#every one of these moments has meant so so much to me

[sixosix]

KING OF MY HEART, BODY AND SOUL | LYNEY

notes 2k words, does contain arlecchino quest spoilers but it’s nothing too big, mom and dad are fighting (i could be talking about any of them)

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Rosalie eyes the flower warily. “What am I supposed to do with that? My hands are—” The terrifying stranger pitches the flower to her lap, a clear rebuttal, “—tied… Okay.”

She wishes she could kick it off, yet her legs were also tied. Defeated, she accepts the offering but doesn’t say a word about it. Gratitude is far from what Rosalie is feeling at the moment. Ingratitude, fear, confusion. Those describe it better.

For better or for worse, Rosalie scrambles to take hold of the conversation, if only to show these people that she wouldn’t show her ingratitude, fear, and confusion. The flower jostles with her rough movements. “You’re—Fatui, aren’t you? I believe all of you owe me more than just a talk. What do you want with my child?” 

“Hey, lady,” the woman with the purple hood once again growls, “don’t talk to The Knave like that!”

The Knave. That sounds so familiar. Rosalie thinks deeply, wondering where she had heard it from in passing.

“It’s alright. She’s distressed,” The Knave addresses her subordinates, but she’s looking right at Rosalie. “You may refer to me as The Knave. Arlecchino, fourth of the eleven Fatui Harbingers.”

Harbingers. Out of the eleven, she managed to rope herself into the fourth one. Rosalie turns just a little bit pale. A Harbinger had been inside her shop without her knowing. If you had come home earlier, what would The Knave have done? Rosalie doesn’t know if this situation is any better, either.

“And, just so you know, before she was yours, she was my child first,” The Knave muses.

Oh. Right. Previous Fatuus and The Knave is a Harbinger—that makes sense.

“But—she’s not even involved with any of you anymore, right?” Rosalie asks weakly, her stomach taut with apprehension. “Why are you doing this? Where is she right now?”

The Knave appraises Rosalie for a good minute, as if her sorry state would make the choice for her. “I gave Y/N plenty of freedom. If I didn’t, you never would’ve even met her.”

Rosalie bristles. “What, I have to be grateful?”

The Knave huffs out a small laugh. “That would be narcissistic of me. Of course not. But you shouldn’t be hostile. If I meant to harm Y/N, I would’ve done so already.”

“Did you let her go on purpose?” Rosalie asks. She’s getting agitated by the power this woman is clearly showing off.

“I suppose you could say that,” The Knave wonders. “But I just had no worries. I’m more familiar with her than you think. I knew that she wouldn’t have gone too far. I knew this would happen eventually.”

Rosalie is confused. What is this? Was this one of those monologues that the bad guys jump into to reveal their master plan—like, in the musical plays?

“Of course, no one could have foreseen the Traveler's appearance.” The Knave taps a clawed finger on her chin thoughtfully. “That also made it much more complicated than it was supposed to be.”

Traveler. Where has Rosalie heard that before? “The Traveler… The Outlander? Aether?”

“Correct. Aether, as some of you prefer to address him. Had it not been for his interference, perhaps this wouldn't have turned out differently—he is an unexpected factor. Though, you, Miss Rosalie, you’re also one.”

Rosalie is still very much confused. But she sits still, obedient, wondering where this might go. The villains would reveal some flaw in their master plan somewhere.

“Or perhaps I would’ve left all of you alone had it not been for Lyney’s disobedience.” Wait, Lyney? “I will not have any distractions to the children occupied with their missions. He has already failed.”

“Y/N has been by my side almost every day. How would she have managed to sabotage a Fatui operation?” Rosalie asks.

“Showing up to Lyney’s show was enough of a distraction. I must admit, even I didn’t expect her to appear that soon. It must be The Traveler.”

“Wait, it was truly Mr. Lyney?!” Rosalie wasn’t even aware that Aether had been more than he let on, much less Mr. Lyney being Fatui.

Oh. Oh! Rosalie remembers now. The day she first saw Aether and Paimon was the day they went to watch Mr. Lyney’s magic show. Since then, you have begun acting strange, and Aether started to linger more often, but Rosalie hasn’t given it much thought. She simply chalked it up to you making friends—definitely not messing up a Fatui operation.

“Are you following, Miss Rosalie? Lyney has failed, and Y/N has disrupted our mission. You see, children in the House who go against our rules receive punishment.”

Rosalie doesn’t like where this is going. She knows the answer already: “What is the punishment?”

“Their lives.”

Rosalie winces. Fatui don’t play around.

“But Y/N isn’t part of the House anymore…?”

“Her memories are no different than one of a child currently in the House.”

At her stunned silence, The Knave seems to take pity. “I have a child that’s concocted a potion to make them kill a part of themselves that was involved with the Fatui.”

Kill a part of themselves?

Rosalie’s brain lags for a second. “Are—are you saying no one’s dyi—”

“If Y/N has no secrets to spill, then there is no reason to punish her. She can enjoy a life that never involves the Fatui in the first place. However, you became a factor. It would’ve been difficult for me to make her forget everything when you were there. If I make her forget her life in the House, she will forget you too, as everything that led up to meeting you involved the House. And that would make things a lot more complicated than necessary on your part.”

Is… she saying that she considered Rosalie’s feelings?

“Now, I am here to allow you to decide. You could also choose to forget her.” The Knave perches a hand on her hip. “You’re her mother now, are you not?”

“Why didn’t you ask Y/N first?”

“Would her answer dictate your decision?”

“Of course.”

“Even if she chose to forget you?”

Rosalie’s mouth parts for an answer. She wishes it was quicker than The Knave’s question that Rosalie feared more than anything, but instead, she finds herself uncertain. “…If that’s what she desires. I have no right to tie her by my side.”

“Hm. Quite an answer.” The Knave looks at Rosalie with what feels like a smile. It certainly doesn’t appear as one—neither side of her lips quirked, but her eyes felt lighter. “But do not worry. It’s why you’re here. Y/N would be asked, eventually.”

Ah. So Rosalie is just bait.

She wants to feel angry at the woman in front of her, but to her horror, she is instead understanding her. Like she could read what The Knave has been concealing behind each word—what the diplomat truly wants to say.

Rosalie hesitates, looking up at The Knave through her lashes. Her crimson eyes are terrifying, and having been tied up to a chair while the fourth of the Fatui Harbingers is standing is just as unsettling—Rosalie hasn’t relaxed an inch throughout the entire conversation.

“You still think of her as your child, don’t you?” Rosalie asks Arlecchino.

Arlecchino, fourth of the Harbingers, director and ‘Father’ of the House, turns away. “Attachments to traitors are only a hindrance in the House.”

It is not a clear answer, but doesn’t that make it clearer?

Rosalie takes a deep breath. She takes one long look at the flower on her lap, thinking back to when you first held one from her shop, froze it, looked at her with the roundest, fearful eyes, and knew that her answer was clear, too.

Thunder roared as the sun dipped behind the rolling hills of Fontaine. It struck badly and poured even worse. Each second passing without Rosalie in your sight, without knowing what could’ve happened to her, itched your rage and despair more and more. The more you worry, the more your temper rises.

You were arguing with Aether as to whether or not you should get the freaking Iudex involved—you vehemently refused, while Aether asserted that it was for Rosalie’s safety as well—when you spotted two familiar figures from afar.

Lynette is leading Lyney inside the shop, side by side. Your ire grows exponentially at the sight of them, hackles rising in a snap. How dare they. How dare they have the nerve to even think about showing their faces to you? How dare Lyney march back into your second life like he didn’t just ruin your first one, but now this, too.

Lyney’s eyes are wide with worry as they reach the door. “Y/N, what happened—”

“Of course you knew where I live,” you say, brimming with contempt. “Did you tell that to your ‘Father’, too? Or was she the one who told you?”

“I was the one who knew, Y/N,” Lynette admits, her voice infuriatingly calm. “Lyney knew you wouldn’t want him knowing where you lived, so I volunteered to get intel and give you his gift. We came here because we thought ‘Father’ did something, and, well…”

The atmosphere drops. Everyone feels it—everyone but you, the catalyst. They flinch at the assault of the biting chill, of your fury in the form of a glacier.

“What… happened?” Lynette asks cautiously, quietly. You’ve never seen her terrified of you; it’s so wrong, but what they’re doing to you isn’t right either. So, really, who’s the bad guy here?

“Rosalie’s been kidnapped,” you say, clipped.

“Your guardian,” Lynette says, surprised. “The woman who runs the shop, right?”

“My mother. Don’t act like you didn’t expect this to happen.”

“We’re pawns in this, too,” Lyney says, finally finding his voice, it seems. “Please, I know it doesn’t seem that way right now. Let us prove it to you if you let us help—”

You scoffed, bitter and cold. You bit back the bite of ice and wondered how ironic it was that every time your Vision acted out, it was, more often than not, tied to Lyney.

“What, so you expect me to believe you’d just go against your ‘Father’ like that?”

“I would,” Lyney says without missing a beat.

How maddening. Aether, Lynette, and Paimon were shivering, wide-eyed and unsure, yet Lyney stood unfazed. No, he burns. His eyes, his gaze, they smolder your bleak anger. But that only serves to irritate you even more.

“Lyney,” you warn.

“I would, Y/N,” Lyney cuts, eyes narrowed fiercely. “I would for you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Lyney.”

“I do. And you know I do!”

“Give me a good reason to believe that.”

“Because I lo—” Lyney grits his teeth, and finally, some real emotion—no more tricks, no more lies; his frustration satisfies you—at least until he says, “I like you, okay? You know this.”

Maybe deep down, you really did know. You felt it. Maybe you even feel the same. But your brain’s fogged over, and all you can think about is how Lyney keeps taking everything from you—‘Father’, your pride, your spotlight, and now Rosalie.

Aether reaches out. “Y/N—”

“Shut up. None of this would’ve happened if I never met you,” you snap, turning away at the sight of his eyes flashing with hurt.

You turn and stomp off, refusing to acknowledge their protests and Lyney’s weak pleading. The door slams shut and rattles, with ice spreading from where you’ve touched it. “Find your sister yourself. Stupid brothers, getting me involved… This is why I’m an only child…”

And so you’re back to square one. Alone. So be it. Maybe this is truly where you belong, anyway. You don’t need them, and you definitely don’t need Lyney and his blind love.

This is how it would come to be, eventually. You, leaving; or them, leaving you. You long expected it. Or maybe it is because you forced it—you wanted it like you’d feel in control if things went exactly as you expected.

So why does leaving them feel nothing like control?

notes i know i kept saying i was excited to post this chapter, but now that im actually posting it i got nervous LMFAOO its been a month since the last update. i dont know how i did tbh!!! but either way, tysm for reading and i hope u can stay with me for four more chapters <3

TAGLIST.

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[turquoisenintendo64]

Love Comes to Everyone !

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂

in which: a daughter of aphrodite is camp half-blood’s matchmaker, but can’t seem to find someone for herself.

percy jackson x daughter of aphrodite!reader

part 1

warnings: use of y/n, there is no such thing as forbidden children, percy has a little half-sister, pipabeth implied

a/n: part 2 of love comes to everyone!! this took me less than i thought. i’m so happy the part 1 got so much love <33

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂

you and percy were watching mary from afar, sitting on a tree branch, as she was playing with two apollo kids.

she hadn’t been claimed yet, what saddened you.

“have you eaten a whole lemon before?” percy asked, gaze fixed in mary.

“too sour,” you answered. “… have you?”

“it’s good,” he chuckled.

one of the apollo kids that were playing with mary approached you.

“i don’t think she’s a daughter of apollo,” she said, showing you four broken bows. “and she sings terrible.”

“well, we’ve tried everything,” he got up. “i surrender.”

you grabbed him by the shirt.

“we’re not leaving her until she gets claimed,” you said. “understood?”

he sighed, then grinned. “yes ma’am.”

you held mary’s hand, and led her to the dining pavilion.

“can i eat with you?” she asked, looking up at you and percy.

you shared a look.

“you have to eat at-“

“sure,” percy cut you off, “we’ll sit at my table, i’m the only one in it anyway.” he said, looking at you.

you explained offerings to mary, and after her many questions of why gods could possibly like the smell of burnt mac and cheese, she decided to give up her strawberries.

mary asked percy about his parents, and you noticed how he talked a lot about his mom and just a bit about his dad, even though mary was asking about poseidon all the time.

you went back to your cabin, finding annabeth and piper cuddling in piper’s bed while they talked in whispers. they told you they were going to have a picnic, if you wanted to go with them.

but you were not in the mood to third wheel your sister and her girlfriend, so you declined the offer. in addition, you had promised percy to accompany him while he showed mary around the beach.

you picked a blue dress and took a shower.

you blow dried your hair and asked one of your sisters to fish-braid your hair, and got frustrated when it didn’t look how you wanted. when it finally looked good for you, she helped you do your make up. natural, you didn’t want to seem desperate.

when you were all done you took a minute to think why were you trying so hard to look really good if you were just going to the beach with a little girl and a friend. right?

and to think that you subconsciously wore blue because you know percy’s favourite colour is blue.

you still denied having feelings for him, though. thinking, or rather, knowing he could have anyone much better than you.

but you couldn't help thinking he meant himself when he told you the one for you was closer than you thought. no, no chance.

you couldn't ask him, obviously not, he would probably laugh in your face and tell you you were deluded.

but everything with him felt so intimate, for some reason. you have been hanging out much more since mary arrived to camp, as she refused to be with anyone else that wasn’t you both. every glance, laugh, hug or smile felt way more intimate than it actually was, and you could not bare it.

so you did the cowardly thing, you avoided him.

you stopped talking to him completely, walking the other way when he was coming in your direction. this led you to not spend time with mary, too, since she was with percy all the time.

you didn’t want to be far from them, though. you felt really close with both of them. and you lost track of the moment when you stopped being with mary because you had to and started being with her because you wanted to.

you loved mary. she was the sweetest girl you have ever met, and you wanted to be around her all the time and be part of her life at camp half-blood. but she reminded you too much of percy.

but your unstoppable feelings went worse when piper told you the three of you looked like a happy family.

so you convinced yourself that’s how it had to be. away from them, so you wouldn’t fall in love with someone who was with you for duty and not want.

“y/n,” piper called, opening the bathroom door, where you were brushing your hair. “mary’s at the door, asking for you.”

you frowned slightly and headed to the door. you haven’t talked to mary in weeks, yet she still smiled at you as bright as ever.

“hi y/n!” she waved effusively, and her poorly done pigtails shook.

“hi mary,” you smiled sweetly at her, guilt consuming your head suddenly.

“i’ve missed you, where have you been?” she asked, and even more guilt flooded in.

she was just a little girl, leaving her without explanation was wrong.

but you still thought it was the best.

“i was busy, sorry. come in.” you stepped aside and she walked in, rather jumping than walking.

“can you do my hair? percy’s terrible at it, he can’t even do pigtails!” she pointed to her head.

“pigtails are the easiest thing ever, but he has short and always-perfect hair, so he doesn’t need to care about hairstyles,” you said.

you entered the bathroom again, and she entered before you.

you sat crisscrossed in the floor and she mirrored your action, sitting in front of you. you undid her pigtails and brushed her hair gently.

“you’re right, he’s just a boy,” she said matter-of-factly. you snorted.

“do you want pigtails or braids?”

“pigtails. percy has missed you too, by the way.”

you paused some seconds to process it, blinked a few times and continued brushing her hair.

“is that so?”

“yes. he was always expecting you to come with us, and was really sad when you never showed up.”

now you felt even more guilty. you knew they would get upset with your sudden disappearance, but hearing it directly was different.

“i’m sorry, i was busy with… things. thoughts,” you explained.

“don’t worry, it was fun with percy. he gave me one of his plushies, a dolphin. he told me dolphins are actually evil, but i think they are cute. he also gave me a magazine about sea animals,” she told you, excited. “i love sea animals, and percy knows a lot about them.”

“did you know percy can talk with them?” you said.

“yes! he told me. i had a fish, his name was robert. he always talked to me about his wife he left in the sea. i felt guilty and took him to the beach and-“

“you understood your fish? like you knew what he was saying?”

“yes. but percy does too, isn’t that normal?”

you did her pigtails quickly and rushed out of your cabin.

even though you were literally ignoring him and have been doing that for weeks, you ran to percy.

“percy,” you called.

he turned around, and his bright smile dropped, turning into a surprised look.

“y/n? where have you been? i haven’t seen you in-“

“mary is your sister,” you blurted out.

“what?”

“she’s a daughter of poseidon.”

he frowned.

“how do you know that? why do you appear suddenly and say something like that?”

you sighed. “she had a fish. robert. she could understand the fish, percy.”

he seemed too stunned to say anything. you didn’t know if it was for what you just say, or the bottled up anger he had towards you in that very moment.

in your staring-in-silence moment, you heard splashes of water. but it wasn’t until you heard gasps that you went to see what it was.

mary was fighting with a boy, visibly older than her, in the lake. she went to push him, but a wave of water took him down.

percy was going to get her, but you stopped him.

“wait,” you told him, with your hand resting in his chest. he tensed at your touch.

she looked scared, you wanted to go with her too. but you knew what could come next.

and you were right.

a huge, glowing trident appeared on top of her head, and everyone bowed.

mary now looked even more scared, and she ran towards you and percy.

“what is that?” she asked. the symbol faded, and she hugged you two tightly.

“you have been claimed,” percy told her. “by poseidon.” he smiled at her.

she looked up at him, with teary eyes.

“does that mean you are my brother?” she asked, joy suddenly turning her before sad eyes happy.

“yes,” he said, chuckling.

“mary wheeler,” you heard chiron say. he smiled warmly at her. “daughter of poseidon.”

“it fits,” you said, caressing her back.

“now we are going to be roommates, and we can share all of my plushies and magazines.” mary let out a laugh that melted your heart.

percy looked at you, smiling softly. you felt guilty again, for leaving them. but now you were together again.

you thought about your growing feelings, and if it was a good idea to speak about them. not in that moment, definitely.

you felt like you had to tell him whatever was going through your head, and maybe he would understand how stupidly you had acted. so you told him to meet you at the time of the campfire, so no one could bother you.

you found yourself stressing over looking good again, and wearing blue.

you heard piper snorting. she was leaning against the bathroom door as you were doing your makeup.

“what now?” you said.

“nothing,” and she walked away.

you rolled your eyes.

that’s too much blush. now i look like i just died. wrong shade. that was your train of thought as you got ready.

since when was having a crush so difficult?

you walked out the bathroom. everyone was already at the campfire, so your cabin was empty. you saw percy outside of your cabin, and suddenly you had the urge to change the jeans you were wearing, but it was too late.

you opened the door and smiled at percy.

“hey,” you greeted.

“hi,” he said back. he looked a bit sad, yet he was smiling.

you were grinning now, your cheeks almost hurting. gosh, you were absolutely nervous right now.

you closed the door and sat down at the stairs of the porch.

you stayed in silence for what felt like hours, none of you brave enough to break it. you had the feeling that he was just as nervous as you.

“what happened? why did you avoid me?” he asked, looking at you. he looked like a sad puppy.

“nothing. i didn’t mean to upset you, really, i was busy and confused with…” you paused, “something.”

“you could’ve talked to me. we’re friends, you can trust me,” he said, and you gave him a lopsided smile.

“i know, i know. i’m so sorry, i really am,” you said avoiding his gaze. your cheeks started to turn red and your words to trip. “i could not tell you what was happening. it was… it is difficult to say and…” you groaned.

he was still looking at you, patient. waiting for you to come up with something. something that could answer everything he has been questioning.

his green eyes were deep, deeper now than ever. the chill night breeze was brushing through his hair, and yours.

he was looking at your hair, and how beautiful it looked. how beautiful you looked. in the nightlight, you looked like you were glowing, natural spark emanating from you.

your flushed cheeks were even more bright. percy felt the need to hold your face and caress it. to touch you, hold you, kiss you.

he just wanted to be as close as possible to you, and not let you go away ever again.

“i’ve been feeling kind of weird lately,” you started.

he nodded.

