out on your bathroom floor and Natalie couldn’t wake you up, how she went to wake up Rhea and Rhea had to drive you to the hospital at four in the morning. You waited for her to bring up your hooking up with a notorious movie star at least ten years your senior in the bathroom, but, somehow, it didn't come up. 

Her Blackberry was vibrating near-constantly, and she quickly glanced down to silence it before looking back at you. The Botox in her forehead was dissolving in real-time, a crescent-shaped wrinkle emerging between her eyebrows.

“Thank God Rhea called me and told me what was happening or you might be in jail right now instead of here.”

Your face sunk, horror washing over you remembered what you’d just heard on TV.

“Corrine, they’re not going to arrest me, right?”

She sighed, the look on her face not inspiring reassurance in you.

“I’ve been on the phone with the chief of the LAPD since 5 trying to work this out for you.” Corinne explained. “You apparently totaled that car, although I’m not sure how a car with no driver is even capable of that. The owner has already gone to the press saying they’re going to press charges.”

She craned her head to the side to confirm that the door to your room was shut, then her voice sank even lower as she leaned in closer to you and whispered. “The police searched your car and found a gram of cocaine in the cupholder.”

Oh my god, Dieter’s cocaine.

“That wasn’t mine!” You blurted out. The cliche felt pathetic on your tongue. “It doesn’t matter.”

“But it wasn’t! I don’t even do coke anymore! They can test me!”

Now, why the fuck would you say that?

“It was in your car. Your car that you drove, that you sent careening into an intersection. It doesn’t matter whose it was, honey.”

You covered your face with your hands, your headache intensifying. This wasn’t fucking happening.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You felt like you were going to cry. “I messed up, Corinne, I’m sorry. Tell them to let me go home and work and I’ll be fine. I’ll focus on the reboot and I won’t go out.”

She didn’t speak right away, and you couldn’t get a read on whether she was furious with you or scared shitless.

“You’re not going back to work,” She finally explained. “Production has told me that they can’t take the risk on you. This is already out. We can’t even say for sure yet that we’ve avoided jail time here.”

The room was spinning. Your stomach felt like a brick. You rolled your eyes - a reflex you immediately regretted - and blinked over and over as fearful tears rolled down your cheeks.

“It’ll be fine, Corinne, we can talk to them. We can renegotiate,” you offered, your voice breaking despite your attempt to remain stoic. “I can be good.”

“The studio won’t take the risk. I’m sorry, honey.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks, hot and shameful, blurring the room around you. This would be the second production you’d been fired from this year. 

It felt like a testament to your failure. You, weak and out of control, sobbing in bed like a pathetic child.

The world would love you like this. Defeated, ashamed, exhausted. A cautionary tale, a trainwreck. You could already hear the chorus of “I told you so”’s, of “stupid girl”’s. Any hope you had of establishing yourself as a serious actress was crumbling right there in front of you - no, you were tearing it apart with your bare hands.

A disheveled Dieter Bravo checked himself into rehab Tuesday morning, looking solemn and despondent following a life-threatening overdose over the weekend.  The veteran actor reclined in the passenger seat of his vehicle on the drive to Malibu, sporting dark sunglasses and his signature messy mop of curls. LAPD responded to a call from his housekeeper on Saturday morning. The actor was found unresponsive in his Hollywood home, and was quickly attended to by emergency services. “I respectfully ask that the media allow me to receive care and heal in private during this difficult time,” the Cliff Beasts star said in a statement released by his representative. Bravo, who won an Academy Award for his performance in 2004’s Fragile Bonds, has recently been plagued by personal and professional struggles, including a failing marriage to actress Heidi Alcott and an arrest for a violent altercation earlier this year. This will be his third stay in a rehab facility since 2005.  Hours before the overdose, the actor was rumored to have been forcibly removed from Hollywood’s Lush nightclub, allegedly ejected by the club’s owner for canoodling and using drugs with another young actress in a staff restroom. Dieter will spend 90 days at Promises Malibu, a swanky rehab facility where daily activities include yoga, meditation, horseback riding and acupuncture.

The next week was exactly as bad as you’d feared it’d be.

You were arrested in the hospital, which you didn’t even realize was possible. That same, horrible nurse took your blood pressure again and again as two police officers read you your rights. Hospital staff lingered in the hallway outside of your room, just far away enough for them to think you wouldn’t notice, their murmurs were complemented by the cops’ walkie talkies, staticky voices discussing what to do with you.

Corinne wasn’t allowed to come with you for processing. You traded your hospital gown for the dress you’d worn the night before along with a hoodie Corinne gave you, slipping your stupid, clunky heels back on to follow the cops into the parking garage. Corinne used the contents of the makeup bag she’d brought with her, wiping mascara smudges from your cheeks and tapping powder under your eyes to try and make you look somewhat presentable for your mugshot. She walked with you to the police van, all the while assuring you that she’d arrange representation, that this would all be over as soon as it possibly could be.

Faces and cameras pressed to the windows of the car and didn’t let up for the entire drive to the station. You squeezed your eyes shut at red lights, letting the tears run down your face and sinking as far as you could into the back seat.

Fluttering camera clicks and flashing lights surrounded you on all sides as you were led up the stairs of the police station. You were processed, fingerprinted and booked. People gawked at you from holding cells. A security guard asked for an autograph for his daughter. Your bail had been posted by the time you’d taken your mugshot.

You were allowed to go home and detox while you awaited next steps, but, as Chateau staff had politely requested you not return for the time being, Corinne insisted that you stay with her. You spent the next week in Corinne’s guest bedroom, sleeping through headaches and shakes and waking up to change the channel when your name came up on late-night talk shows.

The come-down from amphetamines was not for the weak. You cried and cried for days. Any time you were conscious, you were sobbing. You’d had a taste of this before, long weekends leading up to busy weeks with minimal opportunity to refill prescriptions, but nothing like this. Never this uncomfortable. Never this helpless.

After a couple days, Natalie called. She told you she was sorry. She wouldn’t say for what. Tears tore from your eyes, burning hot and angry down your cheeks. When you hung up she didn’t call back.

You tried to talk to Corinne, but all that came out was a tearful slew of apologies for what you’d dragged her into. You soaked in her giant bathtub, running the water scalding hot and trying to focus on anything but the fear tearing at your mind. 

Her home was perfect - a shiny, ultramodern thing tucked in the hills of Beachwood Canyon. Her guest bedroom looked like something out of Architectural Digest. Your place in it was chaotic, your belongings haphazardly packed up by Chateau staff and now piled in a corner of the otherwise extremely chic bedroom. Club dresses, hair straighteners, bedazzled clutches. You, in her bed, sobbing until your face was puffy, dripping tears and snot onto her 800 thread count sheets. You and the wreckage you carried with you were out of place in a home like this.

When your body wouldn’t let you sleep anymore and your tears slowed down, you stared at the ceiling, clammy and anxious. You peeked out the windows, watching conspicuous vans circle Corinne’s home, big camera lenses perched and waiting for a glimpse of you. You tried to sleep. You rifled through your things, organizing and reorganizing clothes and accessories. You were going nuts.

Rhea spent a lot of time with you - when your schedule was wiped clean, hers was, too. She sat next to you in bed while you watched her play her Nintendo DS for hours.

“You’re all they’ve been talking about on The View for three days,” she told you one morning as she made her Animal Crossing character catch fish over and over. “Joy Behar is veeeerrrry concerned about you.”

“Is she?” You asked. “That’s so nice.”

“Mmhm,” Rhea replied. She cast her line, reeling it in too soon and spooking the fish. “Damn.”

Silence hung between you for a moment as she made her character walk up and down the beach.

“Can you give me something, Rhea, please?” You looked up at her, pleading softly. "No," she answered immediately. “Please, Rhea. I can’t sleep. I’m going insane. I think even just an extra antidepressant would work.”

She put the device down in her lap and gave you a look that told you you should know better. It had always been a not-so-secret secret that Rhea was the one who brought you drugs when you couldn’t get them yourself. She was still in college when you hired her and seemed to know how to get her hands on whatever you wanted.

Corinne was never supportive of your drug use, per se, but she was aware of how your engine ran, and you were certain that she knew Rhea supplied them to you. Under her extremely watchful eye since you’d been discharged from the hospital, you figured Rhea’d been instructed to cut that shit out, but it was worth a try. Plus, she was kind of your friend.

“I’m allowed to give you melatonin,” She answered. “And it wouldn’t, by the way.”

You sighed, defeated. “I was prescribed Xanax before.”

“You were prescribed a lot of things before.” 

She wasn’t wrong. You picked at the skin around your thumb nail, rolling onto your back and staring up at the ceiling, watching the fan spin.

“You know, people die this way.”

She scoffed, looking back at her game.

You weren’t dying. You were just excruciatingly bored. More bored than you’d been in years. Maybe in your entire life. The hours were unbearable, but soon they turned to days, then a week. You weren’t in a good mood, but you could at least say you’d gone from negative to zero. 

The ache didn’t go away, but you got used to it being there. You wanted drugs - hard ones. You fantasized about them when Corinne would wake you up at 6am to go on neighborhood walks with her. As you laced up the running shoes she let you borrow, you reminisced on doing angel dust at warehouse parties in Miami and about the time some rock star from the 80s showed up at your 20th birthday party and showed you and your friends how to freebase heroin. You’d spent the morning after that throwing up and had vowed to never touch it again, but even that morning sounded preferable to wearing lycra leggings and enduring the big, goofy smiles Corinne’s neighbors gave you as they jogged by.

You woke up early one morning to the sound of Corinne’s excited, unusually high voice outside your door. In her usual fashion, she knocked quickly, opening the door without waiting for an answer. She held a finger up to you as she wrapped up her call.

“Uh huh. Uh huh. Okay,” she looked at you, lifting her finger up slightly higher in response to your questioning expression. “Oh, I can’t tell you how great this is. We’re so excited. Uh huh. Okay. Thanks. Okay. Bye, now.”

“What’s happening?” You asked as she hung up.

“This is a best case scenario,” She answered. “This is fantastic.”

You sat up straight in bed. “Is the show back on?!”

Corinne’s smile faltered as she settled on the bed. “Oh, honey, no.”

You deflated slightly. “Then what?”

“You’re not going to jail.”

“Yaaaay,” you cheered weakly.

“That’s a miracle, by the way.”

“Yay! I mean it.” You tried again, a little more convincingly this time.

Her phone buzzed, and she quickly glanced at the name on the screen and silenced the ring. She sighed again, her demeanor turning serious.

“You’re going to rehab.” She continued. “You’re going to the best facility, it’s the Four Seasons of rehab centers, it’s going to–”

“Excuse me?” you interjected, disbelief in your voice. There was that feeling again, the same one you got at the hospital. Tingly jaw, burning hot cheeks.

“Rehab,” she repeated. “You’ve been given the option to complete 90 days in rehab and avoid all jail time. Most people do not get that choice. You should be thanking me right now.”

She paused, presumably expecting you to stand up and start doing cartwheels. The lid of your coffin was in place - it had been for days now - so you should have expected the nails. 

“Where?” You asked after a moment.

“Promises - it’s in Malibu. You’ll do yoga and meet with lifestyle coaches who can help us figure out what you need to get everything back on track. It’s going to be great, honey. It’s where Lindsay went!”

You groaned, throwing yourself backwards onto your pillow.

Which fading starlet is trading red carpets and VIP sections for rehab? This former child star recently checked into a luxurious Malibu facility, not for a rejuvenating spa weekend, but as part of a plea deal to dodge jail time. At least she's in good company! Perhaps she and a fellow famous patient at the swanky rehab facility will find solace in ‘growing together’ during their time in recovery. Hopefully, this stint helps her avoid following in the footsteps of fellow socialites.

Promises was impressive. You could give Corinne that. You told her as much when she dropped you off at intake. 

“You’re going to be okay,” she told you, giving you a tight hug in the entryway. “I’ll call you soon.”

It was a huge, sprawling property with a big Spanish-revival monstrosity smack-dab in the middle of it. You’re sure she was thoroughly impressed by the tennis courts and meditation studios and panoramic ocean views.

Intake was less glamorous. You were instructed to remove your clothes and put on a paper gown, and then to open your suitcase and put it on this big, metal table at the back of an office. The woman checking you in gave you a full pat-down, making you bend over and cough to check for contraband before giving you an outfit to change back into. It occurred to you that you should have been humiliated by this whole ordeal, but at this point, you were so beyond that. Humiliation was for the version of you from a week ago. This was just your life now. She then proceeded to take a TSA-level look at all of your belongings.

“We’re a strictly cell phone-free facility,” she explained, removing your Sidekick from your purse. “If you’re caught with a cell phone in your room, we’ll do a full search of your property - if you’re caught again, you’ll be discharged. Phone calls can be made at the booths in the hallway.”

You nodded, not having the willpower to argue with their stupid policies at the moment. You crossed your legs and tried to warm yourself by rubbing your hands up and down your arms.

“Can’t bring these in,” she said as she took three bras out of your suitcase. “Underwire. You’ll get them back when you leave.”

Sure. Whatever.

“You’ll have to hand these over, too,” she held up a pack of cigarettes. “Smoke-free facility.”

“Wait,” you started, interrupted by another staff member entering the office.

“Well, well!” He said, his voice booming in the tiny room, glimmer-white smile beaming at you. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Todd.” He paused, taking a long moment to stare deeply, creepily, into your eyes. “I’m so happy you’re here to grow with us.”

You limply shook his hand. 

“Hi.”

“Hi. I know it’s been quite a journey getting here. I’m sure you’re ready to relax,” he replied, his giant smile not faltering for a second. He broke his unblinking gaze and looked over at the woman zipping up your suitcase. “If you’re finished, I’d like to show our movie star to her room.”