“but not in a bad way, i think. i feel weird when i’m around you, i feel so nervous and anxious. i have a strange feeling in my when i think about you, as if someone was holding my heart.”

he suppressed a smile. but to you, it looked like he was disgusted with your words.

“what i mean is… i think i like you, percy. no, not like you. i think i’m falling in love with you, and that’s scary. super scary. i’ve been thinking for so long that maybe you like me too. remember that time when you told me love takes time? and maybe the one for me was closer than i thought? well, i couldn’t stop thinking that maybe you meant the one for me was you, but that doesn’t make sense and… i’m so sorry,” you finished. you hid your face in your knees and heard him laughing.

oh.

oh no.

he was laughing.

he was laughing at you.

this was the moment when he tells you ‘you have been being delusional this whole time!’ and leaves you alone. this was it, the end of the world.

oh holy aphrodite, if you are hearing me, please-

“i’m in love with you too.”

“i knew you would say that and- wait,” you looked at him.

his smile was as bright and big as the sun, and his cheeks were flushed, just like yours.

“you are?” you asked.

“i’ve always been. i really thought i was pretty obvious but… apparently everyone knew except you.”

you took a moment to stare at him a little longer. maybe now it was more appropriate, considering he was doing the same thing.

“you are gorgeous. it makes me kind of mad,” you told him. a laugh slipped from his lips, and you felt the need to kiss him until you were out of breath.

“well, you are beautiful,” he responded.

just now you realised how close he was. his eyes darted from your eyes to your lips, and he didn’t let you much time to react when he leaned in to kiss you.

you kissed him back, caressing the back of his neck.

his hands traveled to your hips and he pulled you closer. you felt him smile in the kiss.

the kiss shifted from sweet to more passionate. his hands were all over you, touching you like he feared you would disappear.

you pulled away, he followed your lips as you separated.

“your chapstick tastes good,” he joked. you chuckled softly.

“it’s blueberry,” you told him.

“wear it more, i like it,” he stroked your hand.

you smiled at him lovingly.

you loved him, and he loved you too. finally someone loved you too.

you’ve spent your whole life waiting for your turn to be loved, and now he was in front of you.

you were glad it was percy. it couldn’t be anyone but him.

annabeth and piper were hiding behind a tree, looking at you.

“great,” piper said. “now we owe mary five bucks.”

[wholoveseggs]

Hey lovely, your latest story gave me an idea. How about Reader and Elijah have been together for a while, but he is the one to avoid sex. Every time he has been with a human, it overpowered them or hurt them. He can't keep Red Door Elijah in check, which is fine when he's with a supernatural being, but not when he's with a human. Reader knows his backstory but is determined to show him that their love is different.

Control

{I've officially run out of gifs I want to use, so I'm in my moodboard era now}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Plagued by nightmares of hurting you, Elijah avoids any form of intimacy, but you have had enough. You confront him about his rejection and Elijah finally learns how to let go and lose control.

♡♡ Thanks for the request @originals23, love love love red door elijah and his dark side ♡♡

6k words - Warnings: smut, fluff, lots of angst, red door Elijah, trauma, nightmares, visions of death, blood, blood drinking, rough sex, aggressive flirting, dom!elijah, jealously, masquerade ball, elevator vandalism...

Elijah needed control the way a drowning man needed air. It was as if it was a basic function, like oxygen, like blood. He had always been that way, even before he was turned, but it got worse when he was forced to take lives for food and to stay alive. His nature demanded he take what he wanted, when he wanted, but he was afraid of that, so he clung to rules, to discipline.

But no matter what he did, he was still plagued with the same nightmare. You, his perfect love, dead in his arms. Your body limp and lifeless, your eyes open but vacant. And all because he couldn't control himself. Your blood stained his skin, his clothes, his heart.

You knew better than to sneak up on a sleeping vampire, but it wasn't just any vampire. It was your Elijah, your sweet, loving, gentle Elijah.

All you wanted to do was surprise him with some coffee. It was going to be a long day, there was a huge party being hosted by Marcel. All of the factions were gathering for a masquerade ball, the first of its kind in centuries. There were rumors of a peace treaty in the works, and the festivities were the opening salvo.

You were beyond excited, you never experienced this sort of thing, and you were so happy that Elijah would be by your side. You picked out a matching set of masks for the two of you. For him, a sleek, black one with dark feathers at the tips. For yourself, a delicate, lace one in a deep crimson.

When you were younger, you had dreams of wearing beautiful, elaborate gowns, and dancing the night away with a handsome man. You couldn't help but feel giddy thinking about tonight.

You set the coffees down on a nearby table. Elijah's room was dim, only a small shaft of light peeking out from behind the curtains. He was curled up in the center of his large bed, his hair was disheveled and his lips were parted. The sheet was pooled around his hips, revealing his chiseled chest and toned arms.

He was beautiful, and you very much wanted to explore every bit of him. But he wouldn't allow it. He wouldn't allow himself to lose control. He had told you about his darkness, the red door, the place where he put all of the sins he couldn't live with.

When his control was frayed and his mind was weak, it would whisper to him, tempt him. Because there, in that space, he didn't have to feel guilt or pain. He was free. Free to do as he wished. He would be able to take you, claim you, love you the way his darker instincts screamed at him to.

You pulled off your sweater and boots, leaving you in just a mini dress and socks. You padded over to the bed and carefully slid under the covers, trying not to disturb him. You cuddled up next to him, your hand resting on his chest. You wished he would let you in, let you experience all of him, the good, the bad, the ugly. You loved him, and that meant loving everything about him.

Elijah had sensed your presence from the moment you entered his room, but he remained still, feigning sleep. His sweet little love, so utterly defenseless and vulnerable, alone in a vampire's bed. His fingers itched to touch you, to pull you into his embrace and never let you go. He could hear your heartbeat, steady and strong, could smell the sweet perfume you had dabbed behind your ears, and could feel the heat radiating off of your body. He was acutely aware of every aspect of you. It was hard not to give in to temptation, to pull you into his arms and kiss you until your lips were swollen and pink.

"Elijah," you said softly, in a sing-song voice. You brushed your fingers along his jaw, the stubble rough against your soft skin. He stirred slightly, pretending to wake.

"Hmm, good morning, love." He rasped, his voice heavy with sleep.

You kissed him softly, smiling into it. "Good morning. I brought us coffee."

He hummed, "That's perfect. Thank you, sweetheart."

"I can't wait for tonight." You sighed, tracing your fingers down his throat and along his collar bones.

Elijah was torn between letting his eyes flutter shut at the contact or watching your movements. You had him entranced.

"I can't either," he agreed. "You'll be the most beautiful woman there, I have no doubt."

You blushed at his compliment and kissed him again, your lips lingering against his. He groaned and rolled onto his side, bringing his hands up to cup your face, his thumbs stroking along your cheekbones. He let himself give in just a little, let the control slip a fraction. You gasped into the kiss as his tongue swept along the seam of your lips. Your lips parted, allowing him entry. You melted against him, your hand coming up to rest on his bicep.

His hands slid down your body, mapping every dip and curve, memorizing the feel of you. Your skin was like silk, your body supple and soft. You had a slight tremor, nervous, or maybe excited. He wasn't sure, but he loved how your breath hitched as he moved his hands lower and lower, until his palms were flat on your backside, his fingers flexing as he pulled you flush against him.

You hummed, a noise somewhere between a sigh and a moan. He drank it in, taking all of your little sounds and storing them in his memory. He rolled, pulling you with him so that you were under him. You moaned as he settled between your thighs, his weight a welcome comfort. He moved his mouth down, nipping at the skin of your throat and collarbone, careful not to let his fangs break the surface.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling gently. You had fantasized about being with him in this way for so long, dreamed about how his body would feel pressed against yours, how his hands would feel on your bare skin. You didn't know what caused this shift in him, this sudden willingness to be intimate, but you were glad for it.

You tugged at the waistband of his boxers, trying to tell him what you wanted. You were not a shy person, you wanted to experience what it was like to be with such a powerful creature, to feel his strength and passion.

Elijah groaned and rocked his hips against yours, letting you feel how much he desired you. His control was slipping, and he didn't care. You wanted him, and he would have you. He leaned back to look at your beautiful face, wanting to etch this moment in his memory for all eternity. You were a vision, cheeks flushed and eyes dark with want.

Suddenly everything started to warp, your flushed skin turned cold, your warm eyes grew distant, and your heart slowed to a stop. His breath caught as a trickle of blood leaked from the corner of your mouth. He looked down at his hands and they were covered in your blood, the dark, rich liquid soaking the sheets and staining his skin.

"No, no, no, no, no." He chanted, trying to bring you back, willing the darkness to recede.

Your eyes were glassy, lifeless, bite marks all over your neck, your chest, your legs. You were covered in them, the evidence of his weakness, his inability to keep his desires in check.

Elijah threw himself from the bed, stumbling backwards. He clutched his head in his hands, a scream ripping from his throat. You were gone, dead, and it was his fault. He would never be able to look at your smiling face, never hear your soft laugh, or feel your lips on his again.

"Eli?" you said, stunned by his sudden departure. He was now across the room looking like a caged animal, his eyes wild and his hair a mess. You climbed out of the bed and slowly approached him. He looked like he was going to bolt, his muscles tense and his breath ragged.

"Are you alright?" you asked, reaching out to touch his arm.

"Don't!" he shouted, flinching away from your touch. "Don't touch me."

"Okay," you said, holding up your hands. "I won't."

He felt like he was losing his grip, the world was shifting around him, the ground threatening to give out beneath his feet. He felt like he was back there, back in that slaughterhouse that haunted him, the place that whispered his darkest desires, the place that taunted him with visions of what he truly was, no matter how much control he thought he had over it.

You reached out to him again, and he snapped. He grabbed your arm and pushed you against the wall, his eyes black and his fangs sharp. You gasped, but didn't struggle, trusting that he would never hurt you.

He released you at once, horrified by what he had done. He backed away, shaking his head. "No, no, no. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

He sank to his knees, his eyes wild and frantic.

"It's okay, Eli." You said, kneeling in front of him.

"You need to leave, please." He begged, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm not going anywhere." You said firmly, reaching out to touch him again. He tensed, his breath hitching as you made contact.

"LEAVE," he roared, his eyes flashing. You jerked your hand back, surprised by his outburst.

Elijah regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, he watched you run out of the room and all he wanted was to chase after you, but his pride and fear kept him rooted in place. He couldn't let you be around him, look at what he did? If he couldn't control himself in a moment of passion, what would happen if he really let go?

Elijah stood in front of his mirror, adjusting and readjusting his tie. His hair was combed and his suit was tailored perfectly. But none of it felt right, the buttons on his shirt were too tight, the cufflinks too heavy, the material of his suit too coarse. He needed it all to go away.

He felt like a monster. A monster wearing a man's skin.

Elijah closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could do this. He could get through this night. He didn't know if you were coming to the party, and he couldn't decide if he wanted you there or not. He hated the idea of you being away from him, but he also couldn't bear the thought of you seeing him like this, a man unraveling, barely keeping himself together.

He opened his eyes and forced himself to smile, but the sight was a mockery. His lips were pulled taut, and his teeth looked like daggers. He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, he wanted to tear down the entire city and start anew.

"Elijah! we are going to be late!" He heard Rebekah yell from the courtyard below.

"Be right there," he called, his voice hoarse. He gave himself one last look in the mirror before he walked out of the room and descended the stairs. He could see his siblings all gathered, dressed impeccably with their dates on their arms.

Klaus was talking with Camille, they were dressed in matching shades of blue. Freya and Keelin were standing close together, their hands entwined. Kol was whispering something in Davina's ear, making her laugh. Rebekah was on the phone with Marcel, telling him she was on her way. And Hayley was chatting with Jackson, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist.

"There you are." Freya said, noticing his presence. "Where is y/n? She was so excited about tonight."

The sound of your name made his chest ache, he was about to explain, or rather, come up with a plausible excuse when he heard a voice from behind him.

"I'm right here."

He turned around to see you walking down the stairs, dressed in an ornate black gown, matching his suit, your mask hanging in your hand.

"Y/n," he said, stunned by how beautiful you were.

You smiled slightly and approached him, your heels clicking on the stones. He took your hand, inspecting your arm. It was bruised and there were small scratches from where he had dug his nails into your skin. He brushed his fingers over the marks, regret and guilt filling him.

"It's fine," you said, squeezing his hand.

"No, it's not."

You leaned in and kissed him softly, the feeling of your lips on his caused him to relax a little. He kissed you back, the contact grounding him, reminding him why he needed to stay in control, for you.

"Let's go," Klaus said, gesturing for everyone to follow him out the door.

You took your mask and placed it on, the crimson filigree complimenting the dark silk of your gown. Elijah put on his mask, the bold design making his dark eyes stand out.

The group arrived at Marcel's penthouse, finding the place already crowded. People were drinking, dancing, and mingling. It was a lively atmosphere, filled with music and laughter.

"It's nice," you commented, holding Elijah's hand.

"It is," he agreed, looking around the room. "Shall we?"

He gestured to the dance floor and you nodded, taking his offered arm. He led you to the center of the room, where couples were already twirling and spinning.

"May I have this dance?" he asked, his voice low and seductive.

"You may," you answered, giving him a shy smile.

He took your hand and placed his other on your hip, guiding you through the steps. The two of you swayed to the music, moving gracefully.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his lips brushing your ear.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," you reassured him.

He wanted to argue, but you didn't give him a chance. You captured his lips in a kiss, the world around you melting away. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. The two of you stayed locked in the embrace, the music and the crowd fading into the background.

The two of you danced for a while, enjoying the feeling of being close to one another. The environment letting him relax a little. But when the music changed, becoming slow and sultry, his mind started to drift.

Elijah imagined pushing you against a wall, kissing your neck and leaving marks. He wanted to rip your dress off, and explore every inch of you. He wanted to bite you, to taste your blood. He wanted to claim you, to make you his.

He wanted to let go, to allow himself to give in. To experience the kind of pleasure and power that only came with a lack of control. But then he saw the blood again, the crimson of your mask, the ruby red of your lipstick, turned to the viscous liquid that both haunted and nourished him.

"What is it?" you asked, noticing the way his body tensed.

"Nothing," he said, his voice strained. "I just need a drink,"

He let go of you and headed to the bar, needing some strong alcohol to help calm his nerves. He ordered a scotch and downed it in one go, the liquid burning his throat. He ordered another, and another, until the world was pleasantly fuzzy and his thoughts were quiet.

"Mr. Mikaelson, so good to see you," a woman said, coming up to him.

"Madam," he replied, not looking up from his drink.

"How is business?" she asked, clearly wanting to engage in a conversation.

"Fine." He said shortly, hoping she would get the hint.

"The party is wonderful," she commented, sipping from a champagne flute, her mask was turquoise and silver, a few strands of her dark hair escaping her updo.

"Thank you, the decorations were my sister's doing," he replied, trying to be polite.

"Ah yes, your sister," the woman said, her eyes drifting over the crowd, landing on the blonde vampire. "She's almost as pretty as you," the woman added, a seductive smile on her lips.

"You're quite flattering, but I'm spoken for," Elijah told her, not unkindly.

The woman pouted. "So I heard, a human though? That must be...difficult," she said.

"How so?" He asked, not liking the direction the conversation was going.

"Humans are frail, their lives are fleeting," the woman replied, her hand coming to rest on his chest. He looked down at her hand touching him, her daylight ring a large sapphire. "And they are so easily broken," she added.

He clenched his jaw, trying not to let her words get to him. "That is why they are treasured," he replied, scanning the crowd in search for you.

"They are food. I thought an original vampire would know the difference," the woman grinned, enjoying getting a reaction out of him.

"Watch your tongue, Madam, or you might find it missing," he warned, his voice low and dangerous.

"Oh, feisty," the woman purred, her free hand went up and she ran her finger over the edge of his mask. "You could have any creature here, take them however you want. Break them in the best possible way," she purred, her pupils dilated.

"That's not how I operate, now if you will excuse me," he said, his anger starting to bubble.

"That's how you used to operate," the woman taunted, her fingers trailing over the buttons of his jacket. "I'm a little hurt that you don't recognize me," the woman pouted, batting her eyelashes at him.

"Should I?" He asked, trying to place her face.

"Paris, summer of 1783, you had me by the hair, bent over the side of a balcony, fucking me so hard that the cement cracked," she told him, licking her lips. "You were wild, rough, animalistic. And it was amazing," she breathed, her gaze unfocused as she remembered the night.

Elijah couldn't remember her, nor did he remember the event. It was amusing to him that this vampire thought she was special. She wasn't. He had bedded hundreds, maybe even thousands, of women. He only ever remembered the ones he loved.

"A shame you can't recall, I've thought about it many times over the years," she said.

He raised his eyebrows. "That's a bit pathetic," he said bluntly.

She laughed, not taking offense. "Perhaps, but the sex was fantastic, I can still feel your bite," she smiled, her eyes falling to his mouth.

Elijah shook his head. "My dear, I'm sure there are plenty of willing participants here, if you truly wish to relive the past, you'll have no trouble finding someone to assist," he said dismissively.

"I would prefer you," the woman said, her tone changing. "No one here matches your power, no one can fuck me like you did."

"Maybe try Niklaus, ask him to bite you," he smirked, watching as his brother and Camille were laughing together.

"Both of you dating humans, what a complete and utter waste," she said, her eyes flicking to you. "I bet I could make you forget all about her," she cooed, pressing herself closer to him.

You could see this vampire all over Elijah, touching him and speaking in his ear. You weaved through the crowd, wanting to put an end to it.

Elijah's attention turned from the woman, a smile spreading across his face as he saw you walking towards him.

"I'm going to have to politely decline, thank you." he said, reaching his hand out for yours.

"Come now, surely you could use some relief," the woman cooed, her hands trailing over his body, ignoring your presence completely.

You didn't quite know what came over you, but you reached up and gently slapped her hand away from him.

The vampire turned her attention to you, her eyes going to the bruising on your arm. She let out a laugh. "Oh my, perhaps I was wrong, looks like your little plaything can handle you," the woman mocked, a smirk on her lips.

"Don't," Elijah growled, not appreciating her words.

She just laughed and shrugged, turning her attention back to him. "If you change your mind, I'll be here all night." the vampire winked at him and walked away, joining another group.

Elijah let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

You gave Elijah a half-smile, hoping he wouldn't think you were stupid for hitting the vampire. She could have so easily crushed you, but you weren't afraid of her.

"Who was that?" you asked, annoyed by the exchange.

He shook his head. "An old lover, it seems," he told you, his lips pressed in a thin line.

"Oh," was all you said, sadness filling you. You weren't the overly jealous type, but knowing that vampire had Elijah in a way you hadn't made you envious and sad.

Elijah saw the change in your demeanor and realized he had not answered the question right. You misunderstood him.

"Not a recent lover," he explained. "It was a very long time ago, and I do not remember the night," he assured you, his hand cupping your cheek.

You sighed, his touch instantly easing the tension in your body.

He pulled you close, his arm wrapping around your waist. "That was very brave of you, that could have ended very badly" he said softly in your ear.

Your hands went to his shoulders, clinging to his jacket, the material warm from his body. "You make me feel brave, you make me feel safe," you murmured.

His heart constricted. He didn't deserve your faith or your trust. The bruise on your arm was proof enough of that. He should let you go, make you hate him and walk away from you before you get hurt anymore, but he couldn't. Not while you were looking up at him with all that trust and affection in your eyes. He loved you far too much to give up.

He leaned in and kissed you, the familiar spark of electricity passing between you. He deepened the kiss, his hand cupping the back of your neck. He was pouring everything he felt for you into it, hoping you could feel the depths of his love and devotion.

You returned the kiss, trying to convey all the things you couldn't say. You broke apart, panting slightly. He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed.

"Eli, I was hoping that we could...," you trailed off, biting your lip.

"What?" he asked, his eyes fluttering open.

"I want us to...you know," you whispered.

His eyes darkened, hunger and need filled him. All of the work he had done to push away his urges, to protect you, had unraveled in an instant. Now all he could focus on was the vision of your body beneath his, the feeling of skin against skin. The blood flowing through your veins singing a song to him that he could not deny, at least, not completely.

He pulled you a little closer, swaying you to the music playing, his other hand gripping your hip possessively. You watched his pupils dilate, saw the tension in his jaw and the bob of his Adam's apple.

"Not tonight," he murmured, trying his hardest to hide how much he wanted you, how much it would hurt to reject you again.

Your fingers curled around the lapels of his suit jacket, tugging on it a little harder than you meant to. He never wanted to give in, to allow himself a taste of pleasure. Even with his walls down, Elijah could never truly give himself to you completely.

His hands went to yours, prying your fingers from his jacket, his eyes dark and dangerous. "You do not understand how difficult it is," he hissed.

You pulled against his grip, anger bubbling up. "So, help me understand," you said in a soft tone, ignoring the fact that you were arguing in a room full of people and that you were both gripping each other hard enough to bruise.

"It feels like..." you started, shaking your head a little, "like, I am not enough. Do you not want me? Or have you realized that you need more and I cannot provide that to you?" You finished in a small voice.

His grip on your hands tightened, a warning look flashing in his eyes. "You are more than enough," he whispered, his eyes softening.

You took a steadying breath. "Then. Please. Fuck. Me," you said bluntly.

Elijah let go of you as if you had burned him. Your words cut him deeply.

You let out a frustrated sigh, his rejection stinging. "I... I'm going to go home," you said, blinking back tears.

He went to grab you but you moved out of his reach, his fingers barely grazing your arm. He watched you leave, his eyes following your figure until it disappeared into the crowd.

It was in that moment that he knew he had to make a decision, either he could keep trying to be gentle with you and risk losing you or he could give in and have you completely, but at the cost of hurting you.

Elijah drained his drink and placed the empty glass on the bar, his mind made up. He followed you, moving so fast that no one saw him leave.

You were upset, your feelings a tangled mess, waiting in a quiet hallway for the elevator to arrive. Your eyes were glazed with tears, your breathing shaky. You didn't know what to do, and you didn't know what you wanted from him.

You were lost in thought when the elevator dinged, announcing its arrival, but before the doors opened, hands were on your waist and you were pressed against the wall. His lips were on yours, hungry and demanding. You gasped and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth.

You melted into his touch, your fingers tangling in his hair. His hands were on your thighs, lifting you up and pushing your dress higher.

You wrapped your legs around him, pressing your body against his. The heat between you erupting, causing a soft moan to escape your lips.

He broke the kiss, his mouth going to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and bites. His hands were on your hips, pulling your body closer. He was rough and urgent, his nails digging into your skin. You gasped, arching into him, needing to feel more.

"You want me to fuck you?" he whispered in your ear, his voice low and husky. "I will," he promised, his lips ghosting over yours.

You clung to him, giving yourself over to the moment. He lifted you off the ground and carried you to the elevator. The doors slid open and he stepped inside, pressing you against the wall. His hands were all over your body, touching and teasing.

You were so caught up in his touch that you didn't notice the doors closing, trapping the two of you alone. He punched the panel, making the elevator come to a jerking stop. He kissed you, his hands finding their way under your dress, pushing the fabric out of the way.

He gripped your hips, grinding against you. The intensity and desperation in his touch was new, making your head spin. You wanted more, needed more. You moaned, the sound echoing off the walls. He groaned, his fingers digging into your skin.

He pushed your panties aside, sliding a finger into your wet heat. You gasped, arching into him. He pumped his finger in and out of you, curling it inside of you. He added a second finger, his thumb rubbing circles around your clit.

He groaned, the feeling of you tightening around him almost too much, his lips brushing your ear. "I want to hear you say my name when I make you come," he whispered, his hot breath tickling your skin.

All you could do was nod, your cheeks flushed and your eyes closed, it was all happening so fast and you couldn't get enough of it. He pressed his lips to your neck, nipping at your skin. He added a third finger, the heel of his palm pressing against your clit.

Your eyebrows arched, locking eyes with him, your mouth open and your hands clutching his jacket. The pressure was building and you felt like you were going to explode. You gasped, his fingers pumping in and out of you.

"Elijah," you said his name breathlessly.

"That's it," he encouraged, pulling on your earlobe with his teeth. "Say my name," he ordered.

"Elijah," you moaned, the pressure coiling tighter.

"Again," he demanded, his hand speeding up.

"Elijah," his name fell from your lips, your release crashing through you.

Your eyes slammed shut, your head thrown back, the muscles in your neck straining. You were trembling, a sheen of sweat coating your skin. He slowly withdrew his fingers, placing gentle kisses along your neck and jaw. You could feel his fangs graze your skin.

He was so hard, you could feel his erection pressing against you. You shifted your weight, trying to gain some friction, but he pulled away, his hands on your hips, pinning you in place.

You opened your eyes, looking at his face, his eyes completely black, the veins under them moving, his mouth open slightly, showing his fangs. You felt fear, but not the type of fear that made you want to run, but the kind of fear that sent a thrill through your body, the kind that made you crave danger.

You lightly traced your fingers over the veins, a smile on your lips. His chest rising and falling rapidly. You ran your finger over his lower lip, and he leaned in, his fangs scraping the pad of your finger. You could feel the sharp tips. He was so dangerous, so lethal, a perfect predator, yet here you were, trapped and wanting nothing more than to have him consume you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He pressed his body against yours, his erection grinding against you. You moaned, reaching between you, your fingers deftly working the button and zipper of his trousers. You tugged his boxers down, his hard cock springing free. You wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him.

"Fuck," he growled, his hips bucking, seeking more of your touch.

You tightened your grip, stroking him faster, twisting your wrist a little. He groaned, his hands on your thighs, his eyes hooded and his mouth parted slightly.

You released him and wrapped your arms back around his neck, grinding yourself against him. He growled, his hands cupping your ass, lifting you. You used the wall for support and wrapped your legs around him, angling yourself just right. You cried out as he pressed inside, stretching and filling you.

His breath was hot against your neck. "That's my girl," he said softly.

He paused a moment, giving you time to adjust. Then he started to thrust, his rhythm slow and measured, watching the way your expression changed as he fucked you. You moaned, your legs tightening around him, your ankles locking together, trying to pull him closer.

He pumped his hips, burying himself deep inside you. You tilted your head back, exposing the soft flesh of your neck.

It took every bit of control he had not to give in and bite you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, feeling your blood pump just below the surface of your skin. His hips snapped harder, driving into you, focused on fucking you, on drawing more delicious moans and whimpers from sweet lips.

The coil within you grew tighter, the pressure increasing with every movement of his hips. You clung to his jacket, needing something to anchor you, feeling as if you were spinning out of control. He grunted with each thrust, the sound of skin against skin almost drowned out by the blood pumping furiously in your ears.

His eyes never left yours, a predatory look crossing his features, his fingers gripping the swell of your ass, pounding into you with incredible force, your head hitting the wall with each powerful thrust.

It was intense and consuming and you couldn't get enough of him, and neither could he.

You lost track of how many times you'd come, all you knew was the sweet, aching tension was building again and you didn't know if you could handle another. He held you so tight, your body pressed so close to his, his fangs threatening to pierce the delicate skin of your neck. You couldn't stop, you didn't want it to stop.

Then his rhythm faltered, his breathing becoming labored, his hips pumping furiously. He needed a release. It had been a while since he'd experienced such raw, carnal lust.

He could no longer keep himself from drinking from you, he'd waited too long, denied his primal urges. With a snarl, he sunk his fangs into the side of your neck. A guttural cry fell from your lips, your back arching as you came undone, the sudden pain mixed with the pleasure so intense, you felt your vision darkening as you blacked out.

Elijah gripped your thighs, his lips pulling blood from your body, sending your pulse racing, your blood so hot and sweet that he thought he would combust. He let himself go, cumming deep inside of you, your blood in his mouth, the sweetness coating his tongue and rushing into his system. Your body went limp in his arms, your heartbeat slowing.

Sudden panic consumed him, what had he done? The guilt and fear crashed over him in waves. You looked so pale, you were dying in his arms and it was his fault. The rage and self-hatred he had tried so hard to keep in check ripped through him, his true nature unleashed.

But then you opened your eyes, smiling at him dreamily and something inside of him snapped back into place.

Elijah chuckled, still inside of you. He grinned, the edges of his lips curving upwards. He kissed you softly, reverently.

"Holy fuck Elijah," you chuckled, panting slightly, your heart beating erratically, but you felt alive and amazing, and loved.

"You scared me for a moment," he confessed, resting his forehead against yours.

"That was.. You are..," you struggled for words. "Just wow," you laughed.

You held on to him, wrapping your arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He wrapped an arm around you, supporting you, the other stroking the side of your head. You breathed him in, savoring the moment, never wanting it to end. He smiled, nuzzling your cheek, his nose rubbing against your skin.

"Let's go home, I want you all to myself," you murmured, kissing his neck, the taste of him filling you.

He chuckled, his voice a deep rumble. "As you wish."

"We have a lot of catching up to do," you grinned, thinking of all the things you were going to do to him.

Elijah chuckled. "My sweet girl," he murmured, kissing you gently.

The elevator rattled, the emergency lights coming on. Elijah pulled away from you, adjusting your dress, smoothing the fabric. He zipped and buttoned his trousers, straightening his clothes. The panel was broken, slight electrical sparks coming from the metal. Elijah gripped the doors, forcing them open. He stepped out and helped you down. You smoothed your dress, looking at him shyly. He grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers, leading you out of the building.

"I like it when you lose control, perhaps that was the solution all along," you teased, walking along the street, your fingers intertwined with his.

Elijah laughed. "Perhaps, my darling, you may be right."

And with that, he swept you off your feet and into his arms, carrying you out into the night.

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[reiderwriter]

reiderwriter 5k writing challenge

hello, my lovelies, and thank you so much for 5k followers~♡ it's been just under a year since I started writing on here, and it's been so fun interacting with everyone and writing for Spencer and the other members of the BAU team! I was a bit unprepared for some of my other milestones and threw some stuff together last minute for them, but I've been thinking about a writing challenge for a while and I finally decided to do it!

Please note: This is a writing challenge! All the prompts below are meant to inspire you to write your own fics and not as prompt requests for me. I hope you can use them as a starting point to write~♡

The theme for the challenge is:

daydreams and shooting stars`☆

There are two sets of prompts to choose from! The daydreams' prompts are based on classic fanfiction tropes that we know and live, and the shooting stars prompts are based on the zodiac signs. There are 12 prompts in each list, and you're welcome to mix and match prompts as you like! Maybe you'd like to combine your star sign with your favourite trope, or two particularly match well, or if you like a single prompt, you can just write for that. I don't mind if the fic is only very loosely based on the prompt, too, do whatever you'd like!

The writing challenge will run up until my 1 year writing anniversary, July 27th, so you have plenty of time to get your fics in! I'll be reblogging all the entries, and at the end, I'll add them to a recommendation list! Be sure to tag @reiderwriter in your fic, or use the hashtag #reidersdaydreams or #reidersshootingstars in your tags! I'll be tracking both~♡ You can submit as many entries as you like!

Rules for submissions will be at the end. Please read them before submitting~♡

without further ado, here are the prompt lists~☆

DAYDREAMS

ONLY ONE BED - a true classic in the sense that I will be reading only one bed fics down to the second I take my last breath. Feel free to invert this to "too many beds," or even "no beds at all, but somehow we're still cuddling," either way, I will read it and likely enjoy it greatly.

GRUMPY X SUNSHINE - which character is grumpy, which character is sunshine? my favourite grumpy x sunshine dynamics are the gloomy character trying their best to become more sunny after a tough life 🫡

FAKE DATING - we, in the criminal minds fandom, have written possibly every undercover mission possible to make our characters make out, but I'm coming in as a simple woman to ask - please do it again 🫶

OH. OH. - the plot revelations! Give me them! The sudden moments of clarity! I'm a fan, goddammit.

IDIOTS IN LOVE - there is nothing better than two huge dumbasses falling head over heels in love with each other in an "aw shucks" kind of way. Also, I'm an idiot, representation matters.

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE - coffee shop AU? Soulmate AU? HANAHAKI AU? If someone could please un- or re- traumatise my favourite characters I will be eternally grateful

SECRET IDENTITY - give the character their Emily Prentiss Lauren Reynolds moment, or just make them dress like a clown for like 30 minutes. Both count.

MUTUAL PINING - This harkens back to idiots in love, but it's about the LONGING, it's about the PITIFUL STARES, it's about the BURNING PASSION.

SECRET RELATIONSHIP - my love of gossip makes me a sucker for secret relationship stories because I truly want to be in everyone's business. Character A and B are dating? Brilliant. It's a secret? BRILLIANT.

SICK FIC - your poor little meow meow has a cold. Or your poor little meow meow has been poisoned with anthrax. Or your poor little meow meow is dealing with possible symptoms of schizophrenia. Or your poor little meow meow has been shot-

PSYCHO X PSYCHO - reidams fans, this one's for you 🥰

ENEMIES TO LOVERS - half of my requests are enemies to lovers requests! Feel free to include rivals to lovers, lovers to enemies, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers, or any such dynamic that your heart desires.

SHOOTING STARS:

Aries - "I burn for you. I can't sleep at night for wanting you. It's the most maddening, beguiling, damnable thing, but there it is."

Taurus - "There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me."

Gemini - "There's such a lot of different Annes in me. I sometimes think that is why I'm such a troublesome person. If I was just the one Anne, it would be ever so much more comfortable, but then it wouldn't be half so interesting."

Cancer - "I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil."

Leo - "There is no exquisite beauty… without some strangeness in the proportion."

Virgo - "They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered."

Libra - "Somehow, we'll find it. The balance between whom we wish to be and whom we need to be. But for now, we simply have to be satisfied with who we are."

Scorpio - "She didn't understand why, but faced with those decaying buildings and straggling grasses, she was nothing but a child who had never lived."

Sagittarius - "If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything."

Capricorn - "There's a low-level, specific pain and having to accept that putting up with you requires a certain generosity of spirit in your loved ones."

Aquarius - "An education was a bit like a communicable sexual disease. It made you unsuitable for a lot of jobs, and then you had the urge to pass it on."

Pisces - "I think it's perfectly acceptable and rather admirable to be moderately delusional."

Rules:

I'm accepting reader insert, an Original Character, a character/character ship, a platonic ship, or a Gen fics for this challenge. It can feature any Criminal Minds character or any character from any fandom you write for. I assume a lot of people will stick with CM, but feel free to write for whoever you choose!

Please tag me in your entries or send the link to me in a DM. It can be already written, or you can write it for the challenge. Again, the tags I'm tracking are #reidersdaydreams and #reidersshootingstars ♡

The fic can be any genre, but ONLY send me smut if your bio states you are 18+. I will not endorse, nor do I want to read smut written by minors. I will check the ages of accounts posting smut.

For smut or angst fics that could include triggers, please include a content warning above the fic so we can be aware before reading!!

Enjoy!!

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

hi hi hello HEAR ME OUT

FILTHY smut with either 12 or 07 leo

whatever you can come up with, let your creative mind go bonkers lol 💙

Still Angry? (18+)

2007!Leonardo x reader

A/N: I decided to do 2007 Leo, because I feel like it has been a long time ago. It is not super filthy, but it is a little dirty😉💙

All characters are aged up.

Warnings: Orale - female receiving, implied sex.

You wanted to slap him. Slap him so hard that he would feel all the shock and pain you had been feeling for the last two years. All the pain he had caused you, because he decided to spend an extra year in South America, because he felt like his training as a leader wasn’t over. You were sad. Furious. Frustrated would have been an understatement. You felt betrayed by your boyfriend. And when you sent him another letter, asking him what that meant for the two of you, you got no answer. For a whole year, you waited around, unsure of your boyfriend’s whereabouts, or if he even was still your boyfriend. So when Leonardo one day came through your window, that you still kept unlocked out of habit, you saw red. You had never been so mad at him before, and never had he felt so ashamed. But he came to your apartment with a goal in mind -  to make it up to you.

How you ended up on the couch, with your lower half naked, your legs spread open and wide with Leo’s face buried between your thighs, was still a mystery to you. But even with Leo’s skilled tongue working in and out of your entrance, you felt anger towards him, along with the urge to hit him. But every pleasure wave he brought you, his tongue pressing against that sweet spot deep within you, you found yourself moaning, your hands holding onto Leo’s head instead of striking him, pressing him closer against your core.

One of Leo’s hands let go of your spread out thighs, placing his thumb on your clit, moving it in circles over your bundles of nerves. You threw your head back, letting out a loud needy moan, your legs shaking as you placed your bare heels against the couch pillow, pushing your core closer against Leo’s face. Leo let out a low groan, just enough to drown out his churring. A churring that had been going, ever since he pulled you in for a kiss, intending to show you how much he had kissed you.

“Leo…”, you moaned, unsure of what you were trying to say. You wanted to speak, be mad at him, telling him that he couldn’t eat you out and expect you to be okay with his return, after two years abesens. But here you were, a moaning mess, finding yourself getting closer and closer to your climax, wanting nothing more than to cum with Leo’s tongue deep inside of you.

Leo breathed out a chuckle against you, genuine happiness in his eyes as he looked up at you, your red face and hooded eyes staring back at him, silently begging for more. And more he gave you. His thumb coming faster on your clit, using his elbow to force your leg open when you instinctively tried to close it. An old habit of yours. An old habit that Leo had found himself dreaming and fantasizing about in the jungle, waiting for the day he could allow himself to see it play out once again. His tongue moved faster inside of you, his other hand pushing your leg further away from his face.

You let a loud lewd moan, arching your back against the back of the couch, your hips moving against Leo’s face, forgetting all about any thought of hitting him, your anger melting away for the moment of building pleasure and ecstasy. You felt the pressure inside of you growing stronger and stronger, making it impossible for you to sit still, moaning and moving under Leo’s grip - a sight and sound that Leo had missed during his two years in the jungle. Even with his own need growing in his cloaca, his member threatening to drop at any moment, he could not stop his work on you, not allowing himself to feel any sexual pleasure before he had made you cum.

“Fuck! Leo!”, you let out, your moans on the edge of turning into screams of pleasure, before you came hard, your body tensing up as your orgasm washed over you, blurring your vision with pleasure. Leo did not stop his actions against your core, continuing his motions, drawing out your orgasm and eating up every single drop your tight walls provided him.

Once you calmed down from your high, Leo removed his lips from your now sensitive folds, placing small kisses along your thighs, showering you with love until you calmed down. But before you could calm down, you quickly wrapped your hands around the sides of Leo’s face, pulling him to your lip in a hungry kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“Are you still mad?”, Leo asked as the two of you pulled from the kiss, trying to catch your breath.

“Of course I’m still mad!”, you answered, glaring at him as if it had been obvious. But even you couldn’t hide a smile with your next two sentences. “You can’t just eat me out and expect me not to be angry anymore! Now, get your dick out and fuck me probably!”

Leo could not stop himself from laughing at your words, finding himself relieved at your words. Sure, you might still be mad, but you were still in a mood to make jokes. That was a good sign.

“Anything for you, ma’am”, Leo smiled, before diving back in for another heated kiss. Anything to make up for his long absence.

[muvaginger]

Sanemi knows something’s up with you.

Usually, you’re the one to initiate conversation even when he wasn’t remotely in the mood to socialize. At first, it pissed him off and he has snapped at you multiple times due to your overbearing talkative nature. But overtime, he grew tolerant to it and your presence and honestly can’t recall ever being a moment where you weren’t talking and being your bubbly self.

But now, you’re acting completely different. You’re not talking at all and it’s starting to worry him which is insane in itself. Who thought in a million years that out of everyone to notice let alone care it would be him? He didn’t and now here he is, caring.

There were days where he wished to any and every entity in existence for you to shut your trap even if it was for five minutes. Now he’s trying to figure out what or who made you this way because he now can’t imagine a day without hearing your cheery voice and happy-go-lucky attitude. He’s tried asking others but they all said the same thing, they didn’t know what he was talking about. That you were acting normal and that when they asked you, you would smile and say that you were fine. The look on his face of disbelief that they couldn’t tell how you’ve changed made him even more determined to find out why.