“Oh, another movie star,” she said dryly as she zipped up your suitcase and put her hands up, finished.

“Yes, yes,” Todd said, still smiling like a maniac. He looked like he had more teeth than a normal person, and for a moment you tried to count them before he turned back to face you. You flinched slightly at the intensity of his expression. “Shall we?”

The entire facility was co-ed - a detail that Todd told you repeatedly, each time with a slightly more discernible degree of warning in his voice, like he was a parent instructing you not to throw any parties when they left for the weekend. He walked you across the property, pointing out various amenities to you on the way to your room.

The gym, the pool, the zen garden, the library. The various meeting rooms - men’s meetings, women's meetings, family meetings. The kitchen, the internet cafe. The saltwater pool. It was like a resort, except that there wasn’t any alcohol, and there were copies of The 12 Steps & 12 Traditions all over the place.

“You’ll attend workshops here,” he said, gesturing to the deck on the far end of the swimming pool. “Journaling, vision boarding, knitting. Anything you want. We’re even doing an acting workshop this month - maybe you could help us with that. We have some fantastic facilitators - just fantastic.”

“Juuust fantastic…” you repeated. 

You followed him back inside, walking through a long corridor towards your room.

“Ah, this’ll be our noon men’s meeting,” he explained as you approached an open door to your left. He took a look at the oversized silver watch on his wrist. “They should just be getting started now.”

Peeking into the room, you observed the setup - a classroom-like setting with a whiteboard, low, tan carpeting, and a circle of wicker chairs. Men milled about, chatting as they waited for the meeting to begin.

Just as you started to turn your head away from the door, you caught a glimpse that made you snap back immediately. In a fraction of a second, even though they were hidden halfway behind dark wayfarers, you instantly recognized the deep, brown eyes that locked with your own. You slowed down slightly to confirm your suspicion, but quickly looked away when he craned his neck to follow you.

No way.

There was no way.

You sped up, now walking in step with Todd.

"Hey, Todd?" you interjected, cutting off his explanation of the gym or the pickleball court or whatever it was. "Did the lady at intake mention another actor being here?"

“Oh, yeah,” he chuckled. “Lucky us!”

Your eyes darted to the ground, then back and forth as you tried to process what was happening.

“Who is it?”

“Sorry,” he answered, his smile faltering into something more serious for the first time since you’d met him. “I can’t share that with you. But we’re a friendly bunch here - I’m sure you’ll run into each other soon enough. Here we are!”

You’d arrived at your room, the last door at the end of the corridor.

“I’ll give you some time to settle in, but please don’t hesitate to call if there’s anything you need,” he said, smiling and staring unblinkingly. His spray-tan was extra orange around the corners of his mouth. “We’re so glad you’re here.”

You broke his intense eye-contact to look back down the hallway towards the meeting room. An arm extended from the doorway, pulling the door shut as the meeting began. You bit the skin on your bottom lip, looking back at your door.

“Yeah, thanks,” you mumbled, quickly shuffling into your bedroom and shutting the door behind you.

It probably wasn’t Dieter. I mean, most likely, it wasn’t him, right?

It wasn’t like he was the only wannabe-bohemian, homeless-looking, disheveled-just-so actor in this town, let alone the only one who’d end up in rehab.

It probably wasn’t him.

And even if it was him, what were the odds he remembered you, anyway? A guy like him slept with so many people, it had to just be a huge blur for him. You probably weren’t even the only one fucked that night.

It wasn’t him. You laughed to yourself as you unpacked, feeling silly for getting so worried.

You shoved your clothes into the dresser that stood across from your bed. Your room was nice, and only reaffirmed your feeling that this was more resort than rehab. The bed was huge, an actual bed with crisp white sheets and big pillows. When you sat in it, you had a beautiful view of the pacific ocean from your window. You also got it to yourself, one of the only single bedrooms in the entire facility. You’d have to remember to thank Corinne for that. 

On top of the dresser was a schedule detailing the week’s activities:

10/03/07 - WEDNESDAY

6AM - SUNRISE HORSEBACK RIDE - EAST HILL

6AM - SUNRISE YOGA - SALTWATER POOL DECK

7AM - OPEN GYM

8:30AM - WOMEN’S MEETING - ROOM A

9AM - SPEAKER SERIES - WE DO RECOVER! - ROOM C … But what if it was him?

Rehab was not like detox at Corinne’s. Here, you were expected to be up early, to follow a strict schedule of meetings and activities, to act like a functional adult. It felt kind of like summer camp, if at summer camp you were constantly under surveillance and forced to confront your deepest insecurities instead of making friendship bracelets.

You thought that you'd have a late start on your first morning at Promises. You figured you’d sleep in, go get breakfast at the cafe, then maybe hit up the 11am meditation session. Instead, you were woken up at 7 sharp by a cheerful staff member gently knocking on your door, reminding you that you were to be in the cafeteria no later than 8, and that a nurse would be in shortly to take your vitals.

After groggily going through the motions of having your blood pressure taken and your heart rate checked, you threw on an outfit and headed down the hall to get breakfast.

You were excited. That was one thing about being sober - you actually had an appetite for the first time in forever, and you were constantly hungry. As you made your way towards the cafeteria, you began to fantasize about omelets and bagels and pancakes and…

“Morning!” A voice called out to you as you padded down the hallway. Emerging from the room next to yours was a woman who looked to be slightly older than you. She had a cute, cropped pixie cut and was wearing a stack of bangles all the way up her arms.

“Morning,” you replied, smiling at her.

She introduced herself as Sadie. She’d been at Promises for a month already, so she practically owned the place. You had a lot in common - including what brought you here.

“God, I’m obsessed with Adderall,” she said, stabbing her fork into the fruit salad on her plate. She popped a piece of cantaloupe in her mouth and kept talking. “There’s just nothing better for getting shit done. Did you know it’s literally meth? Methamphetamine! And they give it to kids.” “Really?” You asked. Honestly, this was how you knew you didn’t belong here. You didn’t know anything about drugs. You liked adderall, too, but these people were drug addicts.

She nodded.

“God, no wonder.”

“I was a writer. Am a writer,” She continued on. “In the real world.”

“Right,” you laughed. “I’m an actor in the real world.”

“I’ve seen you in things,” she nodded. “The 80s show with, uh… Bob Saget?”

“That’s Full House. I was on Growing Together.”

“That’s it!” She snapped her fingers and pointed at you. “Hey, so do you know Dieter?”

Your cheeks went hot, stopping mid-chew when she mentioned his name. You were having so much fun with Sadie that you’d almost forgotten all about yesterday.

“Dieter Bravo?” You asked, mouth full of food.

“Yeah, him. He’s been here for, like, a week now,” she confirmed. “You know him?”

“He’s here?”

She nodded, giving you a funny look.

“No, not really.” You answered. Which was true.

She hummed in response, moving on quickly to tell you more about the magazine she wrote for, but you fully stopped listening. Oh, shit, it was him. You scanned the faces gathered around the tables throughout the room, looking for him, suddenly paranoid that he’d be watching you from somewhere. You weren’t all on the same schedule here, right?

You couldn’t avoid him. Todd said there were something like 30 residents here right now. There was no shot. You tried to tune back into what Sadie was saying - something about Hearst, something about a blog - and immediately dropped her again. 

You could avoid him. You could stick to womens meetings. God, why was seeing him making you this anxious? This was so unlike you.

The idea of running into anyone you encountered in the state you were in that evening was humiliating. Maybe that was it. How were you supposed to get a fresh start if there was a reminder of the worst night of your life creeping around the halls here? It was unsettling. Corinne and Rhea were practically family, so that didn’t matter, but the idea of even seeing Natalie at this point made your stomach turn. You needed one of those things from Men In Black to zap everyone who was at Lush that night and make them forget that they’d even seen you.

“Sadie,” you interrupted. “Sorry. Do you see him around a lot? Dieter?” She thought about it for a moment. “Yeah. He’s all over the place, if that’s what you mean. I think he’s been here before. He's like the mayor.”

You scoffed, leaning back in your seat. Of course this is no big deal to someone like him. It probably didn’t even get reported on.

“And you said he’s been here for a week?”

“Mmhm,” she nodded.

That meant he’d checked in here right after that night at Lush. He seemed fine that night, though - he was at least with it enough to hook up with you. He wasn’t even really partying - you remembered him sitting alone in that chair when you noticed him. He looked bored. Why would he even need to come here?

All morning, you looked for him in the corner of your eye. You peeked around during your yoga class, scanning the room through your legs during downward dog.

Your first full day was consumed with resident onboarding tasks, which, fortunately, gave you a lot of opportunities to hide. You tried your best to forget about him during your first one-on-one meeting with your counselor.

Jane, your counselor, was nice enough. She at least seemed more normal than Todd - she smiled less, anyway - so it was reassuring to know that not everyone here was straight out of The Twilight Zone. You went through your story with her - how you got started, what happened that led you here. Blah, blah, blah.

“Growing up in Hollywood, that must have been challenging. Were your parents supportive?”

“I guess so. My mom was really into the whole acting thing,” you told her. “Maybe too into it.”

“Tell me more,” she encouraged.

You shrugged. “I don’t know. She liked that I was good at it. It was all we really talked about.”

She nodded, clearly expecting you to tell her more. Suddenly, you really didn’t want to talk about your mom.

“I don’t know. The usual stage mom stuff. That’s all.” You paused, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. "It's not like it matters now anyway." She nodded again, jotting something down. "It's okay if you're not ready to talk about it. We can focus on what's happening in the present and how we can support you moving forward."

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you mumbled.

Fortunately, she let it go, taking a few more notes.

“When did you know you were an addict?” Your eyebrows shot up, shock rippling through you at the audacity of her question. A drug addict?

“I am not a drug addict. That’s insane. I’m twenty-two years old.”

She eyed you skeptically, which only made you angrier.

“You can’t just call people that,” you continued.

“It’s not my intention to offend you,” she replied calmly. “And it’s nothing to be ashamed of. It's important for us to address the behaviors and patterns that led you here.”

You crossed your arms in front of you defensively, looking out the window at the ocean. Several moments dragged by, Jane patiently waiting for you to break your stubborn silence. 

“You could start by not calling me names,” you finally said.

“I apologize,” she said. She talked like a robot. You were wrong, everyone here was a freak.

Despite your best efforts, tears were beginning to roll down your cheeks. Your eyes darted up at the clock for the hundredth time since this meeting began.

“That’s time.”

Dieter recognized you right away, too.

It didn’t take long for confirmation - word about you checking in traveled very quickly. Suddenly, he was no longer the most famous person in rehab. Shame.

The story was that you’d had a bad night after you’d crossed paths at Lush - something that only made him feel worse about his role in the whole thing. He had a lot of time on his hands to feel guilty these days, and he spent most of it reflecting on that evening.

He was sure you didn’t remember him. At least, he hoped you didn’t. 

That night had been a low point for him. The realization struck on Wednesday afternoon, shortly after his intake process, when that post-overdose glow had finally worn off and he slowly readjusted to reality. With each passing day, the picture of what he’d done only grew clearer.

He had no business pursuing you that night. He may have been pretty far gone himself, but the image in his memory of him attempting to shake you awake so he could try to fuck you was something that made him feel a kind of shame he hadn’t felt in years.

He remembered waiting for you for a while after you’d both been kicked out of the bathroom, lingering around your table trying to figure out where you went. It wasn’t long, though, before Clint was urging him to leave. Apparently the owner of the club was not happy with the commotion he’d caused and wanted him out. Not that it was a major disappointment - he’d been ready to go since he’d arrived.

Following the lead of Clint and the two models from his table, Dieter climbed into the backseat of the SUV parked outside and promptly pulled a tab of acid from his pocket, slipping it onto his tongue when no one was looking. During the drive home, he remembered the black-haired model climbing onto his lap, her whispers in his ear barely registering through the haze he was in. He wasn't in the mood for any of it. He peeled her off of him once they arrived in his driveway, climbing out of the car and saying goodnight without any invitation to keep the party going.

He was restless. The coke, the alcohol, the acid - none of it made any difference. He shuffled around the house - the enormous, Spanish-style place he’d bought when he was still a bachelor. Or, the last time he was a bachelor, he supposed. It felt so empty, so staged, like it was perpetually about to be put on the market. The feeling that he didn’t belong here anymore gnawed at him. Maybe it was time to go back to New York for a while.

He decided to go to bed, at that point completely uninterested in trying to get anything else out of the evening. Sifting through the medicine cabinet in his bathroom, he mixed up a cocktail of Valium and Percocet and climbed into his empty bed, his curtains wide open to watch the city lights swim as he waited for the curtain to fall. 

The next thing he remembered was waking up with a gasp that rattled his entire chest, coming to life to see his bedroom full of paramedics. There was a crust on his cheek and pillow and he was drenched in sweat. His housekeeper stood in the corner, clearly shaken, clutching her hands to her chest.

And now, here he was, back in rehab. It marked his second stint at Promises, returning to confront the shitshow that his life had become through the routine of Pilates classes, group therapy sessions and journaling. Kumbaya.

His agent wasn’t happy with him. This little holiday of his interrupted production of Cliff Beasts 4, the project he was currently working on. He was set to begin shooting in a week - that date now pushed back indefinitely. 

Dollar amounts were something that was discussed in meetings he didn’t care to go to, but he figured this interruption cost some producer somewhere a pretty penny. Good. Fuck those guys. It wasn’t that he wanted to make a habit out of nearly killing himself, but he’d be lying if he said the idea of making one of those suits sweat didn’t bring a smile to his face.

So, here he was. His afternoon yoga class was ending. He decided to skip out during shavasana, looking to avoid any post-vinyasa mingling. He returned his mat and block to the table by the door and headed inside. Pushing the door open with a huff through his teeth, he headed straight towards his room, needing a shower before taking on the rest of his day. When he heard the door at the end of the hall thrown open, he looked up to see you storming out, tears running down your cheeks. Shit.