How can they call themselves your friends and family if they can’t clearly see how upset and different you were acting? How can they not see that your once vibrant light has been dim for some time? It pisses him off the more he thinks about it and it pisses him off more that it pisses him off. So he does the very last thing he’s been trying to avoid.

Asking you directly.

He doesn’t know why he’s been avoiding it seeing as he’s always been straightforward with you in the past. Maybe because it will be his first time actually initiating the conversation? Or maybe because he deems himself the last person you’d think would care or ask? It infuriates him that he’s acting like this because who the fuck are you to him to make him act and feel like this? “To feel nervous, angry, worried and concerned? To feel anxious? It’s just you. You’re practically NOBODY to me So why?” He thought while standing outside of your door. He knew why but didn’t want to admit how much you actually meant to him.

As he thought this, the door suddenly opened and his eyes widened. Eyes baggy and hair messy, you slowly rub them with the back of your hand and look up at him, bewildered. He totally forgot that he was at your house and was banging on your door like a mad man. “Oh hello, Sanemi”. You say sleepily as you yawn into the inside of your arm. A long awkward pause insues before you finally clear the crusties out of your eyes and see him clearly. Flustered, Sanemi quickly looks away and pushes you inside and closes the door behind him.

“Now why the hell are you opening the door looking like that?!” He says while still pushing you away.

“L-like what?” You say, confused.

“Like…l-like THAT! In THAT!” He says while still looking away but pointing at your current attire.

You look down and quickly realize that the only thing you were wearing was a bra and shorts and immediately rush to grab the rob hanging next to the door. “S-sorry!” You say while hurriedly covering yourself up. Another awkward silence happens and the only thing that you can do is shyly look at the ground. You never expected Sanemi to visit you at your home let alone seeing you almost naked but there he was, standing in your doorway and he clearly had something to say if he decided to come this far.

“Is something wrong? Did you need something, San-“

“Nemi.”

“H-huh?”

“Nemi. You’ve always called me Nemi.”

You stare in confusion but before you can respond, he steps up and hovers over you.

“What happened? What’s wrong with you? Who did it?”

“Who did wh-“

“Who fucked with you? Why are you so quiet? Why have you been sad all this time? And don’t fucking lie to me, either. I know you.” He says angrily.

“I-I’m fine. Really, I’m-“

You pause and look up at him, meeting his intense gaze. He looked more worried than angry and you don’t know why but all of a sudden, you could feel tears rolling down your cheeks. It was as if a dam broke and everything that you have been holding in came rushing out. For the past month, you have been stressed out, depressed and just overall exhausted and masking has only put you in a worse mood. The fact that Sanemi recognized that something was wrong made you want to cry. Not your friends, not your family but him. He was the ONLY person to realize something was wrong and it didn’t just make you relieved but filled you with sorrow.

“I-I’m not okay, Nemi. I’m not-“

You suddenly feel yourself being pulled into a tight embrace. At first, it startled you but slowly, you start to melt into him and break down. You needed this, desperately. You could hear him whispering that everything is okay and that he’s there which in turn makes you cry more but you decide to bury yourself in his chest and cry.

Not used to all of this, he fights the uncomfortable feeling for your sake while trying to calm you down. As the day becomes night, you finally tell him how you have been feeling. How you overheard people who you thought were your friends talk behind your back and how hurt you have been. Though he looked annoyed and uninterested, you could tell he cared and were just glad that he was willing to hear you out. You didn’t know it but he was so relieved that you were slowly but finally talking to him again. He didn’t care how much you talked his head off, as long as you were smiling like how you were before, he could hear you talk all day.

“Next time, talk my head off like you have always done.” He says while looking the other way.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

“And you won’t-“

“Y/N.”

“O-okay, I promise to talk to you from here on out” you say while wiping your tears away. “Thank you, Nemi.”

He waves his hand in a shooing motion while still looking the other way, still flustered.

“Yeah yeah, whatever.”

[bettyfrommars]

I'm on Fire: The Epilogue

biker!Eddie x artist!Reader

biker!Steve x Astrid (fem!OC)

masterlist playlist

wc: 14.6k

18+ONLY as always, adult themes, allusions to smut, backyard union/wedding, violence, auto theft, hustling, fist fight, mention of blood, mention of guns and shooting, relationship issues, Eddie is a cat dad, tw: Charlene, alcohol consumption, healing, lots of love.

Summary: If you're one of my ride or dies who have read this far, you know what to expect, but I do mention pregnancy and kids more than a few times, for good reason. We get to check in with what the gang has been up to, and how the families have grown. A little bit of drama, of course, and Coffin Kings mayhem. For the sake of this story, the character Bones is meant to be Tom Hardy from the yet to be released movie The Bikeriders.

A/N: This is reallyyy more of another chapter more and an Epilogue, lmaoo. I love all of these characters so much that I keep wanting to spin off in different directions and write a bunch of niche stories; I can see myself living in this world for a long while. I know I say it all the time, but my IoF readers mean so much to me, and I really hope you enjoy this. Please see a second author's note at the end.

--------

Highway 22 had once been the only main road out of town, but since the freeway came to Hawkins in the 60’s, very few ever took the country road lined with cornfields and alfalfa crops.  There were several homesteads scattered about, mostly farmers, and all of them spaced out by several acres; but for the home of the Whittiers—Bob and Helen—who just happened to live across the street from the place once owned by the Fergusons.

The first time they heard the rumble of motorcycles approaching, Helen screamed through the living room that it must be an airplane flying too low, about to crash into them.  She nudged Bob awake from his nap in the recliner and then ran out onto the porch, wringing her hands.

What she found was a motorcycle gang, clad in leather and covered in tattoos, crawling twenty deep into the driveway of their newest neighbors.

It was rare for Eddie to invite the entire local Coffin Kings MC and a few of the Hells Belles over, but the ceremony for Steve and Astrid’s union was an exception.  She was 8 months pregnant with the twins at the time, bursting at the seams, but Steve had this bug up his ass that he needed them to be official before the babies came, and Bones was happy to officiate.

Under an arbor in the neatly manicured lawn of your front yard, flanked in willow trees and cherry blossoms, Robin stood as Steve’s best man, and pretended like she’d lost the ring during the ceremony when he asked for it.  The panic in his face made everyone in attendance snicker when she pulled it from the tiny pocket of her vest with a wink.  Steve wore black suit pants with a collared white shirt, rolled up to the elbows, under his Coffin Kings leather.  Astrid looked stunning in a hunter green, off-the-shoulder dress with a few pieces of simple, gold jewelry, and a baby’s breath flower crown in her hair. 

Astrid didn’t need a ring, or any traditional symbols, and the material stuff meant nothing to her, but Steve insisted.  He took the extra step of getting her name tattooed on his ring finger, which made her roll her eyes and fall more in love with him all at once.  

You stood at Astrid’s side, making eyes at your boyfriend Eddie who was extremely handsome in his leather and a suit in the front row.  You were still reeling at the idea that this was your life, as fear kept trying to creep in and tell you it was all a dream, or that something would happen at any second to take it all away at any moment.  

You’d barely had the keys to the farmhouse for two months before the wedding, and so things were still stacked in boxes on the main floor, and the plumbing was a mess, but every morning, Eddie kissed you goodbye before work, and then you padded over in bare feet to the empty space with south facing windows that would soon be your studio. 

Wayne gave Astrid away, and there were tears streaming down Steve’s cheeks.  Once the official “I do’s” were said, everyone, including the bikers and their families in attendance, started to hoot and whistle for the kiss.  Steve held her face in his hands, and it was deep and sweet and made the obnoxious howling from the crowd melt into a collective swoon before erupting in applause.

Eddie’s heart swelled with love, not only for his friends who were finally getting the happy ending they deserved, but for you, and the promise of the life you were building together.  Neither one of you held the matrimonial traditions of society in high regard and didn’t need a piece of paper to prove that you were devoted to each other, but right then, watching you stand with Astrid, he thought about dropping to one knee and begging you to be his wife.

Neither one of you had a family history of marriage keeping people together, in fact, it had mostly only succeeded in fucking everything up.  In his heart, it was till death do you part, and that was all that mattered.  In fact, he planned on finding you in the afterlife as well.

Steve had Oliver on his shoulders while they cut the cake, but what everyone didn’t know was that Astrid was fighting some stomach cramping.  She figured it was the two babies kicking from all of the excitement, but the second the music started for the reception, her water broke.  

“This can’t be happening right now,” Steve was flabbergasted, holding up his wife so that she didn’t sink to the ground.  “They’re not due for another month?”

“Oh it’s happening,” Astrid gushed, framing her belly with her hands. “They are coming.”

“Take my car,” Katie offered, digging around in her purse for her keys.  The driveway was full of vehicles, pinning in Astrid’s truck, but Katie’s car was further out, near the highway.  

“We’ll be right behind you,” Eddie shouted, reaching for your hand.

Dustin was the voice of reason, stepping in front of him while the others headed for the vehicle.

“She could be in labor for hours, and you’ve got guests,” Henderson reminded his friend.  He was there with his wife Suzie and their daughter Stevie. “I say stay here, man.  Robin can call you from the hospital with an update.”

For a second, it had slipped both of your minds that you even had guests; approximately 87 of them.  

The big speakers Eddie had hooked up to a sound system were playing Hold onto Me by Cowboy Junkies, and the two of you turned to stare at each other, wondering what to do.  

“Dustin’s right,” you looked around, eyes settling on your ex-coworker Jeff who was drinking red wine straight from the bottle. “I don’t want anyone to puke in our bedroom or something.”

Suzie handed you a glass of champagne, ring finger heavy with a Princess cut diamond.  “I promise you, those babies probably won’t poke their heads out until morning.”

You just hoped nothing went wrong, since Astrid confided in you that labor had been notoriously hard on the women in her family; there had even been a few mothers who didn’t make it.  What if they needed to do an emergency C-section? What if one of them started to come out sideways?  

You were about to take a sip of the sweet bubbles when you saw Steve jogging back in your direction.

“Katie’s car is dead,” he huffed, headed for the back patio where his Harley was parked.

Craning your neck down the long row of cars, you saw Astrid sitting on the front bumper of the dark blue sedan with Oliver holding onto her arm while Robin and Katie appeared to be having an argument.  You were sure it was nothing personal, but tensions were high.

“Hold tight, let me grab the jumper cables,” Eddie jogged alongside Steve, aiming for the garage.

“Nah, it’ll take too long, we need to get out of here,” Steve was throwing a leg over his bike and revving the engine before Eddie could offer another suggestion.

You ran up beside Eddie. “He’s driving her to the hospital on that?”

“It appears that way,” Eddie stepped back so that Steve could roll by the two of you, fishtailing through the lawn before jumping a rock bed and weaving between the vehicles to pick up Astrid.

A lot of pregnant women might have hesitated to go by motorcycle, but Astrid did not.  She didn’t hesitate to get on behind him, knowing that the sooner they got to the hospital, the less likely things would go wrong.  Making room for her ample stomach took a moment of adjusting, but she strapped her helmet on before tapping his shoulder to let him know she was ready.

“You’re insane!” Robin shouted at him, and then she covered her face in frustration.  

Bones, Devlin, Van, Ratchet, and a few others went along as escorts, clearing the highway with their own bikes so that Steve could have the road. 

Across the street, Helen was on her porch with a pair of binoculars.  “Bob? Where are they taking that pregnant woman?”

Bob was in the living room with the TV on, and he pretended not to hear her.  

“The music is loud enough,” she scoffed.  “The whole thing better quiet down by 10 or I’m calling the police.”

If so, that wouldn’t be the first time she’d called the cops about her across-the-way neighbors.  The first time was during the week they’d moved in, and a couple of the Kings came over to help unload furniture.  Helen reported that there was a gang breaking into the Ferguson place to steal things.

“Let me get this straight,” Hopper twirled a pencil between two fingers while he spoke into the phone.  “They’re stealing things by putting them back inside the house?”

He very politely talked her down from a ledge, and then drove by on the highway to give her a wave so that she felt safe.  

The Velvet Hammer was closed the day of the wedding, as most of the employees were guests.  But the next day, Shana opened up the bar at 10, harboring one of the worst hangovers of her adult life.  

The shrill ringing of the phone made it feel like a buzzsaw was cutting through her skull, and Jackie leaned over the bar counter to snatch the receiver.

It was you, letting them know that Astrid had given birth to two healthy baby girls named Gracie and Rue early that morning, and that labor had been horrific, but their mother was on the mend.

Poor Steve.  When the doctor came out and said there were “complications”, he nearly tore down the wall trying to get in there to his wife.  The first baby, Rue, started to come out feet first, and he had this terrifying thought of the umbilical cord getting stuck around her neck or something, but once they got her turned around, the rest went smoothly.  He did the best he could to coach her through the breathing techniques they’d learned in the Lamaze classes, but at one point, she politely, yet abruptly, asked him to shut up.  

Not even three months later, Astrid was pregnant again.

They were certain that the procreation of the twins had been a fluke, a miracle; something that would only happen once in their lifetime.  

But they’d been gravely mistaken.  

They’d just transported the whole family to the ranch style home Astrid had inherited from her grandmother.  Everyone had their own room, including another living area in the basement, and a vintage Landshark Airstream trailer in the back yard where Steve and Astrid slept when they needed alone time.  It was the communal living, and the constant support from Robin and Katie, that kept them from mental collapse when they found out there was another baby on the way.

“What is wrong with you?” Eddie chuckled at Steve when he gave the two of you the news one morning over coffee at your kitchen table. “Couldn’t keep it in your pants for a few weeks?”

“I told you,” Steve shrugged.  “I have a magic dick.”

At that, you and Eddie shared an affectionate eye roll.  All joking aside, Steve was ecstatic about the news, bouncing on the balls of his feet everywhere he went at the idea of having a fourth child.  Astrid, on the other hand, was trying not to have a panic attack as she breastfed two infants at once.  If it happened to be another set of twins, she said she’d have to give one to you and Eddie.

You were testing paint swatches on the wall when Eddie snuck up from behind on the hardwood floor and put his arms around you, nuzzling his face into your hair.  He had on a pair of his “holiest” jeans that were so ripped and worn, they were about to be shorts, along with his Slayer shirt that now had wide, cut out arm holes, exposing his ribs.  

“Which one do you like more?” You asked, slipping your arms over his.

He hummed, kissing your earlobe.  “They all look yellow to me.”

“Close, but one is Summer Sunset, one is Lemon Cream, and one is—-”

“What about black?” He asked in all seriousness.  “Or gray?”

“Or we could just keep all of the wallpaper as it is,” you giggled at the tickle of his beard scruff on your neck.

The country rose wallpaper was lovely, but heavy pink floral themes in every room was a bit much for both of you.  “You’re right, I love Lemon Yogurt or whatever.”

“I figured as much,” You turned to search his face.  He’d been growing his bangs out, so they were just long enough to tuck behind his ears.  “How does tofu curry sound for tonight?”

Your lips met, and you could taste that familiar mix of wintermint and Camel Lights that you’d come to love.  He’d cut back to only a couple smokes a day, but he went through a pack of gum in an hour.  

“Mhhmm tofu,” he closed his eyes dreamily. “Is there meat in that?”

Just before the twins turned one, you and Eddie had your first big fight.  

Big enough that you threw some clothes in a bag and said you were going to stay with Katie and Robin right before you slammed the door so hard, a vase full of daisies he’d bought for you crashed to the ground and shattered.  

It was over something so stupid, really. The way he left hair in the sink after he shaved bugged the shit out of you, and when you rolled as far away as you could from him in bed, he took it personally.  You’d felt restless and out of your mind that week, and then you started your car to realize the gas tank was empty, even though he said he’d fill it up.  You promised Eddie you’d have some quality time with him one night, but then Steve needed you at the Hammer and…all of these things started to pile up until the dam burst.

You sat in your car with the engine on for a while, swallowing back hot gasps, unable to pull the trigger and drive away.  It wasn’t long before you felt his shadow, and a few soft knuckle taps on the window.

“Please don’t go,” he said.  

“I don’t want to go,” you shivered and finally broke out in a sob, tears streaming down your face.  “I love you so much.”

Next thing you knew, you were in his arms, and then you were back in the bed you shared, begging him to be so deep inside, until it made you see stars.  

—-----

“An inch to the left,” Robin coached you from the ground as you were up on a ladder at the Velvet Hammer, hanging a piece of artwork along the brick red wall opposite the bar while Mother Love Bone played from the jukebox.  “Ah, right there. Perfect.”

You’d brought a few paintings over weeks earlier, at Robin’s request, and they all sold almost immediately, so she begged you to bring in a few more.  Still an employee at the Hammer, Steve offered you something more of an assistant manager position, but you were honest with him and confessed you didn’t want the extra responsibility, but that you’d help as much as you could.  Plus, the tips you earned waitressing mostly surpassed what they could offer you as an assistant, and you were under the gun to get a collection of work together for the upcoming show in Marysville.

The same Marysville shows at the airplane hangar where you’d bumped into Eddie and Charlene that one night three years ago. The memory felt surreal to you, as if it were something that had happened in another lifetime.  

The bar didn’t open for another hour, and Steve was hunched over a cup of coffee, popping energy pills he’d bought at the gas station.  

“Get any sleep last night?” You asked, on your way to return the ladder to the storage room.  

Steve grumbled something unintelligible, and his head bounced, nodding himself awake as if he’d been drifting off right where he sat. 

“Mae has some serious pipes on her,”  Robin quipped, speaking of Steve and Astrid’s newest baby girl, Mae, who was barely 16 weeks old.  “The only one of us she seems to want to be around is Oliver.”

The twins were over 2 years old by then, and just as much of a handful as you’d imagine toddlers would be.  Now with another baby, the family was running on empty.  You and Eddie volunteered to babysit Rue and Gracie for a weekend after Mae was born, and even though you loved the girls dearly and cherished the time with them, you found yourselves counting down the minutes until their dad came to pick them up on the last day.  “I’m glad we decided not to have kids.  Steve’s brood is more than enough,” Eddie whispered to you at the window watching Steve drive off.  He even considered getting “snipped” around the time Steve had the procedure, just as a precautionary measure.

“Why are you here so early anyway?” Robin asked around a yawn, adjusting the clasp on her denim overalls.  “Go home and get some rest.  I’ll stay until Shana gets here at noon.”

Steve yawned too, stretching his arms above his head as he stood.  He wore a nice pair of blue denim jeans and a sage green pearl snap shirt that was buttoned wrong.  “Can’t. Interviewing for a new apprentice over at the shop.”

Construction on the tattoo parlor next door took longer than anticipated.  So long, that Eddie got frustrated enough to go ahead and do a bunch of the work himself.  They’d just passed inspection the week before and were anxious to get some bodies in there working.  They’d decided on the name Velvet Ink, and Wayne found some vintage barber chairs at auction for the reception area aesthetic Steve was looking for.

As of then, Wayne was fully in remission and getting his strength back. He’d even been well enough to take his 1948 Harley-Davidson Panhead out on a few Sunday cruises with the boys.  Rue, one of the twins, took to him like glue, and Eddie remarked that he’d never seen the old man smile as big as he did when she called him “gan-pa”. 

Taking the last big gulp of his coffee, Steve made his way out, letting in blinding beams of sunlight when he pushed open the front door of the Hammer. He paused for a moment to look at the padded leather stool that was there, the one he’d parked his butt on for many a night.  Even though he helped to keep the peace if necessary, most of the past two years had been spent behind the scenes.  A weird, secret part of him missed it; missed the simplicity of being a bouncer, versus being the owner of two businesses.  Before he knew it, reminiscing on his old life brought his thoughts back to Charlene.

He was sure that she kept tabs on him, and he hoped she never decided to drop in and wreak havoc on his life again, but he was grateful for the fresh start she’d given him.  He hoped that she was enjoying herself with Billy…or whoever the hell she was fucking those days.  

—-----

It was Eddie’s night to make dinner, and you spotted him fussing in the kitchen through the side window of the farmhouse when you drove up that night.  It looked like he touched something that was too hot and was snapping his hand in the air to cool it off.  

You saw his motorcycle parked in the red barn, and wondered if he was planning to do some repairs on it.  The Chevelle was no longer around, as he’d sold it to a collector up north so he could get a pickup that would be more useful to your new lives.  You’d begged him not to, as  you knew how hard he’d worked on it over the years with Wayne, but he couldn’t be swayed otherwise.  .

Turns out, your man was extremely stubborn.

“Hey there, Dungeon Master,” you greeted him, shutting the back door to take your coat off.  He’d been teaching you to play D&D now that he had a new head mechanic at the shop, giving him a bit more time to lean into his hobbies. Max and Lucas moved back to town, and Eddie was happy to teach Lucas how to operate the tow truck when he voiced that he needed a job.  

In a black Hanes tank and jeans, your man was barefoot with his hair tied back.  Looking down at the pot of sauce he was stirring, he smiled so big his dimples popped.  “You really like calling me that, don’t you?”

Calling him Dungeon Master was a new kink unlocked for you.

You set your bag on one of the kitchen chairs and wrapped your arms around him from behind to sink your teeth into his shoulder.  “I love finding out what a nerd you truly are.  It’s hot.”  

He lifted up a wooden spoon full of marinara, cupping his other hand underneath, and turned to blow on it before putting it to your lips.  

“Smells yummy,”  you said before taking a taste.  He watched  your mouth, but then eagerly found your eyes for the verdict.

“Mhmm baby it’s delicious.”

Satisfied, he went back to stirring. “Astrid gave me her recipe.  I’ve never made it from scratch before,” he took a lick off the spoon for himself. “I think I used too much garlic.”

Another facet of Edward Munson you’d never realized before was that he was a natural in the kitchen, and found a lot of joy in cooking.  One of the first things he made when you first moved in was chickpea patties for burgers, and whenever the two of you went into a bookstore and you found him browning the vegetarian cookbook section.  

If  you weren’t working at the Hammer, nights at home were very low key.  There was the occasional concert or dinner on the town, but mostly nothing sounded better than curling up on the couch with him, or on the porch swing with a cocktail.  Charlie was strictly an inside cat, but you found a stray living in the barn.   All black with green eyes, a recent visit to the vet let you know that she was pregnant, and a litter of kittens was on the way, one of which had already been claimed by Oliver.  So, you brought her inside and made her comfortable in the guest bedroom, until just yesterday when  you found her curled up for a nap in Eddie’s lap.

He named her Scully because of his love of The X-Files, and you wondered if he’d be able to give the rest of the kittens up for adoption with the way he fawned over his new companion.  He bought her a fancy collar with a bell, as well as catnip and special treats that she was forced to share with Charlie.

Later that night, sprawled on the couch with your head on his chest, you were having a hard time keeping your eyes open during an episode of Saturday Night Live when the phone in the kitchen rang.  You almost jumped out of your skin, and both of the cats sprang from their perch on top of the couch.

“What the shit,” Eddie grumbled, gently sliding out from underneath you just as a second ring shattered the once peaceful evening.  

“Who would be calling this late?” You said groggily, pulling the blanket up to your chin to turn and watch Eddie disappear down the hall.  

“I don’t know, but this better not be Steve wanting to rant about one of his late night epiphanies.”

Phone calls at midnight were rarely ever a good thing.  You sat straight, waiting to hear Eddie pick up the receiver. Had someone been hurt? Were the girls okay? Had something gone wrong at the Velvet Hammer? Maybe it was Bones needing Eddie for something to do with the Kings, and if so, you didn’t want him to answer it.

Eddie jerked the white, cordless phone to his ear, frowning.  “Yeah? This is Eddie.”

You shifted to the edge of your seat, muting the TV so that you could hear him.

“How did you get this number?” He mumbled gruffly.

That made you get to your feet.

“...what makes you think I had anything to do with it?”

You took a few steps and froze.

You had a very bad feeling that you knew exactly who it was at the other end.  

Eddie locked eyes with you when you came to pause at the stove. 

“You have to be mistaken, there’s no way he was one of ours—-,” Eddie said to whoever it was, shaking his head.

You reached out and motioned for him to hand you the phone.

He swallowed, hesitating at first, but then you took it from him and put it to your ear.

“Charlene?” Your tone was patient. “What’s going on?”

—----

Earlier that evening at the Harrington residence, Astrid was breastfeeding Mae in the rocking chair while Katie helped the twins get dressed after their bath, and Robin washed dishes with Oliver.  The TV was on, but no one was paying any attention to it, and Mae nestled against her mother like she was finally ready for sleep.

God, Astrid was tired.

Exhausted to the marrow of her bones and beyond.

Absolutely in love with her daughters and in awe of the beautiful family they’d created, but wishing she could have a few hours away from it all, just the same.

The twins were being loud, giggling as their Auntie Katie ushered them across the hall to their bedroom, and Astrid held her breath, worried they’d wake the baby up.

She let Robin know she was putting Mae in her crib, and then went to take the first shower she’d had in a while, feeling her stretch marks and all the ways her body had changed after carrying three babies. She never doubted Steve’s attraction to her, but he tattooed gorgeous women every day, not to mention the ones who waited tables in fishnet stockings and danced at the Hammer.  She was sure a handful of those young beauties had a crush on their boss and would offer him comfort any time he wanted it.

She hated when her mind went there, when she could feel the walls of insecurity and depression closing in.  She wanted to be nothing but grateful for every waking moment, but sometimes she was way too tired to think clearly.  She needed to cry or scream or fuck… or something.

Between the kids, Steve’s schedule, and having zero energy at night, she couldn’t remember the last time the two of them had been intimate.  A few kisses and touches in passing was really all it had been.  Considering the insatiable hunger they’d had for each other over the years, it made her worry that he just wasn’t attracted to her anymore.  But also, she knew that was bullshit—-but the whispers kept nagging at her.  

On her way back down the hall to her bedroom, she could hear Oliver reading the girls a bedtime story and she paused to listen, emotions catching in her throat.  Rue and Gracie loved him so much, and he was such a wonderful big brother, slipping into the role like he was born for it. Born to be a nurturing, caring soul just like his father.  She often wondered if Ollie would grow up to be who Steve would’ve been, if he had been surrounded with love as a kid.  Before Wayne took over his care, he hadn’t known much comfort or safety.  

Steve came home smelling like a distillery, and when he tried to kiss her on his way in, she moved her head away.

“Where have you been?” She didn’t have to ask, it was obvious he’d tattooed late and stayed to have a few drinks. She missed the guy who would spend hours rubbing her belly and talking to the babies inside of it.  It was the closeness she missed, not the sex itself. 

Alarms went off in Steve when he caught the way she didn’t want to look at him, the way she shrugged away from his touch.  “Hey, baby, I’m sorry.  Jake paid extra to have his back piece finished tonight and so I—”

Robin and Katie had adjourned to the basement, and Astrid was folding laundry at the couch. “You just thought you’d booze it up with your buddies while I took care of our girls?”

He lowered his arms to hook his thumbs into his belt loops.  “I thought about calling but I didn’t want to wake the—”

“Your daughters are all asleep.  Gracie was asking for her daddy,” she pinned a towel to her check with her chin and folded the ends together.

Steve’s heart tightened, thinking of how he’d missed his baby girl asking about him.  Thinking of how he was already letting her down.  “I’m gonna sneak in and say goodnight,” he mumbled, heading that way.

“Please don’t,” Astrid snapped. “It took a long time to get them to calm down, but you’re rarely here at night so you wouldn’t know.”

Okay, something was definitely wrong.  He’d fucked up, but he wasn’t exactly sure how.  Astrid knew that he’d have some long nights, this was something they’d talked about.  There had to be something else going on.  

He sat down on the edge of the recliner, facing her, and laced his fingers together.  “Is there anything…you want to talk about?”

Astrid scoffed, keeping her eyes on the TV.  “Where do I even start?”

“I’m sorry if I—”

“Just say it, Steve,” she bit, stacking folded towels on top of each other.  “Just say you’d rather get drunk with the dancers at the Velvet Hammer rather than come home and be with me.”

At that, he was dumbfounded. Gobsmacked, even.  

“How could you…what? That’s crazy. Shit, you know other women don’t even exist for me, Astrid,” he kept trying to catch her gaze, but she’d avoid it.  “No one has ever meant more to me than you.  You're the love of my life.”

“I can tell you’re not attracted to me anymore, Steve. Just say it, I don’t float your boat.”

“Float my boat?” He almost chuckled at that, but immediately caught himself, realizing that it wasn’t a good time for humor.  

There were tears welling in her eyes and Astrid bit her cheek in an effort to keep them at bay; her shoulders were shaking.

“Hey, listen, baby, c’mere,” he stood and reached for her hand.  She let him have it, dropping the t-shirt she’d been holding.  “Tell me you love me? Please?”

“Have you fucked anyone else since we’ve been together?’ She stared at him that time, eyes wet.

Steve didn’t hesitate. “Never even crossed my mind.”

She swallowed thickly, lowering her gaze.

“Wait,” Steve’s mind raced, realizing that it had probably been months since they’d had sex.  “Have you? Fucked another dude?”

That one pissed her off, and it showed in the look she shot him. “When the hell would I have time for that, Steve? I barely have time to pee.”

He let go of her hand.  “Oh, so, you’ve wanted to, with other people…you just don’t have time?”

“Steve, I’m going to punch you in the throat.”

He pulled her over so that she was in his lap, and she only fought him a little because then she was crying into his neck, overcome with exhaustion.

“Tell me,” he said softly, brushing her hair away to kiss her forehead.  “Tell me you love me.”

“You know I do,” she sniffed, letting the tears roll hot down her cheeks, pulling her knees up so that she was snug in his lap. 

“Say it,” he was pushing it now, tipping her chin up to find her mouth with his.  

She mumbled her devotion as the tip of his tongue dragged along her bottom lip.

She clung to him as she cried it out for a minute, letting him hold her close and stoke her hair.

“Is she okay?” It was Oliver.

He’d snuck in from the other room and was watching the scene with a creased, worried brow.

“I’m fine, honey,” Astrid sat up, wiping her eyes.  “It’s just been a long day.”

Oliver stared at his dad, almost defiantly.  “I don’t like to see her sad.”

Steve saw his own tender perception mirrored back to him in his son's eyes.  “I don’t like it either, come over here,” he motioned for Ollie to get close enough so he could put his arm around his son.  “Why aren’t you in bed?”

“I didn’t want to miss you again,” Oliver admitted, sending another pang into Steve’s heart.

He’d gone from working all the time to…working even more, and something had to change.  He hated being away from his family so often that he missed bedtime several days a week; they needed to hire more full-time help like Robin suggested, but Steve and Eddie were trying to pinch every penny.

After he talked to Oliver about his day, Steve realized he needed a goddamn smoke.  Since the twins were born, he’d tried several times to cut back, but decided to quit cold turkey two days ago, and it wasn’t working.  He needed to get some of those nicotine patches or something because being irritable with a throbbing head was no way to live in tandem with everything else on his plate.

Two hours later, after he’d tucked Ollie in and everyone else in the house was asleep, Steve made love to his wife. 

He was about to try for a second round when his beeper on the nightstand started buzzing.

The alert was from Eddie.

Steve frowned at the number and excused himself to use the phone while Astrid pulled her robe on to go and check on Mae.  

Come to find out, the past was indeed back to haunt him, yet again.

—--------

Hawkins was the last place Charlene ever expected to be on her birthday weekend.  She’d said goodbye to that place forever, or so she thought, as there was nothing for her there.  Her relationship with Billy lasted the better part of a year, but when she found out he’d been cheating on her with their neighbor, it didn’t even phase her.  Normally, she would’ve been furious and exacted some elaborate revenge on the two, but at the time, she only shrugged and told him good luck.  She was never in love with him, he’d been just another way to pass the time; a way to distract from her deep, soul-sucking loneliness. 

Just before the separation from John, she’d purchased a storage unit for sentimental items she didn’t want to look at, but also didn’t have the heart to throw away.  She’d considered letting someone from Storage Wars buy it just so they could be disappointed, but there were private letters and photos in there that she never wanted anyone to see, especially not strangers.  So, she was back to clean it out and burn whatever she no longer wanted to hold on to.  

She was in disguise, so to speak, with a new cropped brunette hairdo, and oversized sunglasses.  The divorce and the bankruptcy of one of John’s businesses made headlines in the paper for weeks, as there was clearly not much to talk about in Hawkins, and for the first time since marrying into money, she didn't want to be recognized.  

She promised she wouldn’t punish herself by driving along the street in front of the Velvet Hammer, but she did it anyway.  She picked up her white 1970 Jaguar XKE from the secure garage it’d been stored in, and parked across the street to watch you carry a huge painting in while Robin held the door for you.  The neon sign for Velvet Ink was clever, and she sat there for over an hour, until Steve finally stepped out of the main building.  He squinted up at the daylight, shaking his fist like he wanted to punch the sun, and went next door to shake hands with a woman who was tattooed neck to foot, before unlocking the door to the parlor.  

She had plenty of phone numbers for young men who would love to get paid to be her escort, but she was tired of paying people.  She wanted someone to want to be with her, and be protective of her, without the money or the status, and she was realizing she didn’t know how to act normal when it came to earning someone’s genuine affection.  

So, that night, she was alone at a swanky rooftop bar drinking a dirty martini and listening to someone playing a Christopher Cross instrumental on the piano.  

Eating the last olive, she was thinking she’d make her way to her hotel when she felt a body sink down for a seat just one stool over.  She smelled him first; a familiar mix of leather and nicotine, but this one had superior taste in cologne as she recognized a hint of cedar and honeysuckle from Dior’s Fahrenheit.  

He ordered a beer and a shot of Jameson and then, to her surprise, he leaned over and pointed at her empty glass.  “Can I buy you another?”

Her first instinct was to flat out ignore him or say, “no, I can buy my own drinks, thanks,” but then she turned to see who the voice belonged to, and her tongue got stuck on the roof of your mouth.  

Maybe ten years her junior, he wore his jet-black hair slicked back, while his full lips and hazel eyes reminded her of someone.  She could tell he was tall with broad shoulders, and a couple tattoos exposed where his shirt was pushed up to the elbows.  A few chunky metal rings similar to the ones Eddie always wore, and from the insignias on his leather vest, she could see that he was also a member of the Coffin Kings MC.  

Charlene notoriously had a thing for outlaws, especially pretty ones, and so she let him buy her that second drink, and then a third.  

He said his name was Nick, and she was relieved to find out he appeared to have no clue who she was.  She said her name was Rita, and after that third drink, she invited him back to her room to continue the party there.  

Inviting a stranger back to her suite was not how she’d expected the evening to go, but the need to feel the weight of him on top of her overrode any common sense that might’ve tried to dissuade her. He was sexy and he made her laugh, and those were the only qualifications she needed at that moment.

After a few hours of getting to know each other in the biblical sense, and enjoying the mini bar, Charlene excused herself to the bathroom.

“I think I need a shower,” she hummed, lifting an eyebrow.  “You want to join me?”

He was stretched out on the bed naked with his hands behind his head watching an episode rerun of ER.  

“You go ahead, babe,” he seemed to nestle further into the pillows after that term of endearment, shooting her a wink.  His Coffin Kings leather was neatly folded over the back of the nearby chair.  “I’m gonna make us a couple more drinks.”

She left the bathroom door open a crack, just in case he changed his mind, but then she got fully absorbed in how heavenly the steaming hot water felt.  She thought she heard him come into the bathroom at one point, so she peeled the curtain back a few inches, but only found her reflection in the mirror.  

By the time she turned the water off, the steam from the hot shower was as thick as soup, and she realized that at one point, he’d shut the door all the way for whatever reason.  Perhaps for her modesty? Him being such a gentleman felt almost too good to be true.  

“You could order some food from the late-night menu if you’re hungry,” she said from behind the closed door while brushing her hair out.  “Pie sounds good for some reason.”

Either he wasn’t responding, or he did, and she just couldn’t hear him over the audience laughter on the TV.  She rubbed in some expensive body butter and then checked herself in the mirror a few times while putting the fluffy, white hotel robe on.  

“But if you need to go home I’d understand, as long as I can have one more—-”

She opened the door as she spoke, but then stopped dead in her tracks.

Nick was no longer sprawled on the bed, and all of his clothes were gone, even his kutte.

Nothing wrong with that, maybe he went to get ice or to take a phone call.

The suite was large, with a separate sitting room, and so she checked around for a bit before realizing he had, in fact, vanished.

Anxiety rose in her chest but she pushed it down, taking a seat on the edge of the bed to reach for her lipstick on the nightstand.

But the lipstick was in her purse and there was no purse to be found, just a few condom wrappers and tiny, empty bottles of booze.

She’d taken her purse into the bathroom with her, she was sure of it.

After a few sweeps of the place, mumbling to herself in disbelief and horror, Charlene realized that her purse, her money, and her car keys were all gone.

She’d been hustled by a member of the Coffin Kings, and the truth of it made her scream into the palms of her hands.  

She sprinted for the window to yank the curtains back.  It was the middle of the night, and they were on one of the highest floors, and she couldn’t see the Jaguar from there even with binoculars.

She didn’t even bother to change out of her robe or put shoes on as she bolted from the room.  She was pissed, sure, but there were sobs catching in her throat, and that old loneliness dropped like a lead weight, threatening to bring her to her knees.  

By the time she rushed breathless into the lobby, Nick and her car were long gone.  

—------

For whatever reason, Charlene asked Eddie specifically not to tell Steve; she didn’t want to face him under such lame circumstances.  But the two men made an agreement a while back that one would tell the other if they ever heard from her, just to keep miscommunication to a minimum when dealing with someone who had a track record for manipulation.  

“She thinks one of you put this Nick guy up to it,” you said, standing at the door watching Eddie get dressed.  “As payback or something.”

Eddie frowned, adjusting the strap on his watch.  “If I felt like I needed to get back at Charlene, I sure as hell wouldn’t trust someone else with the task.  Plus, I didn’t even know she was back in town.”

“Did Steve know?” 

The last person you ever wanted to feel bad for was the rich white woman who tried to ruin your life, but still, you didn’t like the idea of any woman getting hustled and used in that way.  

Okay, maybe Charlene deserved some payback, but you hated to think that someone from the Coffin Kings was out there making a habit of taking advantage of women in such a spineless way.

Eddie was rummaging through the top dresser drawer.  “We don’t even have a member named Nick, so that’s another whole fucking problem.”

“Another charter, maybe?” You followed him into the kitchen.

“Maybe,” he put his leather jacket on while Scully wound herself around his legs. He bent down to pet her and spoke to her in a baby voice before finishing his thought. “Or maybe it’s something worse.”

You didn’t have to ask to know that impersonating a member of the MC was a big problem. 

Under any other circumstances, Eddie would wait until the next day to deal with whatever happened to Charlene, but the chop shops worked fast, and if they didn’t hurry, they’d never get her car back.

Why did Eddie even care? He asked himself that on the way to meet Steve at the hotel, rumbling along in his midnight blue, square box Chevy.  She could’ve just called the cops and let them sort it out. But Eddie knew that, aside from Hopper, the police force was a joke, and there would be days of paperwork and questioning before anything attempted to get solved.  By then, whoever the guy was would be long gone, and the Jaguar on a cargo ship to its next owner.  

Steve was already in the parking lot, leaning against his bike with a smoke in his mouth when Eddie rolled up.

“How the hell did you get here so fast?” He asked, slamming the door of his truck.

“Left a message for Miser down at the chop shop,” Steve exhaled, ignoring his friend’s question.  “He said he’ll keep an eye out for the car.”

Eddie had already sucked down his ration of cigarettes for the day, so he shoved another piece of gum in his mouth as they made their way to her floor.

There was a crystal chandelier in the lobby and mirrored elevators that gave Eddie the creeps.  

“You think it’s some sort of trap?” Steve had his hands in his pockets, leaning in the corner while they traveled up with a Beach Boys instrumental played from a speaker in the ceiling.  “Like she’s trying to trick us or something?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Eddie muttered.  “I’m not gonna mention it to Bones and the rest until we know what we’re dealing with.”