You both stopped when you noticed one another, frozen in an unexpected moment of mutual recognition. You definitely remembered him, he quickly realized. Dieter’s gaze lingered on you, caught off guard by your emotional state. Why were you crying? He hesitated, unsure of what to say or do, while you stood across the hall and debated whether to say something or retreat to the safety of your room.

Finally, Dieter managed a tentative nod in your direction, attempting to break the ice. You blinked rapidly, hastily wiping tears from your eyes. Before he could utter a word, though, you abruptly turned and hurried away, disappearing around the corner without another glance back.

He sighed, continuing down the hallway towards his room. The message from God or the universe or whatever all-powerful being was orchestrating this mess was clear - he hadn’t just fucked up his own life this time. He’d managed to drag you down with him.

“I’m glad it’s working out, honey,” Corinne said, her voice coming in staticky through the receiver.

“It is…” you tentatively agreed before putting on your best sales-pitch voice. “I think I’m going to do well. I might not even need to stay three whole months.”

“Nice try.” Worth a shot.

“Have you talked to the producers at all?” You asked, tapping a pen on the desk.

“I’m going to meet with Kevin on Friday,” she said, uncertainty in her voice. “Let’s not get our hopes up about Growing Together, honey, but if this doesn’t work out I do think another series down the line might be a good path out of this. I think the–” “I just don’t understand how they think they’re going to make it without me,” you interrupted, your voice growing louder and attracting the attention of a group of residents at a nearby table. Embarrassed, you turned your head away from them, scooting in closer to the desk. “It doesn’t make any sense. How are they going to write off their daughter?” You continued, voice lowering. 

“They don’t like the optics of the reboot drawing any negative attention. It’s not what they had in mind,” she explained. “We’ll discuss it.”

“I mean, Jesus, it’s not like I’m the first actor in the history of the world to get a DUI,” you continued, your tone hushed. “I’m not even the first actor on Growing Together with a DUI! What about Peter?”

Peter Moinihan played your uncle Bobby on the show. The man had a reputation that put yours to shame before you were even born. He was constantly partying and constantly hungover, which was a running joke among the cast and crew that you didn’t understand until you were much older. 

During the show’s run, he went from hiding his weed-smoking from you, to sneaking you weed, to smoking with you, to, by the final season, asking you where to buy it. Last you heard, he was a cast member on The Surreal Life. Despite all of that, there seemingly wasn’t any question about whether or not he’d be returning for the reboot. So why were they making such a big deal about having you back?

“Believe me, I’ll be bringing that up. You know I’ll fight for you, honey,” Corinne said. “So you fight for you too, alright?”

“Okaaay,” you agreed, rolling your eyes.

“I know you just rolled your eyes. Are you sick of all the Hallmark-ism’s yet?” She asked with a smile in her voice.

“I think if I can’t get any more work, I’ll have a promising career in motivational posters…” you laughed. 

After a pause, Corinne’s tone got all serious and sincere. “Are you okay, honey?” You thought about it. No, I’m not. I’m unemployed, I’m a national punchline, and I have to spend the next three months airing my most vulnerable secrets with a guy I had an awkward one-night-stand with a week ago. I’m stuck in this place with a bunch of drug addicts and therapists from Stepford. I want to snort a line of cocaine the size of my middle finger. I want to drink a bottle of Grey Goose alone in my bed. No, I’m not fucking okay.

“I’m fine,” you answered. “Really.”

“Good.” She said.

With a promise to be good, you hung up the phone. Your face fell quickly, though, the absence of Corinne’s voice reminding you where you were and how much longer you had left in this place.

Optimistically, after a couple of days of successfully avoiding him, you found yourself believing that the people in charge here might’ve actually had the sense to keep you and Dieter apart. Surely, having to celebrities in an AA meeting together would be too much of a distraction - they had to keep you apart somehow.

You were wrong. When you and Sadie walked into your Sunday afternoon meeting, there he was. He sat in a chair at one end of the room, in a thick, hole-y wool sweater, nursing a paper cup of coffee and wearing those stupid dark sunglasses indoors like always. God, everything about him was so typical Hollywood bro-hemian. He probably lived in Venice.

Still, when your eyes fell to his lips, you flashed on a memory of how good they felt peppering kisses along your neck, how his hands felt on your thighs. The way the flashing lights accentuated his hooded gaze as it drank you in when you were in his lap. You snapped yourself out of it, shaking your head and focusing on pouring yourself a cup of coffee before sitting down as far away from him as you possibly could, directly across the room.

Truthfully, you zoned out for the first half of the meeting. The loosely defined topic of the afternoon - fear - was, frankly, not something you were interested in diving into at the moment. 

You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, agitated. Inevitably, your mind wandered back to your career, to the reboot you didn’t even care to be associated with a week ago. How could they even consider making it without you? You had poured years of your life into playing Courtney, your entire childhood. The show was practically synonymous with you and your character. It was ridiculous. What, were they just going to say Courtney died or something? They wouldn’t replace you, would they?

“I feel like my family is disappointed… not so much in the behavior, in me being an alcoholic, but… in the way I’ve hidden, the way I’ve had to hide everything from them,” a man to your left shared. You managed a sympathetic nod.

If they wrote you off, it wasn’t like you’d just disappear. People would know why you weren’t there, and if they didn’t know, they’d look for the reason why. Their wholesome little reboot was tarnished whether they liked it or not, so they might as well have you back.

The room went silent as the guy to your left finished up his share. You crossed your legs and picked at the distressing on your jeans. Across the room, Dieter cleared his throat. You snapped your head up immediately, then looked back at your pants, trying to play it off.

“Hi, my name is Dieter Bravo, and I’m an addict,” he recited.

“Hi, Dieter,” the room answered back.

“Uh, yeah, fear,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fear has kind of, uh, been in charge here for a while now, I think. I’m afraid of a lot of things. Afraid of failing, of losing what little I have left. I think I’ve spent the majority of the last, I don’t know, twenty years, just afraid – scared shitless – and operating from that place.”

You glanced up, surprised by the vulnerability. He leaned forward, his forearms settling on his thighs. As his head tilted down you could see his eyes behind his glasses, fixed on the ground in front of him.

“I know it’s me, you know, making the decisions, ultimately,” he continued, his voice unsteady. “But the filter that every thought and every decision is going through is just afraid. Before I came here, I was working on a project, a project that a lot of people are counting on, people who have been very good to me. And now I think I've fucked that up.”

You perked up. That sounded like you. For a minute, you forgot who was speaking, instead caught up in hearing your own experience validated. 

“And when I think about how I’ve messed that up now, how I’ve delayed that project indefinitely, it’s tempting to get caught up in the guilt… like, feeling guilty is, I guess, easier than admitting I was afraid. I can – uh, I’ve gotten very good at figuring out how to treat guilt, if you know what I mean.”

He tapped the side of his nose, eliciting a few knowing chuckles from around the circle. Wait – ‘delayed indefinitely’? As in, ‘resuming eventually’?

“Anyway, that production is very upset with me, and knowing that I’m holding that up puts the pressure on me to find something that works. So I now have the next three months to do something, anything, other than reacting in fear. I think–”

“You’re going back to work?” You interrupted. Heads around the room turned in unison to look at you.

“No cross-talk, please,” the meeting facilitator said.

“Yes, I am.” Dieter answered, his brows raising, eyes meeting yours and lingering there for a moment before continuing. “I think - I hope, that I’m in a position this time around to do something differently, and that maybe examining those, uh, fearful reactions will help me do that. But even saying that kind of makes me worry. In the last few years, I’ve become an tolerated eccentric at best, and a liability at worst. I almost feel like I’ll let people down if I take away the behavior they’ve grown accustomed to disapproving of.”

Unbelievable. He was going back to work. Here you were begging to be allowed back onto a stupid reunion special and he had a production waiting for him when he got out of here. A movie, too, probably - he didn’t do TV. You huffed quietly, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair. Sadie tapped your knee with hers, giving you a questioning look. You shook your head and turned your attention back in front of you.

“I was sober for months when I was married - really, for a long time, longer than I’d ever been off anything. This summer we started shooting, everything was going great, then I got home and… I just imploded. I don’t know what happened. Even I wanted to stop. It was like I was on a plane that was fuckin’ nosediving and I had no idea who was in the cockpit."

You snorted. You couldn’t hold it in anymore. This was unbelievable.

Dieter, along with everyone else in the room, turned his head to look at you. He was leaning forward in his chair with his forearms on his thighs, raising his eyebrows at you inquisitively as his glasses rode down his nose.

This was interesting, he thought. It wasn’t ideal, but he liked that you were finally talking to him. His instincts told him to push.

“Something funny?” He asked.

“So, what is this, a vacation to you?” You spat. “I mean, what, you’ve been to rehab, like, 6 times now, right? You summer in Ibiza and winter in Aspen and spend a few weeks somewhere like this whenever you need a little damage control, then it’s back to work.”

Aspen? You thought he was an Aspen guy?

“It isn’t exactly that simple.”

“Guys,” the facilitator attempted, unsuccessfully.

“But you go back to work, right? Everyone on that project is just waiting for you to finish up here?” The resentment was spilling out of you.

Fuck, you were mad at him. He raised his palms outward slightly, half-shrugging.

“It doesn’t even matter to them that you’re in rehab and that everyone knows?”

“It’s a project I’ve worked on before,” he clarified. “A sequel. So I guess they’re being easy on me.”

“Unbelievable,” you scoffed again, shaking your head. “That’s not fair.”

A woman seated to your left chuckled, and you whipped your head around to glare at her.

“What?” You snapped.

“You’re one to talk, princess.” She replied coolly. “You know, most of us ‘little people’ would’ve been arrested for a DUI, not in a luxury rehab.”

You froze, jaw dropping open as you stared back at her.

"Alright, everyone, let's settle down," the facilitator interjected, trying to regain control of the room. "We're all here with the same goal, remember? ‘Restoring ourselves to sanity’?"

You slumped back in your chair, pulling your knees up to your chest, while she continued. Dieter adjusted his glasses to cover his eyes but maintained his posture, watching you for the remainder of the meeting.

The veneer of Promises had worn off quickly. You were frustrated, you were restless, but now more than anything, you were humiliated. If they didn’t have the sense to keep you and Dieter separated before, hopefully they did now.

It didn’t help that the main thing that occupied your time here was a nonactivity - not doing drugs, not drinking alcohol. That’s what you did in rehab: not drugs, not drinking. So on a night like tonight, after a day like today, during which you normally would’ve called someone up and took shots until you blacked out, all you could do was ruminate on what happened.

You snuck out the meeting early, sulked through a therapy session and then immediately headed to the gym to get on the treadmill and run for as long as you could - which admittedly, wasn’t very long. Turns out long-term drug use affects your stamina. Who knew.

You slowed down to a walk, huffing and bracing yourself on the arms of the machine.

You regretted snapping at him, but still - it wasn’t fair. It was bad enough that he was here. You felt embarrassed even being in the same room as him, knowing the condition he saw you in the last time you met. There was no way you were going to be able to reap any of the benefits of rehab because there was no fucking way you were going to share anything personal with a dude you hooked up with when you were wasted. Now he had to rub his flourishing career in your face, too?

How was it so much easier for him? What was he doing differently? Dieter was as famous as you were, you figured, if not more. He was a bona-fide movie star. Why wasn’t it a massive scandal that he was here? That it wasn’t even the first time?

You slowed to a stop, stepping off the treadmill and wiping the sweat from your face. The gym was quiet at night, which you liked. You wiped down the machine and threw on your robe, heading back towards your bedroom to shower and turn in.

As if it couldn’t get any worse, this entire facility had a 10pm curfew. You stared at your feet as you walked, counting tiles aimlessly. You had to get out of here. In your head, you devised various plans to escape. Jumping out the window and making a run for it wasn’t totally off the table, but you might need to get more creative. 

You could call Corinne in the morning and tell her about Dieter. It’d be embarrassing, but you could explain what happened at Lush, tell her that he’s a reminder of your past that’s hindering your recovery. Some bullshit like that.

It’d been almost a week, anyway. That was an eternity in a place like this. Maybe if you really sold it she’d even let you off the hook and you wouldn’t have to go to another rehab, either - you could just go back to ‘house arrest’ at her place until someone decided to hire you again. It could work.

You rounded the corner, looking up and immediately stopping short. Dieter was headed down the hallway in the opposite direction, his gray t-shirt, thick cardigan, and soft pajama pants complemented by a pair of Crocs that squeaked on the linoleum. When your eyes met his, he looked weary, like he had just been roused from sleep for the last nightly check-in, but the glimmer when he saw you was unmistakable. 

You furrowed your brow, shifting your gaze back down to the ground and shuffling past him quickly.

“Hey,” he called after you. “Wait a minute.”

He followed you, footsteps growing closer behind you as he rounded the corner, and just before he could put his hand on your shoulder, you turned around to face him.

“What do you want?” You asked, your tone sharp.

He stopped just short of where you stood. When your eyes darted at his outstretched hand he pulled it away, raising both hands up before shoving them into the pockets of his sweater.

“Look, I understand if you don’t want to talk to me,” he began, exasperated. “You don’t have to. Really. But we’re both here for the next ninety days, and as–”

“Eighty-four,” you corrected.

“Eighty-four,” he repeated. “As long as we’re both here, I think it’s gonna make things easier if we can at least be friendly. You can hate me, that’s fine, but in the interest of making this worthwhile, and, uh, step 9, I just want to apologize to you.”

You lifted an eyebrow, your arms crossed at your chest inside the oversized terry cloth sleeves of your robe. He did?

“You do?”

“I do.”

“For what?”