Still in her robe, Charlene would’ve touched up her makeup to look presentable, but her Estee Lauder compact, and mascara were both in the stolen purse.  Also, she was too upset to care. She’d called to cancel the credit cards in her wallet, but there was a bunch of cash that she’d surely never see again. She’d have to contact her bank in the morning, but until then, she was basically squatting in that expensive hotel room.

Eddie did not look happy to see her when she opened the door, but she’d expected as much, tucking her bob of hair behind her ears. 

What she hadn’t expected, and what made her breath catch, was that Steve rolled in right behind him, scowling.  He had what appeared to be baby spit up on the front of his Santa Cruz skate shirt and dark indents under his eyes.  

Steve didn’t acknowledge her, he just breezed into the room and started looking around like he was a seasoned detective at the scene of a murder.  

Charlene gave Eddie a look, whispering, “I asked you not to tell him?”

All Eddie could do was shrug, as he was still weary of her intentions, and for good reason. 

Steve couldn’t help it, ever since the birth of his daughters, every injustice done to a woman in the world was something that could potentially happen to his girls, and he wasn’t having it.  

“What did he look like?” Eddie asked the question just as Steve spun on his heel at the other side of the bed.  

Hands on hips, she gave the description as best she could, and it sounded like half the guys in the club.

“He said his name was Nick?” Steve picked up the remote to turn the TV up a notch.  Unsolved Mysteries was on and he was suddenly interested, forever distracted.  “Do you think he was telling the truth?”

Charlene scoffed. “I had no reason to think he was lying? I didn’t ask to check his driver’s license.”

“Maybe you should from now on,” Steve kept his eyes on the screen, sitting down at the end of the bed.  “The way you go through men like a meat grinder.”

“Look who’s talking, Romeo,” she spit back.  

Charlene turned to complain to Eddie, but instead he held his hand up, palm out to silence her.  “Are you sure he was with the Coffin Kings?” 

Charlene tightened the sash on her robe. “Okay, you two can feel however you want about me, but you know I’m nothing if not observant.”

The two were silent in agreement.

“His leather vest looked just like the ones you have on now.  Black, tooled leather with the reaper holding a coffin on the back.  Embroidered insignias on the front as well.”

“Did it have a nickname or rank?” Eddie stuffed a third piece of wintermint gum in his mouth while Steve lit another smoke.  The smell of the nicotine made Eddie’s hand twitch and his muscles ache.

Charlene shook her head after a moment of contemplation.  “He didn’t have a name on his cut, but Hawkins was the charter, I’m positive.”

Both men shared a look before Steve got to his feet.  “So you had your car stolen, what’s the big deal? Don’t you have like a hundred of them?”

Charlene shot him a look, reminding herself not to be a bitch. “That car belonged to my dad.  It was special. He’s the only person in this world who ever gave a shit about me.” She went to the bedside table to grab a half empty travel size bottle of Jameson and drank the rest.  “That’s why I kept it in storage. I couldn't take it with me, and I didn’t want to sell it.”

Eddie scratched the stubble on his chin, thinking about how he couldn’t wait to go home to crawl in bed with you and the cats. 

“How much is it worth?” Steve asked out of curiosity.

Charlene shrugged, leaning against the wall to cross her feet at the ankles. “Dunno what it would go for today.  Easily 300K.”

Eddie almost choked on his wad of gum thinking of what he could do with that much dough.  

Steve raised an eyebrow.  “You better hope this Nicky is stupid and greedy enough to sell it locally, or we might be shit out of luck.”

—-----

You felt Eddie slink in under the covers to spoon you early in the morning before dawn, but you were too tired to look at the clock or ask him how it went.  Charlie was curled up at your feet and Scully took her pregnant belly over to nestle behind Eddie’s knees and purr.  

He wasn’t in bed with you at quarter to 8 when you finally rose from sleep, and for a second, you thought maybe you’d only dreamed about him coming home, until you saw the note he’d left on the nightstand.  

Had to run again

Tell you everything later

Left the coffee on

Love you infinity, Eddie

The way he always signed his notes made you chuckle, as if anyone else would be leaving notes for you at the house.  You folded it up and tucked it into the shoebox in the closet where you stashed all of his notes to you.

After a half hour of letting yourself rejoin the living on a much-needed day off, you went up to the studio to stare at the two paintings you were working on, but your reverie was shattered when the phone rang.

Breathless, you answered to find that it was Robin.  The shrill wail of a screaming child sounded from somewhere in the background.  

“Is Steve there at your place?” She sounded rightfully flustered.

“No, um,” you looked around the kitchen as if maybe he was there, you just didn’t know it.  “Eddie was here but then he left again. They might be together?”

A thoughtful silence and then, “Steve never came home last night. We assumed he stayed at your place.”

You were shaking your head but then realized Steve could have slept in the living room and you wouldn’t have been the wiser.  You walked through the house to see if there was a blanket on the couch, but it was as tidy as you’d left it before bed.  

“Are you busy right now?” Robin continued, making the executive decision to worry about Steve’s whereabouts later.

That was a loaded question, and even though you had plenty to do, you knew that was Robin’s way of saying she needed help.  “Not…right this minute.”

“I hate to ask,” it was true, she really did hate to ask for help, but sometimes it was necessary.  “Could you come over here for an hour or so? Katie has teacher conferences, I have to go to the Hammer, and as you know, Steve is MIA…”

“Sure,” Mae let out another earth-cracking wail that made you fear for your life. “Be there in ten minutes.”

—------

Miser’s underground chop shop operated behind one of the oldest buildings in Hawkins; solid brick, using a mom-and-pop place to get an oil change as a front during the day, but at night, stolen cars were stripped for parts and/or sold on the black market.  The building was huge, and had once been a busy hotel and saloon, as it was near the train station.

Miser himself was short and muscular with a gray, handlebar mustache, a rodeo buckle from his old bareback days, and a cowboy hat.  He’d been a pillar of the community for decades, and one of the last few anyone would suspect of illegal activity.  

That morning, Eddie, Steve, Van, and Devlin rolled into the alley, passed the No Trespassing signs, and settled at the locked garage door. Miser’s Old Lady was one of the head Hells Belles named Jackal, and she came out of the back door with him.  A long ponytail of silver hair, she lit a smoke and gave the guys a tip of her chin.  

“That car you said to look out for? The white Jaguar?”

Eddie and Steve still had their sunglasses on, nodding once in unison his question. 

“The guy showed up an hour ago,” Jackal inclined her head, whispering. “He’s been here before. He’s with another crew that likes to scam older women and take their shit.”

Steve and Eddie exchanged a look with the other two members, palms itching to get their hands on him.

“I asked him about the Kings flash,” Jackal continued.  “He said he was from another charter, but he didn’t know who Bones was.”

Bones, President of the Coffin Kings Hawkins charter, was one of the first original 9 members of the MC when they first banded in the 60’s.  Every CK member from Indiana to California knew exactly who Bones was.

So, this guy Nick just made it to the top of their shit list.  

“This might get messy,” Eddie said to Miser.

“We got you,” Jackal confirmed, waving for them to follow her.  

At the far end of the building, a door opened, and a guy with slick black hair, wearing a Coffin Kings kutte stepped out.

“Shit, that’s him—” Miser hissed, reaching for the Ruger at his hip.

But it was too late, the guy saw them and bolted.

Steve cursed, letting out after him on foot alongside Jackal, while Eddie and the others pursued on their bikes.  

Around the next building, there was a car waiting for Nick—a plain white sedan—and even after Steve summoned his high school athlete days, he still couldn’t catch up.  Nick jumped in the passenger seat and the vehicle peeled out, throwing dust up into Steve’s face as his arms windmilled to a halt.   

“Fuck,” Steve took his sunglasses off and threw them to the gravel, nostrils flaring as he watched the vehicle flee.  

Miser sent a gunshot, aiming for the front tire, but missed as the car picked up speed.  

Eddie and the others continued on in hot pursuit, and Jackal motioned for Steve to get into her truck that was nearby: a lifted navy Bronco with monster tires.  Steve had to grip onto the side bar to heft himself up into it, and then she gunned it, skidding out of the parking lot.

The sedan led them on a wild chase over the railroad tracks, skirting the center of town to avoid the cops.  Eddie and Van made their way to the side of the vehicle and Van cracked the driver’s side window with the hilt of his knife, making them swerve.  The car dove into the nearby alfalfa field, going where they knew the motorcycles couldn’t follow.

But, Jackal’s Bronco was made for the mud.

“Hold on—” she warned Steve.

“I’m holding,” Steve said through gritted teeth, eyes narrowed on the target in front of them, his fist tight on the grab handle above his head.  

The sedan almost got its back tire stuck in the ditch, but the Bronco bounced right through the muck like it was a paved road, tractor tread crawling along like a tank.  

While Steve and Jackal took a diagonal course through farmland, Eddie and the rest took the next side road, aiming to cut them off before they could hit the highway.

—-----

You were on your way to Robin’s when you caught sight of a white car being chased through a field by what looked like a monster truck from one of rallies at the coliseum.  

“What…the—-”

It was far enough away that you didn’t feel in danger, but you slowed down to see if you could understand what was happening.

But then three riders on motorcycles were headed in your direction at full tilt, so you pulled off to the side of the road to get out of their way, wondering if you knew any of them—-

“Eddie?” You squinted, wanting to be mistaken.

Indeed that was your boyfriend leading the pack.  

He saw you as they passed at lightning speed and picked up his hand in a wave.

You sat there for a while, watching the three of them disappear in your rearview mirror, clearly angling to beat whoever was driving their car through the crop rows.  

After a heavy sigh, you dropped your shoulders and kept on in the direction you were headed.

Three years ago, you would’ve freaked out and followed them.  But at that point in the relationship, such a scene was par for the course, and you knew it was best to stay out of it. 

—----

Up ahead was a sharp turn in the bend, and Devlin sped up to angle the sedan away from the street.  His approach clipped the bumper of the car, making it lose control, forcing it back into the ditch, but it also made his own bike go flying.  Thankfully he was thrown free before the hunk of metal landed on his leg, skidding across the gravel.

Jackal rode her tire up onto the back of the sedan, pinning it there as the two men inside fled.

Steve was on the ground so fast, he could barely find his feet.  His legs felt like that of a roadrunner in one of the cartoons, flying in circles.  

Eddie snagged the driver, throwing him into the dirt with a grunt, followed with a punch of his fist.  The driver was gangly, with a prison spider web tat on his elbow and dishwater blonde hair styled in a mullet.  

Nick climbed up onto the main road and bolted, until Jackal aimed and shot a bullet so close to his head, the heat grazed his ear.

That made him stutter to a halt, just in time for Steve to tackle him at the waist, putting him down hard on the pavement.  Van took Eddie’s place, putting his knee into the driver’s back, pinning him there while the rest went to deal with the Coffin Kings imposter.

No words were exchanged for a while, just Nick sputtering in pain while Eddie rolled him over to check his pockets.  

He found a wad of bills and waved it in Nick’s bloody face.

“C’mon man, that’s like 2 grand—-” Nick protested through a busted lip before Steve punched him again.

“Yeah, it’s real nice,” Eddie flashed a grin, standing to tuck the money in the top pocket of his leather.  “Take that thing off of him.”

Steve and Devlin got the leather vest off, making sure they hurt him in the process, and then Devlin put his boot on the guys belly to keep him there.

Eddie inspected the insignia’s, noticing there were no rank or name placards, and the material wasn’t even real leather.

Eddie gripped it in his fist.  “Where the fuck did you get this?”

“I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear,” Nick wiggled, grimacing at the weight of Devlin’s foot.  “Just let me go, okay?”

Steve bent down to lap the guys face with the back of his hand.  “He asked you a question.”

Nick looked like he’d rather vomit than tell the truth, but then Jackal stepped up and pointed her gun at him.

“Okay okay!” He squirmed.  “M-my mom made it for me, alright? For my birthday a few weeks ago.”

None of them had been expecting that, but they all made eye contact and snickered in disbelief; Eddie’s grin nearly split his face open right before his expression turned dark again.

“Tell your mom to come see us sometime, we’ll put her to work,” he joked.  “But you? You’re fucking done, do you understand—?”

Steve pulled Nick to his feet by his shirt and got in his face, jaw tense.  “I should kill you for what  you did to her.”

Eddie gave a sideway look, not expecting Steve to still have so much heat under his protectiveness for that woman.  Maybe that’s part of what having daughters did to a man.  

“B-b-but you’re not going to, right?”  Nick blubbered. “We’re cool?”

“We’re far from cool,” Steve pulled him close to whisper in his ear.  “I’ll be coming for you.”

And then Steve shoved him so that he tripped over his feet backwards and fell again.  

“You better run, cowboy,” Jackal shot a bullet into the ground at his feet, and he let out a high-pitched scream before taking off down the road on foot.  

“I see either of you again, you’re dead. Understand?” Eddie shouted after both of them as Van let go of his death grip on the driver.

The two were too scared to look back; too busy scurrying away as fast along the corn field to care about how stupid they looked.  

“Hey, War Machine,” Van brushed blonde hair away from his beard stubble. “Was that your girl we passed back there?”

Eddie checked over his shoulder in the direction of the farmhouse, wondering where you’d been headed, exhaling a long breath. “Yeah, it was.”

—-----

You only saw Robin in passing once you arrived at the house and parked behind the Airstream.  Oliver was at school, so it would be the three young girls with you and Astrid. 

The twins were on the floor in the living room, coloring, and you couldn’t get over how much Gracie looked like Steve.  Since they were fraternal, Rue resembled her sibling, but was also very different.  She had Astrid’s wild hair and a face that didn’t quite resemble either of their parents; Astrid said she was the spitting image of their grandmother, Evelyn.  

Astrid came around the corner cradling Mae in her arms with her mane of black hair back in a clip, and her eyes were puffy. 

“Please take her,” she groaned, handing over Mae into your arms with a sigh of relief.  “I can’t do this anymore.”

Mae had a pacifier in her mouth, but you could tell she was smiling up at you, lids droopy.  You began that automatic movement of rocking her in your arms.  You’d never been around many babies in your life, but the soothing gesture seemed to be ingrained in your dna.  

Astrid flopped heavily into the kitchen chair with a groan. “Did Robin tell you Steve never came home last night?”

“She did,” you bent to kiss Mae’s soft forehead. “Eddie came home late and left early, so Steve might’ve been with him, and I just didn’t know it.”

“It’s not like Steve to not leave a note or let me know somehow,” she started picking at an invisible thread on her peach dress that buttoned down the front. “Do you think he did anything with Charlene?”

You were shocked at the question, but your friend looked like she hadn’t slept in days and perhaps wasn’t processing thoughts at peak capacity.  

“Oh god no, Astrid,” Mae squirmed, kicking her strong little legs a few times in her Big Bird onesie, and you sat down in the chair next to Astrid. “Steve would never, and I think you know that. He’d cut his own hand off before he did anything as stupid as cheat on you.”

“Maybe,” she swallowed hard like she was trying to push down a sob. “We just…can’t seem to connect like we used to, and I’m just…just…”

She covered her face with both hands and cursed into her palms.  

“Hey,” you leaned forward with a free arm to rub soothing circles on her back.  “I’ll stay out here with the girls if you want to take a nap or something?  Slam some beers in the bathroom, whatever.”

Astrid chuckled a bit at that, sliding her hands down her face and into her lap. “Maybe I do need some sleep.”

From where you sat, you could see the twins on the floor in the next room with papers and crayons scattered about.  Just then, you noticed that Rue was headed in your direction, curls bouncing around her face.  

There was a tiny frown on her face, like she’d been concentrating, and she handed each of you a piece of lined notebook paper that had been ripped in half.

Apparently, she’d made some drawings, but before you could say anything, she was off again, determined to get back to her work.

“Thank you Rue, I love you,” you called after her.

“One is from meeee!” Gracie shouted.

“I love you too, Gracie,” you laughed, staring fondly down at the mess of colorful scribbles.

“They want to be like their big brother so bad,” Astrid had tears in her eyes, but for a different reason this time; she was so proud of her little family, so grateful to be a mother.

When you held the paper up to the light, you noticed that there was some writing on the back of it, so you turned it over.

My hot wife —

Slept in trailer, didn’t want to wake the girls

Can’t wait to kiss you again

I love you

S.

“Um, I think you should see this—” you passed the note to Astrid, and enjoyed watching the relief spread across her face as she read it.  

—------

A few hours later, Steve rolled up to Munson’s Garage in the Jaguar, after giving it a test run around the hills to enjoy how smooth it took corners.  He found Charlene already waiting there on a bench in the shade, talking with Wayne who wore a pair of light blue coveralls.

Wayne got to his feet while Steve pulled the sportscar up to the closest parking spot.

“Took you long enough,” Uncle barked at him, crossing his arms.  “Cab dropped her off an hour ago.”

He’d left the top down, so his hair was a mess, and he pushed his sunglasses up, eyeing the two.

“No, it’s fine,” Charlene shrugged, looking relaxed.  “I had good company.”  She had on a teal, halter top pant suit with matching heels, and she stuck out like a sore thumb.   

Steve put one booted foot up on the bench seat next to her.  “Yeahm, so, that guy Nick, he wasn’t—”

“I know,” Charlene reluctantly held her hand out to take the keys he was offering. “Eddie told me. I’d like to say I’ve learned my lesson, but probably not.”

“No woman deserves that,” Wayne said, giving Steve a pointed look. “I hope you boys took care of it.”

“We did,” Steve met his gaze, letting him know without words that the dude wouldn’t be hanging around Hawkins if he had a lick of sense.  

Wayne said a polite goodbye to Charlene before heading back to the shop. 

“You never mentioned how charming your uncle is,” she said, running a hand through her hair.

“Stay away from Wayne,” Steve grumbled, sitting down across from her.

“I didn’t mean—” she got flustered and then straightened.  “He reminds me of my dad, that’s all I meant.  Nothing nefarious.”

“Never can tell with you,” he muttered, fumbling to rip the wrapper off a soft pack of Camels with his teeth. He told himself he wouldn’t buy another pack, but he lied.

There was silence while Steve lit his smoke, all but for the sound of faint rock music and an electric drill from one of the garages.

“So,” she chanced. “I hear you have a big family now.”

“Yeah, what about ‘em?” He scowled at her after a hearty inhale.  

Charlene lifted both palms out as a sign of surrender.  “Forget it, I was going to say I’m happy for you.”

Steve snorted.  “You expect me to believe that, after all the shit you pulled, that you actually give a shit about anyone?”

She’d expected that, and she knew she deserved it.  

“I give a shit about you,” she muttered.  “I would’ve done anything for you.”

The sincerity confused him but then he pushed his shoulders back.  “I’ve got everything I ever wanted, and I won’t let anyone fuck with that. ‘Specially not you.”

“Understood,” she said, rubbing her magenta lips together with a nod. 

“I want you to be happy, though,” he softened his tone.  “I cared about you once, and that means I always will, no matter how much I wish that weren’t true.  I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

“That’s probably the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me,” she scoffed a self-deprecating laugh.

“That sucks,” Steve exhaled through his nostrils. “You’ve got a good heart, Charlene.  It’s just too bad you don’t know how to use it.”

A car pulled into the compound and at first, Steve didn’t pay much attention until he saw over his shoulder that it was you.

With Astrid and the girls.  

—-----

Eddie turned the radio up in the garage when Come and Get It by Judas Priest came on, and then wiped his hands on a red rag as he made his way to the office.  Although the finances at the Hammer and the garage were handled separately, he’d hired one accountant he trusted to take care of it all, and she’d just left a stack of paperwork for him to sign. 

On the wall behind the desk was a framed photo of the two of you together, hugging in the front doorway of the farmhouse the first day you’d moved in.  The flashback made his mouth twitch in a smile, as he had so many fond memories of those first couple weeks, back when there was nothing but a mattress on the floor and several leaks in the roof he had to control with various buckets.  It was just the two of you, making love and whispering about lifetimes of devotion.

He had a secret place in the metal file cabinet where he kept all of the notes you’d left in his lunch over the months, and he had this tugging need to look through them again just before he caught sight of your car coming through the open gate and into the compound.  Wayne was gone, but there on the picnic table sat Charlene and Steve, and before he could think too much about it, his feet were moving, wrenching the door open to make his way across the lot.