“For…” He hesitated, confusion apparent in the tilt of his head. “For the last time I saw you. For taking advantage of you at Lush.”

He paused for a moment, trying to get a read on your expression.

“Oh, man, if you were too drunk to even remember meeting me, I really have to beg for your–”

“I remember,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “I wasn’t that fucked up.” Three-quarters of a lie.

He nods. “Anyway, I’m sorry for taking advantage of you like that. I know better,” he pauses. “It was, uh… a dark time.”

You let it sit for a moment. He really seemed sorry - or at least he looked it. Big brown eyes finally free of dark sunglasses and looking into yours, searching for your mercy. It was strange. It hadn’t even occurred to you to be upset with him for that - you were just embarrassed. Most of the hook-ups you’d experienced as an adult had taken place under the influence to some extent, and nobody had ever apologized to you afterwards.

“It’s okay. Thanks.” You finally said. “Although, really, I guess we can just call it even.”

His eyebrow cocked upwards, the shadow of a smirk and tilt of his head silently requesting an explanation. 

“I stole a bag of your coke that night, that's what I was after when I went to your table,” you explained, amusement growing on his face at the confession. “If it makes you feel better, I got a DUI that night, and when the police searched my car they found it. That’s why I’m here. If it hadn’t been for that, I probably could have just spent the weekend in the hospital being treated for ‘exhaustion’ and been back to work Monday morning. So, I guess I took advantage of you, too.”

“Yeah, well, it’s what we do,” he laughed, vaguely gesturing at the hallway before planting his hand on the wall behind you.

Only now did you realize that he had subtly cornered your body into a doorway. He smelled the same as you remembered, minus the alcohol, and the way his broad frame was caging yours felt familiar and comforting. You caught yourself staring as you let the silence hang, taking in the lines around his dark, soft eyes, and you fought the urge to drag your thumb along the patch in his beard. God, he was handsome. You might not have been completely out of your mind that night.

Encouraged by your big, beautiful eyes gazing up at him and against his better judgment, he leaned down to purr lowly in your ear.

“I was disappointed that you didn’t come find me, though,” his said, the hair on his chin barely grazing your cheek and sending goosebumps down your spine. “I should be apologizing for not finishing the job.”

On a reflex, you giggled, but then the thought caught up to you.

“Wait a minute,” you put your hands to his chest and pushed away slightly to look him in the eye. “You mean we didn’t…”

He shook his head. “No, we didn’t.”

“Oh, my god, thank god!” You exclaimed, throwing your head back, unable to contain your laughter. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, relief that you hadn’t slept with this man (who you, admittedly, really wanted to sleep with) flooding through you. Tentatively, he hugged you back, wide palms going flat at the small of your back. 

“Sorry, not ‘thank god,’ no offense, just… that wasn’t exactly my finest hour,” you explained as you pulled away.

“Yeah, I heard,” he started to respond, but he’s cut off by a staff member at the end of the hallway.

“To your rooms, please,” she ordered, firmly.

He turned to acknowledge her, then back to you, following as you made your way toward your bedroom.

“So, we’re okay?” He asked as you reached your door. “Promise you’re not going to yell at me at any more meetings?”

“I promise.”

“Good. ‘Cause I think people are starting to choose sides, and I’m not sure I stand a chance against you.”

“Yeah, right, they hate me,” you said, dipping your head to laugh. The two of you stood there in your doorway for another moment, hand lingering on the door as you stood inches from one another.

“Goodnight, Dieter,” you finally said, all low and decisive.

“Goodnight.”

You peeked out at him until the door shut completely. When it did, you folded against it, clutching your hands at your chest and smiling wider than you had in weeks.

[slitheringghost]

Do you have a Sirius rec list? Please & thank you

with the words going out like cells of a brain by orphan_account (James/Sirius/Remus, 9.8k, M)

Rec: EVERYONE needs to read this fic. It's my favorite Sirius fic of all time and will make you cry and just ache inside. Despite the tag, the romance is nonexistent; it's about Sirius as a haunting and a ghost, as an angry and vicious and hurt and innocent child, with James and Remus trying to save him.

“I hate him,” Sirius admits. “But I left him to die. I’m fucking. Irredeemable. Or something. He was just a kid. You know what they did to me in that house? You know what they did to me? This is fucking nothing. I’d die in that camp bed and I’d be thankful it didn’t hurt as much as it could’ve. Oh, fuck, please don’t kill me.” His eyes, not present, go blank; he starts over.  - Whoever he’s screaming at, they must not answer him. He fists the carpet up in his hands and slams his knees against it hard enough to rattle the floor, too much anger for a small body.  “It HURTS!” he yells, sort of outraged in the way kids get when you don’t apologise for making them cry. “This hurts! You can’t just go, you can’t— I hate you!”  It’s his mother he’s crying to, Remus knows almost implicitly. Sirius has always been far too much like her. And he, too, would leave almost anybody bleeding like this and shut the door in their face. 

riding a freight train's solitary wail by orphan_account (Sirius & James, Sirius & Regulus, 4.3k, T)

Rec: Another heartbreaking must-read fic from the same author as above, about Sirius running away from home. I also recommend this author's whole harry potter what-ifs + speculatives series.

Hurricane Walburga is waiting for him back home, angry enough to tear off the roof. And fuck that, honestly. Sirius darts a hand overtop of the bright orange flame and it leaves little red scuffs over the meaty bit of his palm, streaky like stings or poison or something. Fuck that, and fuck her too, and he hopes she dies, he thinks darkly, kicking a stone against the wall and watching it clatter into the drainpipe. There's a poster for some funk band on the wall and they grin down at him, and Sirius hopes she dies. 

Catch a Glimpse by @ashesandhackles (Sirius & Harry, 428 words, G)

Rec: Heartbreaking mini fic that gets inside Sirius's head so well.

Lily and James stand among the wildflowers, smiling at him, having the worn look of photographs aged by time. He can smell salt in the air, a tangy wind that scatters the flowers, sparkling like embers, underneath their feet. "Did you see where Harry has gone to, Padfoot?" James asks. He was right here. In my arms, Sirius thinks to say. Right here with me. He should be right here.

A Christmas Debacle by @ashesandhackles (Sirius & Andromeda, Andromeda & Bellatrix, 2.1k)

Rec: A great Black Family Drama fic. Loved the family dynamics here!

Sirius could feel the beginnings of a fight on the night before Christmas. He was especially attuned to this - given that he was the cause of many of the fights that the dinner table would have witnessed.

The Truth in Potions by shaggydogstail (Sirius/Remus, Sirius & James & Lily, Sirius & his pet kneazle, 42k)

Rec: Another Sirius-centric fic of all time, and best portrayal of Sirius and Remus suspecting each other during the First War.

It was Harry that Voldemort wanted, Harry that Sirius had stood up in church and vowed to protect. Harry, who laughed and toddled and lived and who everyone fell in love with. How could Remus ever want to hurt him? It was Harry who, if Sirius didn��t stop fucking everything up would never live to see his second birthday. ‘Not Harry,’ gasped Sirius, and it was more like a sob. ‘Spare him, please, don’t hurt Harry. Kill me but don’t hurt him, please.’

This Widening Bed (This Bed Has Seen It All Remix) by shaggydogstail (Sirius/Remus, Sirius & James, Sirius & Peter, Sirius & Lily, Sirius & Harry, 4.4k)

Rec: Sirius Black, his bed, and the people he shared it with. A lovely friendship fic.

They’re breathless with laughter when James arrives to survey the room with mock-disapproval. ‘Just once,’ he says, as he throws himself down between them, ‘I’d like to come home from work and not find my wife and my best friend in bed together.’ ‘Just once you’d like to get here before we finish putting our clothes back on,’ Sirius retorts, and Lily laughs so hard she upsets the punnet of peaches, sending over-ripe fruit tumbling across the bedspread.

Alphard's Favourite by @thistlecatfics (Sirius/Peter, Sirius/Alphard, 4.7k, M)

Rec: An excellent exploration of sexual abuse with a fascinating rarepair.

What had set Sirius off became apparent with the next morning’s Prophet. The story didn’t make the front pages and was buried deep in the paper - an impersonal note in the financial pages and a lurid one in the society section, but enough students read enough of the paper that soon the entire student body had seen the news. Sirius Black was always good gossip. Sirius’s Uncle Alphard had left him gold. A lot of gold. An obscene amount of gold. Though why this made Sirius act out like he was sixteen years old and on the verge of running away all over again was still unclear to Peter. 

all time is unredeemable by slashmarks (Sirius & Bellatrix, Sirius & Narcissa, 5.2k)

Rec: The most heartbreaking and compelling Sirius and Bellatrix backstory - an eight year old Sirius is the one to drive Bellatrix to Voldemort because he thinks Voldemort would save her from their family.

He hoped it wouldn't be breaking his promise. But it wasn't being bad, really. And anyway if it would help Bella it would be worth breaking a promise. Even a promise he had sworn on his magic, even if it really did make him a squib. He didn't want them to kill Bella. He inched carefully in the direction of Lord Voldemort, not enough for Cissy to notice. He pitched his voice just loud enough that he knew the people in that corner would hear when he said, "They're not, though. Bella could do better. That blue light was the isgebind curse, right? That's the heaviest thing they've used and when I watched her teaching you she said she learned it summer after her fourth year."

I also recommend all of @gracelesslady23's fic - read here

[hexpea]

Ch. 25 - Cancellation

The sun's early rays filtered through the curtains, casting a soft, golden hue across the bedroom. You woke, eyes blinking hard to the sudden sunlight just as you had those weeks ago. But this time, Satoru's sleeping frame laid still next to you. You sat up and watched as his back slowly rose and fell with each breath as he slept on his stomach, hands beneath his pillow. You quickly noticed how fragile he looked in slumber, his white eyelashes twitching with whatever dream he was having.

You noticed how light you suddenly felt. The weights that had been on you since the whole debacle started had begun to lift. You took a deep breath and smiled to yourself as you looked out the nearby window to the busy city streets below. It was all well and good...until you remembered you had to cancel everything for the wedding that was suppose to happen that day.

"Oh shit," you said audibly, causing Satoru to suddenly stir. Meanwhile, you snatched your cell phone from the end table next to you. You quickly dialed Seiko and brought the phone to your ear.

"Y/N?" Satoru's groggy voice mumbled as he sat up slowly, still on his stomach. His hair darted in nearly every direction; it reminded you of Megumi's usual look.

"Hi, good morning," you said when Seiko answered, your voice a bit subdued considering the conversation that transpired between you the night before. 

Satoru watched you, rubbing his eyes as he adjusted to the light himself. He briefly grabbed his sunglasses from his nightstand as a quick form of relief. He patiently sat up, resting on his hands in bed, as you carried on your conversation.

"Good morning," Seiko replied somberly, voice crackling from sleep, "everything okay?"

"I...just wanted to see if you made any phone calls yet," you asked, feeling some trembling in your voice from the nerves. The prolonged silence after your statement told you your answer. "Like to the venue, the caterers, the...guests?"

"Oh, no," Seiko answered casually, voice still low, "no, I haven't done any of that."

You sighed disappointingly. You were hoping Seiko had made a jump start on the cancellations since you wanted to avoid the whole thing all together. But the consequences of your actions clearly had other plans.

"Right," you said through your sigh, "I guess I'll start that. We probably won't get any deposits back on anything, but what we do get I'll make sure to divvy it up appropriately."

"So professional this early in the morning," Satoru chuckled lowly, his voice quiet. You gave a small glare in his direction, a signal to keep his mouth shut.

"Okay, I'll start making the calls then," you replied with a sense of responsibility in your voice, bringing your full attention back to the call at hand.

"Y/N," Satoru's voice slipped through the phone's speaker with a hint of mischief, "I hope you didn't forget about our breakfast plans. I've been craving those pancakes all night."

His playful remark was clearly laced with innuendo, knowing he could be heard. And it didn't escape Seiko's notice. The jealousy simmered beneath the surface as they heard the playful banter between you and Satoru. If it wasn't for Satoru, the two of you would have been long married and Seiko could have potentially made better headway on finding the rest of the Sukuna fingers.

"Right...I'll leave you to it, then," they replied. Their voice was curt and distant, their voice noticeably colder than before. Though things didn't end explosively, it wasn't without pain.

Sensing the tension in Seiko's response, you looked back at Satoru again, whose grin widened as he played along. It was as if he enjoyed hearing Seiko's reaction in the change of their voice, despite the seriousness of the situation at hand. Before you could respond back to Seiko, Satoru playfully reached over you and placed a flat palm against your chest, pushing you back on the mattress. He crawled atop you so that he was straddling you while the phone was still pressed against your ear.

"Satoru!" You scolded through an intensely furrowed brow as he chuckled through his movements. You held back your own smile with an angry look, you felt incredibly rude to Seiko with your inability to control your ex-husband who was now essentially your present boyfriend.

Before you could return to the phone call with Seiko, you were easily met with a broken dial tone. They'd hung up. You continued to glare up at your lover as he dove down toward your neck and peppered you in kisses, his hair tickling your cheeks as he nibbled at your soft flesh that was still sensitive from the night before.

"Can you control yourself in any situation?" You asked sarcastically, pushing him off of you. You didn't have the strength, but Satoru quickly got the message and rolled over with your push, his body plopping back down in its original spot next to you.

"Do you even need to ask that question?" He laughed as you got out of bed and began to find your clothes that you'd arrived in the night before.

The rest of your morning was spent making dozens upon dozens of phone calls to guests and the other wedding arrangements. Your last phone call was to your parents. It was the call you were dreading. It was your second wedding and you were about to cancel it just to go back to the man you divorced in the first place. Needless to say, you spent quite some time pacing in the living room before finally making the call.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you dialed your parents' number. This call was one you had been dreading, knowing that it would be full of tension. After several rings, your mother's voice came through the phone.

"Hi, honey!" Her voice was sweet but somehow wary. She wasn't expecting any phone calls and thought you'd meet them at the ceremony venue. "Are you getting ready for the big day?"

"Hi, Mom," you answered, voice tight with a mixture of frustration and sadness. It was unmistakable. 

There was a brief silence on the other end before your father chimed in. "Y/N? Is that you? Everything okay?" You could tell by his voice that your mother was making that face she always made when you'd done something bad. You could also tell that you were on speaker phone at that point.

Taking a deep breath, you began to explain the situation. "So...the wedding is...cancelled."

Another silence followed your words, a heavy lone that seemed to hang in the air like a storm cloud. Then, your mother's voice quivered with anger.

"Again, Y/N? This is the second time you've done this. What about all of the time and money we've invested in this?"

You winced at the frustration in your voice, feeling the weight of your actions again, but this time without regret. "I know, Mom, and I'm so sorry. I didn't want it to come to this, but...there are things you just don't understand." You referenced the pregnancy above all else. They still didn't know and you weren't about to tell them, not yet.

Your father's voice was stern as he responded, "you should've thought about that before agreeing to marry Seiko in the first place."

The anger you felt seemed to escalate as you tried to explain the circumstances and the reason behind your decision. You talked about Sukuna, about the danger that had become so intertwined with your life.

Your mother's voice softened, a hint of understanding finally breaking through her anger. "Y/N, we just worry about you. We don't want you to get hurt."

Tears welled in your eyes as you replied, "I know, Mom. I'm just trying to protect everyone I care about for now. Satoru and I...we still have things to figure out."

There was a long pause on the other end once more as your mother found her thoughts. Your dad was the first to respond. "We might not fully understand your situation, but we want you to be safe. We'll support you, even if we don't agree with your choices."

The tension in the call began to dissipate as you felt a wave of relief wash over you. In the same moment, Satoru walked toward you from the kitchen with a plate of pancakes. Satoru's plate was, of course, drenched in sticky syrup and covered in strawberry slices and whipped cream. Yours, he knew exactly how you liked them and they were obviously made to perfection. He lightly pecked your shoulder from behind as he held the plate in front of you.

"Thank you, Dad," you answered, leaning backward so that you fell onto Satoru. You smiled as you looked up at him, taking the plate from his hands and allowing him to leave a lingering kiss on your lips. "I promise I'll make it up to you both someday."

Your mother's voice softened as well though still filled with concern. "Just promise us you'll be careful, Y/N. That's all we ask."

You nodded to yourself as Satoru stepped away. "I promise, Mom. I love you both."

The conversation ended on a more positive note, the understanding and concern of your parents providing a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos of your life. As you hung up the phone, you knew that you had a long road ahead but you at least had your parents' support.

After ending the call with your parents, you took a deep breath, feeling a mix of emotions now that everything was realized. Satoru watched you with concern from the sofa as he ate his pancakes, you still holding your plate.

"You okay?" He asked from his seat, removing his feet from the coffee table in preparation to go to you if you needed support. His eyes searched your face for any signs of distress.

You managed a small smile, appreciating his support. "Yeah, I will be. Thanks, Satoru."

He relaxed again, placing his feet back up and stabbing another bite of pancake. You decided to join him on the sofa to eat your breakfast. As the two of you sat, watching television, you realized what your next steps were. You had to return to Hokkaido and face the fact that you needed to pack up your things from your shared apartment with Seiko -- the place you once thought you'd be returning to for good after all of this.

In no time, you found yourselves on a shinkansen back to Hokkaido. Autumn was fast approaching and the brightly colored leaves welcomed you home from your view on the train. The chilly air stung your cheeks, but it felt like a refreshing change from Tokyo. It was almost bittersweet that you had to leave this place.

You and Satoru spent a few days sightseeing. It had been a while since he'd been to Hokkaido and he wanted to hear about everything you experienced while living there. So, you decided to give him the grand tour! After those few days, you and Satoru headed straight for your apartment. Your nerves had taken over once more, palms beginning to feel sweaty as you walked closer and closer to the building. You hadn't seen or spoken to Seiko since that last phone call.

The two of you stood in front of your apartment door with obvious hesitance. You stared at the peephole, taking deep breaths before beginning to knock. You had a key, but figuring Seiko was inside you didn't want to startle them.

"Are you sure about this, Y/N? Moving back with me..." Satoru asked you in a soft voice, sensing your anxiety.

You stood silently in thought for a moment before turning your head to look at him. "I'm sure," you gave a single, determined nod. "I don't want to run from this. And I know what future I want." Your voice shook a bit, but you stood firm in your resolve.

He smiled at you before staring straight ahead again, blindfold covering his eyes. "That's all I needed to hear."

[flaggermuser]

Patriot Games

The Scent of You

18+

2,371 words || Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Mirrorlander - Character, Mirroriot, Stalking, Obsession, Underwear, Masturbation with Underwear, Masturbation, Vaginal Sex, Underwear Theft, Underwear Sniffing, Patriot is her own warning, Choking, Mirrorlander | The Homelander's Mirror Alter, Mirroriot | The Patriot's Mirror Alter, CPTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Child Neglect, Not Beta Read ||

Dividers by cafekitsune

Re-shoots.

It’s bad enough that they’re reshooting the entire movie after the debacle with Stormfront; it’s even worse that they’re doing it with her.

Patriot - the Seven’s newest member.

Homelander hates her; she’s just like him with her blonde hair and blue eyes; she even has the same powers, although unlike him, she has an actual family. She wasn’t raised in a lab like a fucking lab rat. Yet there she is, saying her lines with a grating, sweeter-than-syrup voice and acting with a smile on her lips that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

There was clearly something very wrong with her.

But of course, everyone instantly adores her; she seems to reduce them all to stupid mouth-breathing idiots, aggravating him even more. Every so often, those psychotic doe eyes meet him, and his jaw tightens. 

Bitch.

He knows she’s testing the limit, how far she could push him until he snaps. He often fantasises about the sound her neck will make when he eventually breaks it. His eyes leave hers when she straightens her back and puffs out her chest more. He swallows nothing as his eyes dart down to see the creamy engorged flesh that he covets.

Luckily, he’s been able to forget her face when he’s busy fucking his hand.

“That’s a wrap!”

“Great work, everyone,” she chirps, infuriating him further, especially as she makes a beeline for him, stopping beside the monitors. 

“You seem tense,” she coos. “Maybe there’s something I can do to help you relax.”

He clears his throat, trying not to stare directly at her chest. “I’m fine.”

Leaning forward a little, she tries to catch his eyes, “are you sure? I’m very good at relieving tension.”

I bet you are - whore.

“I said I’m fine,” it’s a growl, making her back off only a tiny amount.

“Fine,” she huffs, walking past him.

He waits until she’s far enough away to readjust his seating position, his cup managing to hide the fact that his cock has been straining against it the whole time.

If Patriot knew that being in the Seven meant staring in some of the worst-written ‘blockbusters’, she would never have accepted Stan Edgars’ invitation. She’s bored out of her mind, completely done with having her makeup touched up every half an hour, her blonde hair ‘fixed’ and Adam Bourke’s ‘attempts at stage direction’, amongst other things.

“If you so much as think about me sexually, I’ll laser your fucking dick off.”

Now she’s taking an ‘extended break’, where everyone stays out of her way, allowing her to wander around the various trailers, including her own. She doesn’t quite get the point of her and Homelander having on-site trailers when they can fly back to the tower in minutes.

Eventually, she strolls up to Homelander’s trailer, knocking politely on the door and smirking when she doesn’t get a response. It’s empty now, so she wastes no time heading inside without knowing how long that will last. She doesn’t want to risk anyone walking in on her.

Immediately, she closes her eyes, taking a deep breath - it smells of him.

That alone is enough to get her hot under the collar, and she instinctively unzips the front of her suit, preparing herself for her afternoon of delights. Every little thing needs to be touched and inspected before the grand finale.

She falls face-first onto his bed, wrapping herself up in the sheets and rubbing the fabric over her exposed body. Drowning in his scent drives her wild despite her hatred for him. Rolling onto her back and slowly sitting up, she undoes her boots, kicking them off.

Her suit soon follows, leaving her completely naked. She’s never seen the point of wearing panties.

Then she spies a discarded pair of pants with the familiar eagle pattern and eagerly grabs them, holding them to her nose. They’re used, the distinct smell of his cum coating the front, enough residue left for her to suck on.

If only he’d be more accommodating, she’d happily suck his cock, and have him empty the entire contents of his balls down her throat. Still, no, he has to make everything so complicated. Instead, she has to resort to this and is entirely unashamed.

Then, a little thought enters her mind, and she gives the pants one final lick before tossing them aside, searching for a fresher pair. When she finds them, an unsettling smile spreads across her lips, and she lies back, spreading her legs wide.

Turning the pants inside out, she carefully pushes them into her cunt, getting as deep as possible. Maybe there’s just enough to get her pregnant, to give Homelander another super baby, to trap him. Because, despite hating everything about him, she’s desperate to keep him to herself.

Her fingers move slowly at first, pulling the pants halfway out before shoving them deep again, her back arching off the bed. Soon, she settles into her semi-usual rhythm, her two fingers curling, pressing the fabric against her g spot. Her eyelashes flutter, her hips lifting off the bed as she finger fucks herself, her mind filled with the dirtiest fantasies she can muster.

The idea of licking blood off his face is enough for her to finish, soaking the pants inside her cunt and the sheets beneath her hips while her eyes scorch the ceiling.

A lovely little present for him, he can’t complain that I’m not generous.

Pulling the pants free, she places them on his pillow, chuckling as she watches her cum soak into the case. There will be absolutely no doubt that she’s been in here, and hopefully, it’ll be enough for her to get a little visitor later on.

That fucking whore.

Homelander nearly rips the door off the hinges as he storms into Patriot’s trailer, finding her leaning against the counter with a glass of champagne. She looks ridiculous in her floor-length sheer crimson robe with feather trim, revealing everything.

Immediately, her aroma clouds his senses, making his cock throb angrily and his mirror image talk into his ear.

‘Jesus fucking Christ. She’s going to be a better fuck than Stormfront ever was.’

He’s not here to fuck her, he’s here because he’s pissed. Returning to his trailer after his scenes, he met the heady stench of sex, soiled bed sheets and his pants on his pillow. Only one member of the Seven is unhinged enough to do something like that, and he is staring at her. 

As if the scorched ceiling didn't confirm it.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

You have no idea how badly I want to snap your neck.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he hisses directly into her face, staring directly into those maniacal doe eyes. “You know exactly why I’m here. Bet you think your little stunt this afternoon was cute.”

She takes a long sip of champagne, holding his gaze, infuriating him further. “Cute? No. I just had a particular itch I needed to scratch.”

She pouts. “Don’t tell me you didn’t like your gift; I made sure it was special.”

The champagne flute bounces on the carpeted floor, the contents spilling everywhere when he lunges for her, throwing her across the trailer and landing on the bed. She’s barely able to sit up before he’s on her, his hand wrapped tightly around her throat, holding her down as he unzips his pants.

“You want me so fucking badly? Then I’ll give you want you want.”

He doesn’t even check if she’s ready, but he doesn’t have to; his cock enters her cunt with no resistance, her back arching off the bed. He closes his eyes, trying to imagine she's someone else: Maeve, Madelyn, Stormfront, hell, he's even imagining she's Starlight.

They do have the same blonde hair.

‘Don't you fucking dare close your eyes. You look directly at her.’

He growls, trying to ignore his mirror image's voice echoing inside his head. He doesn't want to look at her, doesn't want to acknowledge it's her; he just wants to enjoy that tight, wet cunt clinging to his cock. The squelching is downright disgusting, filling his ears and drowning out the sound of her moans.

She’s not here, she’s not fucking here.

‘Yes, she is. Now fucking look at her before I make you.’

He tries to dislodge the voice with a violent shake of his head, tightening his grip, half hoping to crush her windpipe. Yet it has an effect, her cunt constricts, and he lefts out a noise somewhere between a groan and a whimper.

‘Derranged cunt is the best cunt. Deny it all you want, tiger; the fact is that you’re enjoying this more than you want to admit.’

Shut up.

It’s a fact that he is enjoying this, but he’d never admit it, not to her or himself. Sure, Stormfront was deranged and kinky, but Patriot is on a whole different level of twisted. Her hands on his abdomen violently pull him from his train of thought, forcing him to stare down at her. 

Watching those glazed-over eyes staring up at him, mixed with those parted, plump lips, makes it challenging to concentrate, allowing the inner voice to hijack his body. He’s pulled from the forefront, forced to watch the scene unfold.

“Hello Kitten.”

He tilts his head, momentarily stilling his movements while taking in every detail of her face. There’s a fleeting glimpse of confusion in her eyes that melts away into intrigued. He relinquishes his hold on her neck, opting to reach into her hair and pull it, smiling when she lets out a slightly pained yelp.

“You’re not Homelander,” she coos.

“Well, aren’t you a perceptive little thing. You’re half right; I’m not that Homelander, but I am a part of him, a more interesting part.”

He leans over her, rubbing his nose along the column of her throat, teasing her pulse with his tongue. She’s not even the tiniest bit scared; her heartbeat is slow and steady. But she’s enjoying him and his attention. 

“I loved your little stunt,” he purrs. “If I’d known you were such a dirty little whore, I would have made him come here sooner.”

She lets out a giggle, sending a pulse directly to his cock. Beautiful and unhinged, the perfect combination. He doesn’t understand why John has resisted getting her into his bed; there’s something between them.

Something undeniable yet indescribable.

He moves again with short, sharp thrusts, grinning like a madman at her responsiveness. It’s clear she’s eager to please, trying to match his pace, her legs wrapped around his hips to draw him in deeper. 