Steve jumped up when he saw you angling for a parking spot nearby.  Oh shit, Eddie realized you had Astrid and the girls with you, too.  The fact that they’d helped Charlene was no secret, but still, it made him feel uneasy with everyone about to converge in one spot. 

—------

“Please tell me that is not Charlene,” Astrid whispered, eyeing the profile of the woman sitting across from her husband.

“I’m afraid that is exactly who it is,” you muttered, suddenly feeling like maybe it wasn’t a great idea to bring the girls by to visit daddy at work. It had been a while, and you assumed she’d be gone by then.

But it was too late now.  You recognized the Jaguar parked nearby; it was the same one she brought in for Eddie to fix that first day you met.

All three girls were safely in car seats in the back, and when Astrid went to step out, Steve was right there, blocking her exit.

Funny enough, Eddie did the same, but on your side.  He was there so fast, you accidentally hit his leg with the door.

“What a sight for sore eyes,” he grinned, pulling you flush to him while tipping your chin up for a kiss.  

With lips still brushing together, you mumbled: “What the hell is she still doing here?”

And then through gritted teeth, Eddie responded: “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Steve went to grab for Astrid right away, hands at her hips, and she let him, but her attention was over his shoulder.  

“To what do I owe this pleasure, gorgeous?” He murmured, noticing that she’d put on some mascara and deep burgundy lipstick after not wearing makeup for months.  

Steve only shuffled back a few steps to allow her to shut the door, but then he continued to act as a barrier to keep her from going any further.  He bent down to knock on the back window, waving to the twins as Mae slept in the car seat between them.  Gracie shouted “daddy!” and held her hand out as if he could grab it through the glass. 

Steve glanced sideways at Eddie.  “So, should we all go get pizza or something? At that one place with the bouncy balls that the girls like? My treat.  If you head over there, we’ll meet you—-”

Eddie was close to telling his friend to shut the hell up, as it felt like his babbling was only making things worse. 

Astrid kissed his cheek.  “Please move out of my way, Steven.”

—----

Charlene stood up and took hold of the keys to head for the Jaguar.  She could tell by the looks you and Astrid were sharing that she’d managed to make things awkward, and more than anything, she felt embarrassed.  

But, she took a step away from the picnic bench just in time to see Steve’s twin daughters come bouncing out of the vehicle in matching Oshkosh overalls and her chest tightened—-oh god, one of them was the spitting image of Steve.

And why were the two tiny girls headed that way on their little wobbly legs as if they knew her?  

“Slow down, Rue!” Astrid called after them as Steve fumbled at getting the car seat out that had Mae inside.  

“She’s, um, she was just leaving,” Steve grunted, trying to move the apparatus out without waking the baby.  Astrid was already rushing to catch up with the girls, making each of them hold one of her hands.  

For some reason, Charlene was frozen.  Locking eyes with Gracie, knowing they were Steve’s hazel eyes, accumulated with the rest of her regrets like a punch to the gut.

Her deep dark secret was that she’d always wanted children of her own, but John refused.  

You and Eddie followed them over, albeit reluctantly.  If there were ever some serious conversation that needed to be had with Charlene, it certainly wouldn’t be done with the kids there, and so you weren’t at all sure what could possibly unfold.  

Although Charlene and Astrid had spent a very tense few moments together the night Craig was shot, they’d never shared more than a few words with each other.  Last night, when Steve got the page from Eddie, she’d known it was about Charlene before he even said a thing; she could feel her arriving in her bones like some might feel the impending threat of cold weather.  

Steve hurried to get between the two women and set the baby carrier on the picnic table.  Gracie was on her tiptoes with her arms up, begging him to put her on his shoulders, and so he did, and she took hold of his hair like a saddle horn.

“Glad we could meet under better circumstances,” Astrid said to Charlene, sincerely.

Eddie put his arm around your shoulder and you sank into him, wrapping both arms around his middle. You wished you could hide under his blue and black flannel so no one could see you.  

“You have a really beautiful family,” was all Charlene could think to say as she caught sight of Steve’s third daughter.

“Thank you,” Astrid replied, maintaining steady eye contact.

There were a few strained silences, and you could feel Eddie wanting to fill them, but suddenly he burst out with:

“Did you want to come by the Hammer and see what we’ve done with the place?” He chirped, rubbing your arm almost violently. 

Your whole body tensed at that, and you could see that it was the same physical response for Steve.  

“No, that’s…I’m good,” Charlene removed the Gucci sunglasses from the top of her head and put them over her eyes.  “There are several cargo crates of my things being sent to Hawaii right now, and I have a flight to catch.  But I’m sure you’ve done well with it.”

But it was Rue who broke the next silence.

She’d wandered a few yards over to the fence and back, carrying two bright yellow dandelions pinched between her fingers.

She was right there, blocking Charlene’s path to her car, arm outstretched to offer her one.

“For me?” Charlene was genuinely confused, and not accustomed to the wholesome kindness often displayed by children.  

Rue just nodded, tucking the other one behind her ear so that the bloom was at her cheek.

The rest of you exchanged a few baffled looks—all but Astrid, because she knew what was happening.  She knew then that her daughter carried the same gift she’d been born with; the gift of intuitive sight.  Even at her young age, Rue could read people and their intentions, and she knew that Charlene was no longer a threat to them.  She knew that everyone in that parking lot deserved healing and forgiveness. 

“Like this?” Charlene put the flower in her hair the same way with tentative fingers, and Rue nodded again, moving around the woman to walk back over to her family.

Astrid scooped Rue up into her arms.

Charlene took one last look over at the group as she drove out of the compound, seeing the way you all smiled at each other, continuing on with conversation as if she’d never been there. You were all visibly relieved to no longer be sharing space with her, but Rue had been able to see her with fresh eyes, without all of the pain and suffering she’d inflicted on others and on herself.  There’d been no judgment or weariness in that child’s eyes; just curiosity and love. It gave her a bit of hope that maybe she could…start over.  Maybe she’d fall in love again with a guy who wasn’t Steve, maybe she’d adopt a child of her own one day, or maybe…she’d get a dog and call it a day.  

—------

A few days later, you couldn’t find Scully, and the two of you fell into panic mode.

“Did you let her out?” Eddie snapped.  “You know we need to keep her inside this close to the due date.”

Eddie was a mess. Granted, you were upset too, but he was ready to tear the whole house apart looking for her, and then some.  You couldn’t help but smile to yourself seeing how devoted he was to this once stray cat.  Some nights he even made room between the two of you so that Scully could sleep in the middle.

But finally, a soft mewing from the closet alerted you to the fact that she’d tucked herself away in the dark to have her babies.  

“Honey, come look,” you whispered down the hall to him.

There she was, snuggled back in the corner in a box of old sweatshirts, nursing four tiny baby kittens.  She had one more a half hour later to make the final count five.  Two black, one gray, one black and white, and one orange striper.

“Daddy must’ve been an orange guy, hey my darling?” He hummed a conversation to Scully as you picked them all up to put down some fresh blankets, making sure she had food and water nearby.  

“What should we name them?” Eddie asked as you both sat in the doorway, watching them nuzzle together for sleep.

“I think we should let Oliver name the orange little girl, since I know that’s the one he’ll pick,” you whispered, to which Eddie agreed.  “Maybe I’ll name the gray one Keanu,” you said, mostly joking, but Eddie didn’t seem bothered.  As soon as it was possible, Scully would be back at the vet to get fixed, but you were grateful to have this experience with him.

“Can I name the black ones Dio and Vecna?”  He asked, hopefully.

“What kind of a name is Vecna?” You wrinkled your nose.  “Should we call him Vicky for short?”

“The black and white looks like a Leia,” he continued, eyes sparkling.  

“Leia is a good name,” you hummed, putting your cheek on his shoulder. 

You moved Scully and her box of babies into your bedroom so that she would be closer if she needed anything, but then in the middle of the night, she moved the kittens back to the same spot in the guest bedroom closet, so then that is where you let her stay.  

Later that night, you were in the kitchen cleaning up before bed, when you heard Eddie singing a song under his breath in the next room:

“Hey little girl is your daddy home, did he go and leave you all alone…”

You thought you recognized it as you scrubbed a dish, eyes darting to the window to watch two motorcycles zoom by on the dark highway in the distance.

“I got a bad desire…”

On the refrigerator behind you, secured by magnets, were photo snapshots of the two of you with Steve and Astrid, Robin and Katie, Gracie, Rue and one of Mae when she was first born.  There was one of Wayne twenty years ago, standing with Taz and War Machine as two gangly teenagers.  There was a long strip from a photo booth at the fair with you, Eddie, and Oliver all making faces for the camera.  

“Tell me now, baby, is he good to you

Can he do to you the things that I do? I can take you higher…”

He’d been folding the blanket on the couch and blowing out candles, but then he was on his way to  you as the mumbled lyrics got clearer:

“Sometimes it's like someone took a knife, baby, edgy and dull

And cut a six-inch valley through the middle of my skull…”

You finished what you were doing, but then you stayed still, feeling him come up behind.  

“At night, I wake up with the sheets soaking wet

And a freight train running through the middle of my head…”

You leaned back, letting yourself be caged in his embrace; his head dipping to kiss your neck.  You thought about that day on the side of the road when he picked you up in the tow truck, and how it didn’t feel like you were meeting for the first time but more, coming back together after a lifetime apart.  

His lips ghosted the shell of your ear.  “Only you can cool my desire…”

After that first kiss years ago,  you knew there would never be another option for you; Eddie Munson was endgame.  Having tasted true love once in your life, you felt like you could die happy.

But not until you rode the highway of life for a long, long time.  Even at the end, you’d still be holding on tight.

“...Oh oh oh I’m on Fire…”

—------

The Epilogue of an Epilogue

“Yo, Steve. Package for you.”

It was Thumper, working the door at the Velvet Hammer for what promised to be a wild Friday night. Max ended up showing interest in the Assistant Manager position, after deciding that long haul trucking was taking a toll on her need to start a family, and Robin couldn’t hire her fast enough. Jeff also came on as a part-time bartender, leaving you pleasantly surprised and wondering what other skill sets he had up his sleeve.  

Steve had just come through the door to ask Shana for a cup of coffee when the crumpled brown piece of mail flew at his chest.  He caught it, but took the time to throw Thumper a dirty look.  

“Ease up, boss,” the burly biker grumbled through a huge grin.  “Since when do you have a penpal in Hawaii?”

He stopped in his tracks at that, afraid to look down.  Afraid to open it, even.  Steve’s newest ink—-Mae’s name on the back of his hand—-glistened from the recent layer of Aquaphor.

He asked for his coffee with a pound of sugar and sat at the end of the bar, frowning.

The return address was a P.O. box in Honolulu without a name, but he didn’t even have to wonder.  He was sure he could smell the Chanel through the packaging.

Inside was a ring of keys.

Car keys, clearly, but it took him a second to understand what they belonged to and why they looked so familiar in his hand.

There was also a note:

These are the keys to the Jaguar.  It’s parked in a secure garage at the airport, instructions also enclosed.

Every time I drive it, I get myself in trouble. Hopefully you will have better luck, or maybe Rue can have it when she gets older. 

The dandelion was a fair trade.  

C.

—----

I have so much to say, so much love to give to you all, and I hope you can feel it through the words. I'm so deeply grateful for each one of you and this experience. Whether you have left comments, reblogs, thoughtful asks, or edits, I remember you and you are special to me. I would give anything to meet up at the Velvet Hammer for cocktails (and/or tea, of course) but here are a few in particular I'd like to thank:

Huge thank you to @cryptidcurio for being the initial inspiration for this fic in the first place, and for always feeding me the best ideas. Some of the most popular scenes in this series are from her. Our biker Eddie and biker Steve talks seem to have somehow gotten us through the past hellish year, I love you. I'm so grateful for @texasblues and all of our chats about Steve, Astrid, Wayne, and the girls. Truly, the only reason Astrid and Steve are so perfect is because of Jennie and our brainstorming. We chat a lot about what Rue, Gracie, and Mae will be like when they are older, and hopefully we'll have a few blurbs about that someday. Also, I highly recommend her Steve & Astrid writings HERE My beautiful friend @dandelionnfluff decided to do a bind of I'm on Fire for their personal use and I am still choked up about how much work they put in and how gorgeous it is. You can see their amazing work here: book bind

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[fuck-i-love-october]

"Skin and Bones."

One-shot angst (James centric)

written by: Me!

Heavy topics such as: Eating disorders, weight gain and loss. Treatment facilities.

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James Potter has a binge eating disorder

Funny side comments from opposing quidditch teams in the locker room. Poking at his sides and chuckling. James potter had always been bone-skinny until he hit his growth spurt in third year, and had recently began to build muscle just in these few months(Year 5) and rather than accepting and acknowledging the idea that his body was changing because it was growing and adapting. Because it was supposed to,

James blamed the food.

His mother had once snorted at dinner to see her sons plate piled high, not in judgement but in an observation. "Growing boy." She'd retort.

Now he hardly ever touches his food at all.

James' heaping meals had turned into disgust and resentment toward the very thing that gave his body nutrients. He didn't like to eat much at all anymore. He only shook his head on his way back to Hogwarts after their holiday break, the lady manning the trolly eyeing him wearily as she had never in all of five years seen James potter refuse to buy a chocolate frog or two for the journey. She shook her head as she passed.

A week back from break and Sirius had nudged James with his elbow, sliding his plate over; an offering. He loved Sirius, but learned to hate how well he knew the other. Sirius had noticed. James prayed to everything holy that he hadn't noticed. He never didn't, though. It was just one of those things. James always knew when Sirius was wrong and Sirius always knew when James wasn't right. A pair of hands they were. Eyes and lungs too. A whole heart between them.

James shook his head with a pleasant and calm smile. He pushed the plate back toward his best friend begging him to take the nod. Sirius sighed and did exactly that, proceeding to devour whatever it is he had presented to his James in the moments before.

"No, Moony. I don't want a bite off of your whizzbees. I've had enough of that stuff today."

Enough meant 4 (four) of bott's everything flavoured beans. Yes he counted. Of course he'd counted.

James potter knew he was sick. Most people wouldn't take the time to count out less than half a handful of jelly beans, but it made him good. It made him pure, clean.

And there was no more 'pudgy potter' in the locker room. No more giggles and whispers, even if James' body really was just muscly, no one ever seemed to add that logic to their responses. James potter was fucking awful hard to insult. So theyd pick apart everything they could. Pry at his last shreds of pride. Anything to get a reaction. James sometimes felt like he was up on stage in some circus. Like he was a lion paraded around a carnival tent for the booing crowds amusement. He didn't like that feeling. Empty felt better. Empty felt clearer.

He could make sense of empty.

And James was obsessive about it. Of course he was obsessive. He knew how much everyone ate all of the time. Ask him the date and you'd be met with a tilted head but ask him what Peter had for breakfast and he'd answer so fast it'd make your head spin.

James knew how many calories were in a handful of almonds but couldn't help you with the homework if he tried.

No one noticed. Course not. James potter was perfect. He was a cocky bastard. So arrogant. He'd never care about those things. He knew he looked good. He knew he was attractive. And he loved all of the attention that he got.

Anyone around him would say. But when James looked into girls eyes after they'd taken a considerable amount of time to glance him over he was just trying to find their thoughts. Just trying to confirm the suspicion that everyone was laughing at him and his pathetic body.

Sirius offered nearly every weekend to treat James to dinner. Take him out somewhere special. Remus had even offered to cook. Peter had gotten his mom to send a loaf of that banana bread James used to love. Their gestures remained unseen. Untouched.

Nobody said anything. To obstruct James' happiness was to shut light off from the world. He seemed fine. He seemed as energetic and happy and well as ever.

James was happy when he felt small.

A high he could chase forever. And the looks of concern and the whispers in horror didn't bother James. He reveled in it. They think he's small. They see his wrists and his thighs and wonder how long it's been since that poor boy had a fucking meal.

But that just isn't a sustainable lifestyle, now is it?

No one likes skeletons. And you can't be dead before you've ever died at all.

James had gotten sick. He hurt every time he even had to get out of bed. His energy depleted faster than anyone has seen and before they could register the sun was gone. Asleep, most of the time. Rotting away in bed the others.

James frequented the nurses office. He was constantly injured or tired of something. Hed swing his bony knees against the cot they'd set up, offering her a warm smile and he'd talk with the nurse for hours. And When Sirius looked up from conversing with Remus during a potions project to see James missing it was only disappointment every time.

Effie nearly fainted when her son came home stick-thin and sickly, the colour faded from his once golden skin. He hardly even talked like her son anymore. He was happy. James was always happy. But there was something beyond that now. Something more. Something sad and desperate and fucking hungry.

She nodded off their escort and rushed her boys inside. Sirius was of course more than enthusiastic for the taste of effies home cooked meals, something hed missed most about life outside of Hogwarts. He was quick to fill a plate and sit in the same spot he always had.

James was still in the kitchen "deciding" on what to eat. Pasta or water isn't an impossible choice for James potter, just a very difficult one. His mother filled his plate high, her eyes pleading with a quiet 'something. anything..eat, baby. Please eat.' And she never had to say it. He grabbed this plate and headed begrudgingly into the dining room. James sat across from Sirius, as things once had been. And for a moment Sirius smiled. There was a flash of hope in his eyes as he saw the actually human portion of food on his best friends plate. James swore he saw a weight lift off of Sirius' shoulders. He poked at his food, moving it around every so often. Sirius counted. Counted the bites of food James ate. Ridiculous isn't it? When your best friend becomes the skeleton in your closet nothing seems too outlandish anymore.

4...

5..

"James! How was this season's quidditch team?'

James dropped his fork with a smile, turning to face his ever-curious father. The conversation went on for minutes. Minutes that seemed like hours. Fuck this. Why isn't he eating? Why aren't you eating, James?

Sirius hadn't meant to mutter that last bit out loud.

He hadn't muttered much at all, actually. It was almost a yell. Closest thing to it without the anger.

James chuckled. Why was he laughing? What was so funny?

"Quidditch gets me excited, pads. It was an insanely close season, too. The entire discussion was very necessary."

Sirius spit fire. Venom. His roots went further back than he'd admit. A snake is still bites like one even if it sews on it's own limbs and pretends to be something it isn't. Sirius fears his next words are too harsh as they fall.

"Close? Gryffindor lost against Slytherin by a fucking margin. Probably because their star chaser was too busy counting calories to eye the ball!"

James swallowed thickly. Again he chuckled. "Alright, alright I admit. It was an off-season."

Sirius' hand slammed against the table with a harsh cough. He stood."Excuse me."

Sirius left the dining room, then the house entirely. He was pacing the perimeter of the estate, kicking rocks and gravel to his side as he muttered a series of incoherent, painful curses.

James was left in silence with his parents eyes burning holes right through him. He'd never felt less safe in his own home.

"..James."

"Dad?"

"Have you been..have you been getting enough to eat, son?"

"Of course I have. I never stop eating, right? Isn't that what you always say? Mom. Tell him he's being unreasonable tell him-"

His mother only shook her head and sighed. A pit formed in James' stomach. Possibly the most full he'd been in months and it was on sickness itself.

Another hour, a real one this time, of arguing and informing and lecturing from both his parents.

"This isn't sustainable, James." One would say.

"My boy...what happened to my boy?" Would cry the other. James felt sick. Terribly so. He felt bad for them. He felt bad about the pasta in his stomach. All around he felt wrong. It was all wrong.

The heat died down and James managed to let himself breathe just a little. He had nothing left to say. What was there to say? He apologized but was shut down immediately after being assured that was not in fact what his parents wanted to hear.

He refused the idea of treatment, but swore to his mother that he'd really, really try this time. Sirius did come back eventually. Their night was spent with James bawling in his best friends arms. They fell asleep holding each other, bound to happen anyway.

The next week was hell. James had eyes on him every time he entered the kitchen. Every time the clock struck noon, he was rushed to a table forced into a chair and again put on display. Only this circus was meaner. This circus was full of the hands that once fed him. An ironic play on words. If James had ever had less of an appetite he'd have been bewildered. He was nauseous all the time. Even sitting on the sofa felt like he was tearing a void in the space time continuom itself. James was no longer a son or a best friend, he was a patient. He was sick. He looked sick. They treated him like he was sick.