He shifts, changing positions so she’s almost bent in half. His hand once again returns to her neck and squeezes tightly. She struggles for breath, yet she doesn’t claw at his hand, trying to free herself from his grip or the position. Slowly, the colour drains from her face, her body completely relaxing.

Only then does he release her, watching with sadistic pleasure as she takes a desperate inhale, panting while she tries to recover. Yet she doesn’t fight back or try to attack him; she lies there and takes it, a twisted smile on her pretty red lips.

‘Your precious Stormfront is going to throw a fit when she smells sweet little Patriot all over you.’

He rolls onto his back, his hands grabbing her ass and bouncing her on his cock, enjoying the way her body moves when her robe falls open. No doubt anyone walking past this trailer is unaware of what’s happening inside, not when she’s close to screaming.

‘She’s the best fuck you’re ever going to have. So don’t you fucking dare fuck this up.’

Sitting up immediately, he nuzzles into the side of her breast, biting down on the plush flesh, making her choke on a moan. It’s clear she’s close, her cunt squeezing him tightly like a vice, making pulling out close to impossible. Not that he wants to.

Reaching into her hair, he pulls tight, bringing her down with him. Angling his hips, he increases the pace to bruising, his peak rapidly approaching.

“Make a mess, kitten, like you did in our trailer, all over our bed.”

The moan she lets out is loud, sending a tingle down his spine that makes his balls pull taut. Her eyes flicker crimson, forcing him to pull her head back so she doesn't laser his face off. Only a few more thrusts and he finishes, his hips flushed to hers, holding her tightly while he reciprocates - scorching her ceiling.

His inner voice finally relinquishes control, only now that he’s emptied himself into her cunt. In a flash, she’s on her back, with Homelander trying to make a swift exit. He barely reaches the door when she grabs his hand, forcing him to stop and face her.

But it’s not her.

At least, not the one he’s just fucked.

“Don’t go, not yet,” her voice is laced with vulnerability, the last thing he’d ever expect from her. “Stay a while; let me take care of you. Please.”

‘You feel it too, don’t you?’

Patriot wakes with a start.

She doesn’t need to check the time; she already knows it's 3 am. She’s been waking up at this time for years. She stares into the mirror, trying to regulate her breathing and slow her thundering heart down.

‘Even with John’s scent, you still can’t sleep, can you princess?’

Her mirror image - her protector.

Tears stream down her cheeks as she softly shakes her head, rolling over and burying her face into the pillow beside hers, breathing deeply.

The smell of Homelander’s shampoo still lingers; her hand pressed the duvet in the exact spot he had been. She desperately tries to remember how he felt, anything to escape slipping back into her mind's big, black pit.

The remnants of her shattered psyche.

For she, too, was once a child, locked away in a lab where she was subjected to experimentation, except abandoned for days on end in favour of the man she's obsessed with. 

Patriot - Homelander’s replacement.

Always second best.

‘He’ll protect you; I know he will. He feels the connection.’

How can he protect what he never saved?

[rockingrobin69]

Soup Thursdays at the office

There were four fish in the bowl, and all of them were George. Draco named them, and apparently didn’t find it at all confusing.

��There’s George one,” he said, tipping the fish food over the tank with an exasperated roll of his eyes, “that’s the little red thing in the corner. Boy George is the one with the stripe. George two always forgets it’s been fed—and then this one, it’s just George.”

“Just George?” Harry asked, a crinkle in the corner of his lip.

“Not—just George. Its name’s George. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Just George is the best.”

Draco sighed, carefully administering colourful droplets of feed. “Of course you’d play favourites with the fish.” Rubbing his hands clean, head tilted to the side, giving Harry that look. The one that made his mouth go dry. “Now, unless there’s anything…? Then excuse me, Mr. Potter. Paperwork awaits no man.”

Oh, right, he was in the way. Had this habit of crowding Draco into tight corners, entirely unconscious. Harry took a step back, and another, startled and warm in the cheeks, mumbling this half-formed, automatic response that wasn't quite an apology. Draco walked away with a small smile-part-smirk, leaving Harry at the windows, near the fish tank, heart racing.

This wasn’t at all what he came out here for. Not to watch Draco feed the fish, third time today. He needed the copies for Mrs. Nelson’s case, and he needed… a moment. Honesty. Like he’s not built any resistance, stacked up any immunity to Draco’s—antics. Come on now, come on, come on.

Copies, then. Throat cleared, breath caught, head shook, Harry gathered himself, bit by bit. The copies were in the cabinet, by Draco’s station. Could have just asked him for it. But that would’ve led to a whole new debacle, and besides, it’s good to get away from his desk sometimes. Before he hired Draco, he never remembered to stretch.

Forgot to stretch still. Got an email, ran back to his office and furiously typed a reply to his stupid boss who wanted to assign them another case, as if their hands weren't full enough. And then it was getting near lunch-time, and Harry’s belly started on this dance, a little jig it only learned recently. Since Draco.

Thankfully, it was a Thursday, and Harry came prepared. With the fancy soup he spent three hours making, and the softest rolls Aldi had to offer. He caught Draco on the way to the kitchenette, signalled with his eyebrows (and with the tub, raised in promise). He’s really going to like this one; Harry made sure to get the cheese he knew Draco preferred, the perfect bottle of wine to pair with it. For the soup, he meant. Not that he brought wine to work. Harry may have been silly sometimes, but he was still an adult, and a professional. Who took his job seriously. Very seriously, even.

A fact he often forgot when Draco did this. Just walking, mind you, but slowly, almost on-show, dragging the chair next to Harry with big open eyes. Didn’t ask, didn’t say anything: crossed his arms in his lap, waited. It made something in Harry jump, seared right through him.

“French onion soup, as per requested. With so much fucking cheese it’ll give you heartburn. You’re welcome.”

“Looks delicious,” Draco said. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, a gesture so small it had to be unintentional.

That burnt bit inside Harry sizzled. “Why don’t you try some?” he handed the microwaved bowl. “Careful, it’s really hot.”

“Yes, Mr. Potter,” Draco said, with that look. “Aren’t you having some? Heartburn isn’t something to suffer on one’s own.”

He tried to laugh the dry-throat-ness away. “I will, yeah. How is it? Too much salt? Not enough?”

“Mm,” Draco took a spoonful, closed his eyes. “Perfect.”

Whatever he was going to ask melted away. Took a moment or two to shake himself, get up. Punch the time on the microwave with a slightly-trembling hand.

Harry started this a while back, bringing lunch for the both of them. Not so much as a decision as a series of events: too much pasta made, an extra sandwich bought by accident, leftover soup from soup Wednesday. And—he got a little addicted, he supposed, to the way Draco reacted. The way he—

The beeping of the microwave made him jump, meet the cabinet, too close, too suddenly.

“All right over there?”

Cursing under his breath, Harry nodded, returned to the table with a throbbing forehead. “Sorry. Got a little… distracted.”

“Mrs. Nelson?” Draco asked, handing him a napkin, then a spoon. “She called again. I told her we don’t have the results yet.”

“No, not that. We’re getting a new case. I've been trying to fight it, but...”

“Fighting the boss man,” Draco nodded. “Always drama with you, isn’t there. Hand me the pepper, please? Thank you.” Without another word, Draco was peppering Harry’s dish. “So, more importantly, it’s been brought to my attention you haven’t signed up for the draw this year.”

“Hmm?”

“The draw. Strictly come dancing? You know, the only thing anyone in the office talked about all week.”

Harry wasn’t all that interested in office talk. He might have heard about this one—had this vague recollection of Draco in blue, nattering about some dance show on the telly. “Can’t say I… sign up?”

“To the draw. Each pair picks a couple out of a hat. The principle is very simple, you should be able to follow.”

“Pairs,” Harry repeated, just to be sure he heard right. Tasted the soup: peppery, the way he liked it. “Who… erm, who’s your partner?”

Draco gave him that look again. “Why, Mr. Potter, it’s you, of course. I took the liberty of signing you up—please don’t be mad, it’s important for the people here to see you taking part. Not just, work-work-work all the time. It’ll be good for you.”

Harry grunted something wordless and tight. “Fine. If I'm with you it’s not—fine. What’s for the winners, then?”

“Of course you think you’d win it.” But he was smiling. “I don’t know, HR hasn’t announced yet. Probably some puny prize not even worthy of taking home. It’s for the camaraderie, knucklehead.”

“Camaraderie. Right. I think I know what that means.”

Draco rolled his eyes. It was warm in the kitchen, and nice. It was nice. They ate their soup in peace; Draco was busy with his crosswords, that he never completed and never gave up on, and Harry went back to his notepad, looking at what still needed to be done for Mrs. Nelson. Lunchbreak never used to be like this. Unrushed, like it was important all on its own. Draco made things feel like that. Important.

When the bowls were empty: back to the office, and the copies he forgot to take from Draco’s station were waiting on his desk. With a smile, and a sigh, and another sigh, Harry sat down and got to work.

He had to finish everything for Mrs. Nelson by tonight, with this new case threatening to take most of his time. Harry was no stranger to late nights, to coffee after coffee and reading until his eyesight blurred fuzzy. It was five thirty by the time he looked up again, and that was only because Draco was at his door.

“Hmm? You were saying something?”

Leaning against the doorjamb, long legs crossed, head tilted back. “Just enjoying the view,” with a wink. “Come on. Time to go.”

“Can’t,” Harry said, raising the contract he was currently reviewing. “Got to finish this first.”

“Mr. Potter,” Draco said, in that tone. Harry felt the lump he just swallowed, burning all the way down his chest. “Can’t leave me to brave the train station all by myself. I might get lost.”

“Please do,” Harry laughed, helpless. “You know I drive anyway. And you take the bus.”

Draco’s eyebrow arched, unimpressed. “You’ve stayed late every night this week.”

“It’s only Thursday.”

“Exactly. Now get off your arse, please, or you’re going to be in serious trouble.” When Harry didn’t look persuaded, he sighed, overly-dramatic and far too sweet. “Don’t make me beg, Sir. Not in the office. It’s unseemly.”

The ‘pah!’ of his laughter didn’t go a long way to hide the blush, coming rapidly and extensive. “Shut up! I have to… it’s the new case. Got to finish with Mrs. Nelson, or Gregson’s going to give her case to John.”

Draco winced. “God, not that tosser. Well… all right, pass over the consent forms.”

“Hmm?”

“I’ll proof while you work on the contract. Come on, chop-chop. We’ll finish much quicker if we work together.”

“Draco…” Harry started, gently, felt this thing in his chest go tight and tender. “It’s half five. You should go home. Your cat will miss you.”

“Whisker’s a dog, as you well know, you wanker,” Draco smiled sweetly, falling into the chair across from him. “He’ll be fine, my neighbour’s watching him. Now, hand me the papers.” He sent a hand forward, waiting, imperiously, for Harry to obey, which of course he did. Didn’t have much of the resisting part of his brain wired right, when it came to Draco.

“Fine. But you’re leaving by six.”

“Half six, and so are you.” Draco smoothened the papers and stole a pen from Harry’s cup. “Aha, see! Already found a typo. Truly, you should fire your secretary.”

“Not in a million years,” Harry smiled, and allowed himself to sink back in the contract, his chest a little lighter.

[liaromancewriter]

It Happened One Miami Night (3/?)

Series Premise: A work trip to Miami means finally accepting that some risks are worth taking. Or are they?

Fandom: Choices Book: Open Heart Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Angsty Fluff Words: 1,430

Series Masterlist

A/N: I live! Seriously, though, I've been really sick the last few days; today's the first day I've actually felt like writing. I also don't know where I'm going with this series except for this idea of filling in blanks for moments we didn't see. Pray that I figure it out before I start rambling.

Submission for @choicesaprilchallenge24; dialogue prompt "come on, it'll be fun"

She might have been invited (ordered, more like) under false pretenses, but that didn’t mean she was wasting this opportunity. Still in awe of hearing medical greats in person, Cassie Valentine put her hands together for the chorus of applause that followed Dr. Hadley’s fireside chat.

Ethan Ramsey, the epitome of medical excellence, was Cassie’s ultimate inspiration. Yet, Rebecca Hadley, with her profound knowledge and charisma, was a close second in Cassie’s admiration.

Cassie's eyes darted hopefully towards the front as the room began to clear. Her heart sank at seeing the long queue of Dr. Hadley’s admirers. Disappointment washed over her, but she was determined not to let this opportunity slip away. However, the organizers pulled Dr. Hadley away before she could step forward.

Cassie checked the event schedule on the conference app and figured she had enough time to grab some swag for Elijah before the next session. She still hadn’t heard from Ethan.

No! She wasn’t going to think about him. This time was for her.

Ethan was her attending, that’s it. No, he wasn’t Ethan. He was Dr. Ramsey. Cassie repeated this to herself, a mantra reminding her of her resolution to move on and break the spell he’d cast on her.

She thought this weekend was already proving challenging, recalling their conversation after the Nash debacle. They hadn’t even been to their suite yet or figured out how they were going to spend two nights in close quarters. Would he casually dismiss her from his presence then, too?

Shaking off the anxiety, she entered the exhibit hall and made a beeline for the first table. They gave out branded pens; they were nothing special, but her friend wasn’t picky. Besides, Elijah lost at least two pens daily and would use them all.

With her tote bag bulging, she was halfway down this row when she spied a booth handing out frisbees. She sped up, grabbing the last one as someone reached for it. Cassie turned sideways and found herself in a tug-of-war with another attendee.

“I was here first,” she tugged the plastic disk a little too forcefully.

“Debatable.” The man grinned charmingly before letting go. “But my mother raised a gentleman,” he glanced at her lanyard, “Cassie.”

“Thanks,” she stared at the name tag in her line of sight, “Evan. My compliments to your mother.”

“Wait till I tell her how her lessons on manners led me to my future wife.” The twinkle in his eyes told her he was joking.

“Wow, you’re easy,” Cassie quipped. “Beat a guy at the Swag Olympics, and his true intentions come out.”

His lips twisted in a half smile, and he eyed her tote. “First conference?”

“Is it that obvious?”

Evan laughed. “First-timers always grab too much stuff. Then, you realize you can’t possibly take it home in your carry-on and start throwing out perfectly good swag.”

That made her pause. The space in her luggage was indeed limited. Still, she promised Elijah goodies, and she would deliver them.

“It’ll be okay,” she shrugged, unconcerned.

“I heard Panacea’s giving out briefcases,” Evan said, stepping closer, just at the edge of her personal space. “I was just heading there.”

Cassie caught the unspoken invitation in his voice and the interested look in his eyes as he peered intently at her. She started to decline, not wanting another run-in with Declan Nash, when their phones pinged.

“Oh wow, I don’t believe it,” Evan exclaimed, staring at his phone. “They just added Dr. Ramsey to a panel. It starts in twenty minutes.”

He glanced at her over his phone’s screen, his eyes filled with eager excitement. “He’s amazing. Man, what I’d do to work with him. I tried matching at Edenbrook last year, but their residency is super competitive.”

“I know,” Cassie said quietly, but Evan didn’t hear her as he continued talking.

“…got into Grady, so not a total loss. How about you?”

“Edenbrook. First year, internal medicine.”

Evan’s eyes widened. “Have you met Ramsey, then? What’s he like? Are rounds with him a masterclass in diagnostic excellence?”

Cassie wasn’t sure how to respond. Was she supposed to tell a stranger that she had not only met Ethan but fallen hard for him? That when he focused those laser blue eyes on her, she melted, heat pooling in her belly, fingers itching to touch him everywhere?

Ethan was a complicated man who hid his emotions behind an austere exterior. But when he let his guard down and let her in, she fell through a rabbit hole, knowing her life would never be the same again.

“Rounds with him are intense,” was all Cassie said, keeping her expression neutral.

Ten minutes later, she reluctantly followed Evan into the ballroom where Ethan’s session was taking place. Despite the last-minute announcement, the room was almost full, with just a few empty seats scattered around the room.

“See? I told you the room would be packed early,” he said, scanning the space.

They shoehorned their way to the center of the room, hopping over bags and feet to park themselves on two chairs in a row of theater seating. Cassie almost tripped over the ankles of a woman who wasn’t keen to let them pass, but Evan helped keep her upright.

Cassie’s heart skipped a beat when she saw Ethan’s tall figure standing off to the side of the raised dais. He must’ve gone to the suite, for he was now wearing a blazer over the black shirt and gray slacks from this morning.

He hadn’t noticed her, and she doubted he would, given the size of the crowd. Still, she slumped slightly in her seat, practically hiding behind the person seated in the row before her.

“What are you doing tonight?”

She turned to face Evan, her brow raised in confusion.

“A few of us are getting together later,” he explained hurriedly. “It’s nothing fancy—cheap booze, music, dancing on the beach.”

“I don’t know,” she hesitated. “I’m here with my attending. He might need me for work.”

“All night?” Evan asked skeptically. “He doesn’t seriously expect you to be on call all weekend? Give the old man the slip and join us.”

When she still looked doubtful, he insisted, “Come on, it’ll be fun. Give me your number. I’ll text you the details.”

Cassie scoffed. “What makes you think you’ve earned my number?”

“My eternal optimism?”

“Nice try,” she rolled her eyes. “I’m on the conference app. Ping me the deets there. No promises.”

The emcee called the room to attention, and the commotion around them died down, replaced by excited anticipation. He introduced the session topic and speakers, reading a brief bio for each panelist.

Despite her earlier intention, Cassie straightened in her seat, unable to look away as Ethan joined his fellow panelists on the stage. As soon as the applause subsided, the moderator smoothly jumped into the discussion, throwing Ethan the first question.

Sprawled in a deep armchair, he held the microphone close to his lips, punctuating his point with a wave of his hand. He spoke eloquently, captivating everyone in the audience and the panel.

Cassie envied his effortless confidence and hoped that one day, she would be as secure in her abilities as a doctor.

She noticed how relaxed Ethan was now compared to earlier. He was in his element now, and it showed. Unlike the uncertainty of the situation with Naveen, sharing his opinions on managing medical resources during large-scale emergencies was easy.

Evan tried to engage her in conversation, leaning too close for comfort, but she ignored him beyond a quick nod. She hadn’t reflected on this topic before but found the discussion and subject area fascinating.

Cassie thought she knew Ethan’s career well, being his biggest fan and all. But she had no idea he’d volunteered in disaster zones during his residency and fellowship. Was there anything the man hadn’t done in the ten short years since he became a doctor?

And was he just as good in bed as he appeared out of it? The naughty voice broke through her thoughts, making her blush.

Cassie surreptitiously scanned faces around her to make sure no one had noticed her face turning red (or the way her skin flushed from the neck down as her breath hitched). It was damn inconvenient.

Listening to Ethan being, well, Ethan, was clearly turning her on.

So much for her resolution. All Ethan had to do was talk passionately about medicine, and she was ready to kiss his breath away.

The weekend just got a whole lot more complicated.

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

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @jerzwriter @lady-calypso

@mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16

@justyourusualash @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @youlookappropriate

[monsterfloofs]

Overtime, it has become a realization that silliness can be a weapon.

A strategy.

A distraction.

A way to weasel out of circumstances by purposefully playing the fool.

Tapping dancing your way out of situations, by donning the hat of the mad hatter and declaring it a Birthday. Turning the tables away from the original origin of the conversation. While the soft, squishy and fragile part of yourself remains safe and sound.

Flirting, by any other name, is a means to dig into that soft hearted squishiness. Like cracking open an oysters shell, to snatch away a pearl. What better way to redirect one's aim than to improvise?

And yet, and yet, and yet.

You have found that your fancy footwork is slowly being matched in stride. The line is blurred between self-preservation and true enjoyment.

You're dancing with danger.

–

The hand that is splayed in front of your face, palm up. So still. With an inhuman statue-like elegance. The fingers bloomed open gently, waiting for your fingers to lace with theirs.

"We keep bumping into each other, don't we?" The voice is silken and playful.

Time felt sluggish as your mind worked feverishly to find a way out of this debacle. You take their hand gingerly by their fingertips. Weary to avoid the venus fly trap laid out before you. Once that hand closed you were going to be at their mercy. A brief idea flickered across your temple, before committing to your plan, ducking your head down and blowing a raspberry into their palm.

The magic that held you transfixed is broken. A noise, a squeak of shock has the hand retracting back.

You look up with a grin.

"A bit."

Sharp eyes. Sharper eyebrows. You watch their expression change, from shock, to annoyance, to something with a smile. A smile of something unreadable, and unknown.

"A bit." They echo your words. Walking around you slowly, and you pivot to match their stride. "You know, if I didn't know better. . . I would think you were avoiding me."

"Really?" You chirped, feigning a wide eyed curious smile. "Me? Why, I would never."

They scoff, pulling their lips back to show teeth, and what sharp teeth they have. Your eyes linger on the fangs, pearly white and polished before your eyes dart up. Studying their eyes and regaining the slipping hold of your mask.

"You are. . . really something," They mused, shaking their head.

"I hope it's something good!" You quip, grinning as you rock back and forth on your heels.

"Certainly," That wide grin is quick to reappear, but you pretend to look thoughtful and continue to rock.

"I can't seem to ever get a proper read on you. It's as enticing as it is maddening."

That bit makes you blink, eyebrows raising slightly in amusement.

"Good! That is exactly what I am hoping for," You flourish a bow, bending forward grandly.

They bite back a bark of laughter. "To entice me, or drive me mad? Because dear, truly, I am wrapped up in your mystery."

Now that little bit did take you by surprise. It was sweet, with a hint of affection that had your stomach doing loops.

"I wish. . . to be confusing!" You declare instead, looking all for the world triumphant in your task. You look at them, eyes wide and mirthful.

"You certainly are that,"

And in spite of yourself, you laugh.

[almost-peterparker]

Possible

Chapter 4

Word Count: 4163 //TW// abuse, strong language, violence, gore, etc. Also, the plot is going to be based on the manga!

It had been a bit since the Elizabeth debacle, and now you observed the servants (including Mara) devising a plan to halt the ongoing rat infestation. Baldroy had inspected the wires and was now voicing his discontent. "There's been an unusual number this year," Mey Rin whispered under her breath.

"It might just be because of the manor's location," you suggest, noticing a rat darting across the floor. Finny notices too and shouts, "Rat sighted!" He seizes a nearby bust statue and hurls it at the rodent. You hastily retreat a few steps to avoid the flying debris. "What the hell?!" you exclaim once the dust clears. Finny, looking embarrassed, rubs the back of his head and mutters, "Oops, it got away."

"Is that all you have to say?" you exhale sharply, Baldroy sharing your sentiment. Mara chimes in, "Have you guys attempted anything besides hurling statues at them? It can't be that hard." Bard nods in concurrence, "She's got a point! Direct confrontation is futile; we need to think strategically!" he declares, tapping his temple. "We must observe our foe and anticipate their moves," he affirms, nodding to himself. "Here's my plan—we use this!" he announces, producing a pot of his food as if from thin air. The anime logic of this world never ceases to amaze you. "On the battlefield, hunger is your worst enemy," he states with conviction.

"Hey, Bard." You speak after hearing this. He glances in your direction, "You are aware that these are rats and you're not physically fighting them, right? It's important to me that you know that."  It seemed that everyone ignored your logic because Finny pulled out a cat and declared that the cat was part of his method, he also pulled a cat costume out of nowhere. "This'll scare the rat right out of the manor!" he grins at his idea.

Mey Rin motions down the hall, revealing literal dozens of mouse traps. You stare at the mouse traps, awestruck at how they were placed so quickly. "Again, the hall is now blocked by traps. what if another mouse comes along and you have to chase it?" You question, feeling like the only rational person here. Mara slaps you on the back. "Come on now (Y/n)! Have you never had to catch mice? It's difficult." She says, still missing your point. Before you can even respond, the mouse bounds past. 

"Look there it is!" Finny exclaims as the others follow suit. This leads to Mara also joining in on the chaos. Tanaka is wielding a net as Mey Rin somehow ends up with mouse traps attached to her; Baldroy and Finny can't seem to stop crashing into each other. You watch as Mara runs along with them. She is running and unfortunately, she trips, and a mouse trap catches her hand. "It's got me!" She exclaims as you burst out laughing. This is the moment that Sebastian appears. You can only imagine how he feels seeing Bard running around with food, two of the five of you covered in mouse traps, and Finny running around in a costume. Not to mention that you were still laughing at your friend. 

Sebastian's exhale halts your laughter. "What are all of you doing?" he asks, resembling a greatly disappointed father. His gaze shifts towards you. You shrug, wondering if he expected you to be the mature one. Sebastian seems to exhale at your gesticulation as well. Before he can utter another word, Bard speaks, "We're capturing the rats!" Sebastian turns his head to glance behind him as Ciel approaches. "Young Master." Ciel chooses to not acknowledge the chaos unfolding as he instructs Sebastian to ready a carriage for one of his guests whose name you couldn't bother remembering. Sebastian places his hand on his chest and flashes a closed-eyed smile as he agrees, "Of course. When I finish the preparations, I shall bring your afternoon tea to you. I have prepared apple and raisin dip pie for today's snack."

Ciel hums before glancing toward the servants. Choosing to ignore the chaos, his gaze lands on you. "(Y/n), between you and your friend, you are the more competent one. Do you have your 'cellular phone' with you at the moment?" he inquires. You pat your pockets, feeling the familiar weight, you nod in response, "Yup."

"Alright, let's go to my study. I'd like you to demonstrate how it functions, to the best of your knowledge, of course." He speaks. You had explained to him a few days prior that neither Mara nor you had invented it so you couldn't explain everything about it. "You got it." You respond, following him. The last thing you can hear before rounding a corner is another mouse trap snapping and Mara screaming again. 

After a prolonged silence as the two of you walk down to his study, you arrive. He steps inside, you can hear him murmuring about how the manor will never have peace. He walks around his desk and out of nowhere you watch a man grab Ciel by the face, holding a cloth over his mouth. "Fucking come on now..." you grumble, the man looks up in your direction. You watch Ciel pass out, this is when you notice that he is also wielding a gun. "Damn, why Couldn't I have I just paid attention when Mara turned this anime on?" You mutter before the man points the gun at you. "You can either come peacefully or not so peacefully." He motions toward his gun. You sigh, knowing that if you fought him back, there's more than likely at least one other guy somewhere near so you'd not only be putting yourself in danger but also Ciel. You place your hands up in surrender. After all, you were a thief, not a superhero. "Bloody hell," the man mutters, "didn't think there'd be more than the boy."  Unfortunately for you, you were right about a second person being present. You're soon aware that your fate is similar to Ciel's as a rag is thrown across your face. 'Damn it, Sebastian better fix this' is the last thought you have before you feel yourself slip into unconsciousness.

  You awake to blinding lights and speaking. You look up to see a man with a scar across his face speaking about Ciel. You are aware that your movements are being restricted by what seems to be belts. You glance over to see Ciel having similar bindings on him. You huff as you silently begin working your way out of them. You weren't going to move unless necessary though. If you did, both of you would probably be at risk. You sigh, 'Why am I literally always in these predicaments? Is this karma?' As you begin to free yourself, the man, who you now remember as being Azzurro, begins speaking again.

"You know, the Italian Mafia finds this country bothersome. It really is a pain." Azzurro utters, glancing in Ciel's direction. You opted to remain silent and watch as he spoke, knowing that your mouth might be the death of you. After all, you were most definitely not as important as Ciel here. He scoffs, "All the English and their damn tea-stained heads. Think about it," He grins, "What's beneficial in the market for us? It's not cleaning up or carrying things, nor women, nor spare parts. It's drugs." His grin falters, "Though thanks to the watchdogs, since we arrived, we haven't been able to catch a single scent."

'It was an order from the Queen not to let dealers do as they please with their drugs." Ciel stated, keeping his cold-eyed glance on the man.  The man rolls his eyes, "Come on, don't be so stubborn. This is why I hate the English. 'The Queen, the Queen, that's all you ever talk about. In the end, aren't we just sides of the same coin? I want us to cooperate a bit."

"It's not like you're any better." You grumble causing the man's eyes to snap towards you. "Ah, so she speaks!" He approaches you and crouches in front of you. "I was worried my men damaged your pretty face. Now you," He grins, grabbing your face with a hand. "Could be worth something too." "Unhand my servant, I have no intentions of conspiring with a filthy rat," Ciel says, casting a glare at the man. "I've left orders about your key. If I don't come back, my servants will be sure that the authorities get it."

Azzurro stands and glares at him before pulling out a gun and pointing it at Ciel. "If you don't tell me where it is then I'll start having your servants killed one by one!" He threatens. Ciel merely smiles in response, "Oh I think they'll be alright, but you better hope your dogs know how to play fetch."

'That cocky little shithead.' You think as you watch Azzurro raise his foot to kick Ciel. Out of instinct, you throw yourself in front of him to take the impact. Rich or not, Ciel was just a kid and you'd be damned if you stood by and let a grown man strike him like many others had done to you.

Now this probably wasn't a bright moment for you as his foot went directly to your face. Azzurro growled, now seeing that you were obviously almost unbounded. For extra measure he kicked you in the stomach, knocking the breath out of you as you involuntarily curled in on yourself for protection. He then leaned down and tightened the braces on you until it was honestly a little bit on the painful side of things. "You filthy bitch," Azzuro growled at you before turning around and grabbing his phone. As he did this you glanced up at Ciel from your spot by his feet, "Hey you okay up there?" You asked quietly. Ciel nods, he was clearly caught off guard by your actions. "Why did you do that? I would have been fine." He questions, the frown returning to his face. "Hey I'm the bodyguard, remember? I'm here to protect and serve as a Phantomhive servant." You grin at him. You knew that if you told him, it was because he was just a thirteen-year-old boy and you didn't tolerate child abuse, he'd probably kick you himself.

"Negotiations are off, kill him now!" You hear Azzurro speak very loudly into the phone. He put the phone down and turned to the two of you, grinning. "we'll see how tough the Queen's mutt is when all of his servants are killed."

You glance up towards Ciel who doesn't look the slightest bit concerned. After a moment Azzurro's phone rings. He places it to his ear and after a lull, he exclaims, "What do you mean you failed? You useless bastards! I knew I should've never hired scum like you! Return immediately!" 

Azzurro then pulls the phone away from his ear and you can hear the men he's talking to screaming and talking, though you can't make anything out from where you're at. "Hey, what's going on over there?!' He yells back into the phone.

You knew that Ciel was on the verge of speaking, which would inevitably lead to his beating. Glancing at him, you shook your head in warning. "Looks like the game of fetch failed," he remarked, disregarding your silent appeal. This was going to be painful. "Yeah, maybe your men are just as incompetent as you are," you retorted, gazing up from your position on the floor. You hoped that by speaking up, he would shift his attention to you. After all, you knew you could handle a few hits. You were no stranger to situations like this.

Unfortunately, Ciel still had to take a blow, but you took many more. "You damned brat, just keep your mouth shut. And you, woman" he snarls as he lands his final kick, "Did no one ever teach you your place among men?" He growls, and you merely groan in response. He then strides over and snatches his phone again, "If one of you two mongrels doesn't respond, I'll kill you!" He shouts. He is about to speak but cuts himself off. Your head feels fuzzy from receiving several kicks, and your ears are ringing, making it difficult to hear the conversation. But you can see Azzurro looking at Ciel, who was still able to face him, with a horrified expression. "Woof," Ciel states with a smirk. As your ears ring, you can faintly make out Sebastian's voice. "Understood I assume (Y/n) is with you as well. I will be there to get you momentarily. Do try to keep her from speaking too much."

  The line goes dead after that. You huff, of course, he jabs at you in a situation like this. Azzurro then begins shouting orders to his men about securing the place because of Ciel's guard dog. You sigh, you really wanted out of these restraints, but you also really didn't want to be beaten again. Alas, you decide it's for the best as you loosen your restraints. You lift your head to look at Ciel. "Man, Ciel. This is ass, you're lucky you have Sebastian. I'd loosen your restraints too, but it would ruin my master plan." You state as you soon hear gunfire. "Ciel glances at your battered face, raising a brow but not saying anything. "What? Am I too ugly to talk to now, come on man." Ciel sighs in response, "No I just believe you are an idiot for doing what you did."  "Hey, I may be stupid but at least we know I'm a good distraction. You're lucky I knew to keep my mouth closed too. Usually, I'm equivalent to Deadpool in these situations" You laugh, before putting your head back on the ground, muttering to yourself. "I'm going to feel this tomorrow, like a bad gym day."

You see Azzurro point his gun towards the door expectedly as he waits to see who has been causing all the chaos. Not too long after, you can hear shoes clicking, Sebastian opens the door and steps into the room. He turns his gaze towards Ciel and then you, making eye contact with him. You flash your teeth in a grin, to which he sighs. "I am here to retrieve my master and fellow servant." He speaks as he bows.   Azzurro seems surprised, "I was expecting a superhuman, not a butler in a tailcoat. Who are you really?" He questions, making sure to stay next to Ciel as he nudges your body behind him with his foot. You grunt as he continues speaking, "Are you a killer hired by the Phantomhives or an undercover officer? There's no way you're merely a butler. Regardless, if you want to save him, you'll have to go through me." Azzurro grabs Ciel and presses the gun to his head. "Wouldn't want your master to have a hole in his head, would you?

Sebastian glances down as he sees Azzurro push you back with his foot before returning his eyes to the man, "No, I am simply one hell of a butler. I assure you. Please refrain from causing unnecessary damage to the Phantomhive servants. After all, I have what you want." He says as he reaches into his tailcoat to pull out the key.

Almost immediately, a bullet flies through Sebastian's head. You cringe seeing the many others then fly through his body. But now that you are behind him, you can see Azzurro has a gun tucked in his pant line. He starts laughing as Sebastian falls to the ground, stating that he's won. He then turns to Ciel, "I won't hurt you; your organs are worth a lot. Not to mention you have plenty of enemies, I don't think you'll be alive much longer." He tauntingly presses the gun to Ciel's forehead. You use this moment to stand and use your skills to grab his spare gun without him even being aware. You firmly press it to the back of his head, "Unless you wanna take a deep breath through your fucking forehead, I'd reconsider your next words." You state, seeing the man freeze. Ciel smirks from his place before saying, "How much longer do you plan to play dead?"  

"Not long," Sebastian states as he begins to stand. Azzurro doesn't speak since your gun is against his skull. "Who would've known that technology would improve this much? It's incomparable to a century ago. Guns today can shoot so many more bullets." He chuckles as he then spits out the bullets that were shot into him.

"Gross but wait till you see them in my time." You say as Sebastian flings the bullets towards the men who shot him, killing them. Sebastian then pulls the end of his tailcoat out and frowns. "Oh dear," he states, "Look what you've done to a perfectly good tailcoat." You can barely see Ciel roll his eye as he scoffs, "Idiot. You could have avoided that, are you still going to play around?" Sebastian then looks at Ciel, "Master, how unfortunate, it seems they haven't taken very good care of you, though Miss (Y/n) seems to have taken more damage. But alright," he smirks as he wipes the blood from his mouth, "I'll be serious this time. But it's been so long since I've had any fun."

Azzurro begins to yell, seemingly forgetting that you're holding a gun to his head. "You step any closer and I'll blow his brains out!" In response, you casually clear your throat while pulling the hammer on the pistol back and clicking it into place. "Remember the whole forehead breathing thing? Yeah? It still applies here." You say. Sebastian grins a bit as he steps forward. Azzurro starts to panic, "I don't care that the bitch has a gun to my head I'll still shoot him before you can blink!"

"Sebastian, I order you to come save me." Ciel states, ignoring Azzurro.

Azzurro pulls his trigger and before you have time to do the same, Sebastian is right next to you, smirking as he always is and holding the bullet. "This...This is impossible!" Azzurro states, baffled. "Should I..?" you motion to the gun in your hand.

"That's quite alright (Y/n) you've done enough. Allow me to help return the favor." He responds before speaking to Azzurro, "I believe you dropped this." He places the bullet into Azzurro's breast pocket and his arm is immediately mangled.

He grabs Ciel and places him to the side Azzurro is rambling about not dying while trying to recruit Sebastian. Sebastian ignores him and shifts his eyes in your direction, looking you up and down before speaking, "Are you capable of walking?"

You glance down, "Yeah he got me pretty good but I should be okay."

"Brilliant, I believe it's best for you to step out of the room." He states, you nod, "Yeah I agree."

You begin to limp towards the door, you decide you're going to keep the gun. As you turn the safety on and pocket it, Azzurro grabs your ankle with his one good hand, "Please I don't want to die here...!" You stare at the man and Sebastian slams his foot down onto Azzurro's arm, "Don't touch her with your filthy hands." He states before looking at you, "As quick as possible would be preferable."

You nod and walk out as quickly as you can, closing the doors behind you. You walk across the hall and slide your back down to sit on the ground. "Damn it's been a long day, Mara is going to die considering the hardest part of her day has been deciding to eat a pie or not." You grumble as you put your head back against the wall. You yawn, "Man this is exhausting." You feel your eyes start to close.

Unfortunately, Azzurro's scream stops your blissful fall into sleep.

Shortly after, the duo walks out into the hall. You look at them, eyes half-lidded. "Go team," you say unenthusiastically.

"My, my, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," Sebastian says causing you to roll your eyes in response. "Can it, I don't need your commentary right now." You grumble. Sebastian walks towards you, crouching down to pick you up. "excuse me, what the fuck are you doing?" you glare at the demon.

"Alright, up we go," he says as he hoists you up. You writhe a bit in his arms, "I swear if you don't put me down, I'll send your ass straight back to hell, I've watched supernatural I know how to exorcise!" You exclaim, he merely tsk's.

"I ordered him to, now keep quiet," Ciel grumbles flatly.

  You glare at the boy too before settling. You lay your head against him before finally dozing off.

Just as soon as you fall asleep, you're awoken by Mara's annoyingly loud voice. You open your eyes to see the manor, forgetting Sebastian is holding you. "(Y/n)! Where have you been?! Were you pickpocketing and got beaten up again? Is that why you're so battered?" You'd be more annoyed if she wasn't practically bawling over this. The other servants were fawning over Ciel as well. You sigh, knowing not to say anything around the other servants. "Sure was, silly me," you grumble. Sebastian carries you inside, and Mara follows, loudly. "(Y/n), would you like me to carry you to your room or would you like to walk?" He asks.

You glance at the stares before sighing, "You already carried me here, may as well carry me to my room too."

"Very well." He responds curtly before carrying you up the stairs. As he arrived outside of your room, he turned to Mara. "I'd like to talk to Lady (Y/n) alone for a moment if you wouldn't mind waiting out here." Mara narrowed her eyes before agreeing, still slightly distraught at your state.

Sebastian walks into your room, closing the door behind him before placing you on your bed. You look at him suspiciously, "You're not going to like kill me or something...right?" Sebastian looks at you, "Of course not. I merely wanted to thank you for taking so much of the damage and protecting my master. He would never thank you. But I find it admirable that though you're not obliged you still put yourself in harm's way, going so far as to pull a gun on a man who was already wielding one."

You stare at him blankly for a minute, "And... you would? A demon. Thanking me. I think Azzurro actually did kill me. I'm dead and this is hell, makes sense."

This, again, elicits a chuckle from the demon, "I assure you this is not Hell and I am not as cruel as you think me to be. Alright, I'll leave you to your rest, Lady Mara's ear is against the door anyhow, so if you need me, you merely need to call, and I'll be here." He bows before smirking at you and quickly opening the door, causing Mara to fall into the room. "I'll bring dinner up when it is ready." Is the last this the butler says before he walks out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Mara runs to your side, examining you. "Mara, I swear to you I'm fine," you state. She looks at you, nodding after being sure you were absolutely sure. Her mood then completely flips. "Oh my God! You just got to go through a plot point!" You sigh, "It was painful."

"Painful or not, tell me everything!" She basically demands. You tell her everything, including the smackdown you took. You try to be as detailed as possible, knowing that she'd keep asking questions. "Hm, in the manga he calls Azzurro filthy for touching Ciel, how odd. That leads me to also wonder if we're in an anime or manga timeline. There's a pretty big difference. Like Alois and Claude are exclusive to the anime." Mara states, pausing, "God I hope this is the manga timeline, I do not want to meet them." You shrug, "Not sure, personally don't really care." You mutter.

"So," Mara starts as you lay your head back on your pillow, "Did Sebastian want to talk to you alone for any reason or...?" She trails off, eyeing you. "Uh yeah. Just to thank me for taking almost all the blows and putting a gun to Azzurro's head." You say, brushing it off.

Mara narrows her eyes at you, humming. "Shipping it." was the last thing she said before getting up, "I'm going to go help finish up dinner, try not to fall out a window or something, okay?" You roll your eyes, "Bitch."

"Oh, I love a supernatural reference. Jerk." She grins as she leaves your room. You roll your eyes and stare at the ceiling until you finally get the sleep you deserve.