A month, two, passed. James got better. As 'better' as he could be. He was healthier now, and more comfortable to just eat a sandwich. Something he'd never thought would have been as revolutionary as it was.

He could run without wanting to faint and he could laugh without hurting his ribcage. James potter again was whole.

Only a month until 6th year. James truly couldn't wait. He felt better now. He was better. The process was slow and shameful and incredibly painful but he's made it through. Some days were worse than others. Some days he had to drink bone broth, because the thought of chewing and swallowing an actual food terrified him to his core.

But he was fine for most of it. Living anyway.

James still remembers going out to dinner and actually wanting something off of the menu. He didn't even attempt to ask for the calorie inclusive options.

He remembers his picnic with the Marauders, sprawled out across a blanket, giggling..Food wasn't his priority. Food wasnt a monster. And neither was he. He could have a strawberry extra if he wanted to. He could indulge in the meal he'd stayed up all night to make and package for his trip. And god damnit James potter could have a slice of Mrs. Pettigrews banana bread. He didn't need to feel guilty. Those things were never the enemy. His own mind was. Something he'd grown to accept and understand. It was weird and foreign and the concepts didn't always fit quite right in his head but he was healing. And he was happy to be..

The first few weeks back were great. Orientation ran by smooth. Dorms, classes, ice breakers. Nothing new. It was a repetitive routine that James found an immense comfort in. He always knew what to expect when he returned. Hogwarts was a home for him. Something he'd grown to love. And a sense of normalcy isn't a bad thing. Not by any means.

So the world kept spinning and the year went on and james potter never did find time again to pick up old, mean habits.

Until quidditch season.

James, per usual, made the team. Per usual, he claimed the same dingy, dented and fucked up locker he'd received in first year, the lock now broken after years of slamming it closed after tiring practice.

Then everything changed. It was the third week and James was dressing into his uniform, his shirt off. He leaned up to grab something from his obnoxiously high(but familiar) locker, which was when he felt someone pinching at his sides. This followed with snickers. James wasn't stick-think anymore. There was something there to grab. And it was. Something that wasn't theirs. Some slytherin bloke took it. Now all James could feel was wrong all over. He wasn't sickly. He wasn't ill. They never did anything when he was so small his ribs poked through his skin in an unsettlingly prevalent greeting.

And that was taken advantage of the first moment it could.

James skipped practice that day. He fell to his knees in the middle of the bathroom and spilled his guts all over sink. James swore he must have vomited so many times he coughed up blood. or his morals. Was there ever any difference?

That night at dinner James replayed the same instance in his mind a thousand times as he leered over his plate of food. He felt that same sickness take over, bile rising in his throat. James pushed his plate away. He'd have an early breakfast. A midnight snack, something. But not now. Not here. Not around these people with their..judgy stares. Oh, merlin, are they looking? Everyone's looking at you, James. They see you and your awful ugly body. They're laughing again aren't they?

He tossed his entire tray into the bin, and ran a lap or two around the courtyard for good measure. Oh how he'd missed this. Running in the blistering cold, making himself perfect again.

And the next morning, all he could think about was how good it felt to shiver. To shiver. To hurt somewhere other than in his bones. To have an ache beside the hole in his chest. He skipped breakfast. There's always time to eat later. It'd only be cold out right now.

James took his morning run. He made it back in time just for herbology. Lunch wasn't important to him. He'd had a big breakfast. Is what he said when Remus asked.

And thus it became routine. Wake up, run. Classes, run, classes, run. He found comfort in this. He felt so small. He was getting smaller. He grinned in the mirror, not as afraid of his own reflection this time as he was the last. The last? No. These situations don't compare do they? James isn't sick this time. James feels great. Last time was bad..it was awful. James only remembers the hurt. He remembers the exhaustion and the weakness. This time he feels alive. He feels better.

James didn't seem to realize that his younger self too felt that way for the first month. And it wasn't until after that did he notice it the second time.

James was sickly. Not in body mass, not yet but in mind. He'd grown obsessive over the idea of starving. It was all he thought about. It was all he ever had time to think about. It was a disease that plagued his mind, the thought of not eating. It's like he'd hear the wind and itd remind him of how good he'd been. How he'd narrowly avoided breakfast this morning after Sirius' continuous wadgers.

And it wasn't until month three that it had become a real problem. An addiction. James couldn't live without the idea of starving. He couldn't even think about food. Who remembers food? He only ever ate when he was forced to, and even then he was nearly kicking and screaming. This only happened about once a week until he got smart. He'd began to enter the dining hall earlier than any one of his friends. He'd leave before they could get there. No one could prove that he didn't eat if they never saw him at all. Sometimes he'd meet the other three as he was "emptying" his plate, and he'd smile. James would be lying if he said it didn't break his heart a little when he saw Sirius' eyes light up to see him with an empty plate.

James had no reason to hide it. It was more for others than himself. He didn't want them to worry. They already were. James was small again. Really small.

And this time hed gotten through unscathed. No one said anything when his jumpers got too big or when his quidditch jersey was basically falling off his shoulders.

Until Remus had had enough of it. He confronted his worries to Sirius. They conspired. James was ill. This much they knew. But they were entirely helpless in this situation. They couldn't get James to eat if they begged. They couldn't even bring up food without his whole demeanor changing.

And thus a plan was formed.

In a last minute attempt at desperation, the pair had reached out to James mother. It would have made the meanest of men ache if they read the words Sirius black etched in the ink of a lousy parchment paper about how he much he missed the man James once was. About how he was scared for his best friends life. James was alive. He couldn't be dead already. He was still moving. Dead things don't move. Dead things can't speak. Though Sirius imagines dead people would find a lot more to say than James had managed recently.

It was a week later before they were written back. This letter was not received until after the first night James didn't show. Sirius was scared. Bloody terrified. That letter couldn't have come sooner when he, the next morning was informed via effies absolute godsend of a message that James had infact been removed for professional treatment. Sirius felt terrible. He knew those places. He knew they were bleak and lonely and endlessly white. He knew James must have been awful fucking scared in that little prison unrightfully deemed a "recovery" but he knew that if no one else got through to him, isolation would. And it would hit him eventually square across the face all of the terrible things he'd been doing to his body. James wasn't dumb. But he was plagued. Infected. Diseased.

And Sirius couldn't have taken it any much longer. Watching his best friend kill himself right Infront of him. It was slow but sure at the rate he'd been going. Remus had to help Sirius navigate those fears all over again when James left.

James had been in treatment for two weeks now. The nurses enjoyed his conversation. The patients enjoyed his presence. Because of course it would be James potter who lightened the darkest and heaviest places in the whole world just with his smiles.

One nurse had even commented on what a sweet boy he was. How he shouldn't have been in here. Inquiring as to why he had been here while she forced an array of fix-me pills into his palm, like it heald no weight at all. Like it was just her job. What a stupid fucking question. Why am I in here? Why are you trying to fix me? James wanted to retort out loud. He didn't. By some grace or another.

It was a month of this psychological torture before he'd been released. Just in time for summer. James thanked everything he could think to thank that he hadn't had to finish the last month of coursework. He was good in school. But merlin if he hated it. No such passion in something as miniscule as magic when there was a whole world out there to be seen. James never did like to be confined. Irony would again be the death of him.

James was a normal, good and healthy weight before anyone saw him again. Thankful for it. His poor mother couldn't have taken it a second time around. Her boy, as she knew him, was corrupted. But it was all a lot prettier if it wasnt on the outside. Maybe then she could pretend he was normal.

Nobody said much of anything when dinner rolled around. Rather difficult to make conversation when the only things you have to say are "Hey, how was that hospital we involuntarily stuck you in?" And "Hey, guess what happened for that entire stretch of time where I was out living the life you couldn't?"

So yes, dinner was quiet. James wasn't awkward about anything. He ate. He didn't hesitate. Anything he ate here was far better than anything he ate there. Nothing would ever surmount his mother's cooking, especially not after a half a year without it. He was as kind as ever when he inquired about summer plans, and as quiet as he could be when he listened. Almost as if though he didn't move or think or speak at all everyone would forget anything had ever been wrong in the first place. Everything would go back to normal. To good.

Summer went by quicker than it should have. Movie nights and sleepovers and boardgames were plenty. This also added a sense of normalcy to James seemingly ever-changing life. He felt good. Fine, at the very least. Maybe not quite as happy as he'd once been, but he was able to eat. And that was fine. He made his peace with this. No one urged him to eat. No one had to.

James plate was always arranged a specific way. No on dared to ruin that for him. That's all he had left. All of the control he was allowed to have. He set his vegetables to one side and his proteins to another and no one said absolutely anything at all. who would?

James felt fragile. He hated it. He was a boy in a forever bubble because of one mishap once or twice, and now everyone views him as some..loose canon. Like nudging into him would land both of you in an infirmary. Like James was contagious for some illness he didn't have.

That summer was modest. Little. Sirius and James had accidently created this large divide between one another with no intentions of doing so at all. No one's fault really. When Sirius saw James he couldn't blink back the image of the walking corpse he once was, and when James saw Sirius' he couldn't stomach the thought of that same man being the one who found him dead before he ever died.

There was this one afternoon, though.

The triad spent their day at one of the many lakes in their area. Things felt young again. James reveled in the blissful ignorance he was granted on this day. His mood still hadnt dampened when the ground was pulled out from under him with a harsh yank into the bellowing body of water below. He only giggled as he pulled Sirius down with him, whines and complains from the older about the importance of his hair and how crudely it had been provoked. Remus sighed in amusement. Peter nearly died in the sea of laughter that hung over their heads.

James felt whole once again. It had never been about food. It had never been about his thoughts or his habits. It was always them.

Always them that he needed. Always them he will need. So when Sirius pulls him up onto a river rock and they sit together, messy and soaked torsos pressed side to side with light chuckles, and when Sirius glances over with a relieved sigh, now fodning a new image to replace the wretched one that had been stuck in his head for what felt like forever, things felt like they were going to be okay. Forever. James hoped. And when Sirius turned to him and told him how much he'd missed him when he was gone, how much he did still, James nearly broke down, barreling into his arms. They heald each other there for a few minutes before Peter made some offhanded comment and they were back in the water, begrudgingly no doubt. James knew these were his people. His forevers. If nothing else was consistent they always were. He knew that for anything, it was them he needed to be around for. It was them he needed to go on for.

Meals sure were a lot less difficult when he realized his life was one worth living. His fork never felt so heavy again. He knew how to talk now. He knew it wasn't his fault for getting bad, but that he did have people there. He took advantage of his opportunities and thanked the universe every chance he got that he'd been given the people he was. He screamed his grattidudes to the stars and whispered praises to the moon. He walked barefoot across grass and he laughed so violently that his shoulders shook. He made sandwiches and tried new recipes and he never again took this life he was given for granted. James potter was proud to be alive. He was in love with the very idea of living. Now he chases the sunset and he swims in oceans. He spends his waking moments with the people he loves and the rest of it all dreaming about what he'll do with them tomorrow. James potter has found purpose in living. James potter is now and forever whole.

[cilil]

𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 | 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬

𓄌 Characters/pairings: Melkor x Mairon 𓄌 Synopsis: Melkor decides to join the hunt to search for fire spirits. Mairon's hunt is cut short when the Dark Vala finds him. 𓄌 Warnings: Ultimately consensual, but I'll issue a slight dub-con warning to be safe. Also rough sex and some fighting 𓄌 Oneshot (~2.1k words) | AO3

That little game of Oromë's was entertaining, he had to admit. 

Melkor had been informed by his spies that another Feast of Horns was about to take place and had decided to join the Hunt as well, looking for his favourite prey: Fire spirits. Two in particular that had caught his eye, to be exact. 

He hadn't attended the other festivities, of course, being at war with his brethren and not welcome in their realm as it was, but to sneak past any and all who might hinder him to secretly mingle with the Hunters as they dispersed in the fields and forests around Almaren had been laughably easy; on a night like this, vigilance was low. 

Now all Melkor had to do was locate his prey and claim his catch, ideally far away from prying eyes where he would be undisturbed and any cries for help would not be heard. Discarding his raiment for the time being, he concealed his presence and began his search. 

Arien was the one he found first. She was running through the fields of Arda, laughing and carefree, hand in hand with Ilmarë. Eönwë and Tilion were in hot pursuit, and Melkor glared at them from the shadows. Too many others around. He would not have her today, that much was clear, and the thought angered him. Having to yield his prey to lesser Ainur, how utterly irritating. 

Mairon better be alone tonight. Melkor's impatience would not allow another unsuccessful hunt. He had no intention to settle for something other than what he wanted. 

His anger quickly disappeared once Arien and her companions were out of sight and he caught Mairon's trace. The other Maia indeed appeared to be hunting by himself at the moment, as he was wont to do; he preferred working alone and having the fruits of his labour to himself, driven by his ambition to surpass his kin. 

Melkor found him sneaking around in the deeper parts of a nearby forest, golden eyes gleaming in the twilight as he searched for something, most likely a good vantage point or the trace of whoever he had deemed worthy of his attention. A pair of artful spiral horns adorned his head, revealing that he was indeed one of the Hunters for this feast, but that meant little to the Vala pursuing him. He was going to have him regardless. 

Mairon froze when Melkor stepped out of the shadows and revealed himself, wearing the shape of a tall and beautiful lord. His hair, blacker than a starless night, nearly reached his waist and a matching pair of horns grew on his head like a crown of darkness. He smiled at him, showing off deadly sharp fangs. 

"Well met, little one," Melkor greeted, his voice low and resembling the purr of a huge cat. "I have come to claim my catch." 

"Your catch?" Mairon let out a small, arrogant laugh and shook his head. 

The way his flame-like hair moved around his bare shoulders only heightened Melkor's excitement and prompted him to come closer. 

"Yes. Mine." 

"I am a Hunter, as you can see. Find someone else." 

Melkor regarded him quietly for a while, torn between irritation and amusement. 

"You think I would care for the rules of Oromë's silly game, but you are mistaken," he said eventually. "For I am the greatest hunter this world has ever seen, and all that is therein is my prey if I wish it." 

Mairon merely scoffed at him, though something akin to intrigue flashed within the golden depths of his eyes. "Still you have not claimed me, so you have not earned a favour from me." 

"Then I shall." 

~ 

Melkor was on top of him before he could even attempt to flee. Letting out a vicious snarl, Mairon bared his teeth and began clawing at every inch of skin he could reach. His nails, turning into deadly claws as his rage flared and burned hot within him, drew no blood even as he fought the Vala with all of his strength. 

Yet no matter how much he struggled, how hard he kicked, how much pain he attempted to cause, Melkor held him down with ease. 

"Feisty," was all he said, and Mairon gave an indignant hiss. Seeing red, he attempted to bite the Vala's neck, only to be met with cold, nigh impervious flesh, reminding him of marble and diamonds — deceptive in the way it yielded like flesh should, yet refused to be broken.

"Are you satisfied now, little flame?" 

The question caught him off-guard, allowing Melkor to pin him to the ground with a satisfied smirk. 

"What do you mean?! Unhand me!" 

"But this is what you asked for, no? You wanted me to properly stake my claim, and I believe I have shown you my strength just now and successfully subdued you." 

Dazed, Mairon let go and looked up at Melkor. As outrageous as this capture was, there was a certain truth to his words. Brief as their struggle had been, it had undeniably gone in the Vala's favour — unsurprising though it was. Even so, the way he could so easily withstand anything a powerful Maia could do against him, within the constraints of Oromë's rules at least, was impressive. 

Melkor grinned down at him. "Well? Are you not going to call for help?" 

"I would be surprised if you didn't anticipate that possibility and made sure to catch me all the way out here to avoid it," Mairon remarked dryly. Perhaps he should be afraid, angry or disgusted, but he couldn't help feeling some sort of begrudging respect. 

"Of course," Melkor admitted, utterly nonchalant as if it was a normal thing to do. 

At least he isn't attempting to lie about it, for what it's worth. 

"I could still try," Mairon said. 

"You could." 

They stared at each for a moment. 

"Well? Would you stop me?" he challenged. 

"It depends. Could it perhaps be that you would not be doing yourself a favour if you tried?" Melkor bent down to nuzzle his hair. 

"You think I might be amenable to your advances?" Mairon hissed, but made no move to bite him again. 

"No prey you could have caught on your own would be the greatest of the Valar." 

"You would be correct, but my other prey also wouldn't have dared to hunt me." 

"You would claim that you don't enjoy being hunted?" Melkor brought his full weight down on top of him to press their fánar together. "What if it is merely a matter of pride because you don't allow yourself to be hunted by lesser spirits?" 

"You would know all about pride, wouldn't you?"

"Naturally." His fangs gleamed in the twilight. "And I also know to make this worth your time, little flame." 

"Do you now?" Mairon hated that his righteous anger was slowly but surely replaced with intrigue and curiosity. 

It was true; he thought himself greater than most of his peers and would never submit to them. To be made to submit by a greater power, however, was new and strangely exciting, even if his pride was wounded. 

He licked his lips. The Feast of Horns was the time to indulge, and nobody had to know. 

"Very well then. You may have your favour, even though your catch was rather clumsy." 

Melkor laughed, then captured his lips in a greedy kiss. It was nothing like the tender caresses Mairon had seen his lord and lady or other Maiar exchange, it was teeth and tongue and violence, and he bit the Vala's bottom lip in retaliation for his shameless claiming of him. Again soft skin yielded to the force of his bite, but didn't break; the taste of Valarin blood continued to elude him. 

"Fiery creature," Melkor purred, drawing back to admire his prey. Despite his best efforts, Mairon was unmistakably flustered panting heavily and pouting at him, cheeks flushed. 

He felt angry. Aroused. Alive. Defying the Dark One's withering grasp, his flames burning bright inside him. And Mairon saw these strange sensations mirrored within Melkor's eyes, cold like splinters of ice yet glittering like frost in the light of Illuin and Ormal, aglow with a fey light set within Void-like darkness. 

It was as unsettling as it was exciting to do this to a Vala. 

Mairon bared his teeth, showing fangs of his own; a challenge that wouldn't remain unanswered. 

With just one large, clawed hand, Melkor flipped him around as if he weighed nothing. Mairon found himself lying on his stomach, arms and legs spread wide, vines slithering out of the ground to restrain him. What little he wore was torn to shreds within seconds, and he was left exposed to his enemy — enemy turned lover. 

Even so, he wasn't going to make it that easy. 

Mairon fought against his restraints, struggling, biting, setting them on fire, only to make no progress. Hearing Melkor laugh at him once again enraged him. 

"You would force me to endure such treatment?" he hissed over his shoulder. 

"Easy there, little flame. You will enjoy this." 

Before Mairon could ask how the Vala had the audacity to make such assumptions — ignoring the way his arousal spiked with every futile attempt at escaping — he felt two hands taking hold of his ass and a tongue pressing against his entrance. A strangled moan made its way past his lips when Melkor proceeded to lick and kiss him with such vigour that he feared he would be devoured if his muscles relaxed just a bit; a prospect so tempting that he did, inviting him in. 

Nobody had ever touched him like this. Nobody had such strength and passion alike. 

Mairon rested his head on the ground and let himself be eaten out, even pushing his hips demandingly in Melkor's direction as far as he was able. 

"Naughty," he heard his voice again, this time through ósanwë. 

When that wonderful tongue was withdrawn, Mairon protested with small, impatient whine, though said no more; he knew what would be next, and after Melkor's efforts he was convinced that this illicit coupling, too, would bring him pleasure unlike any he had previously known. 

The first thing he felt was pain. Had his fána not been restrained and cleft in two by a Vala's cock, he would have responded with a snarky comment, but all he could do was gasp and groan and frantically adjust to its size. 

"You must not be used to this," Melkor whispered in his ear, now coming to rest on top of his helpless lover to cover his fána with his own. "But I prefer it that way. I want you to feel me and remember it well." 

"Do not... think for a second that I will be yours... after one night," Mairon hissed through gritted teeth. 

"You will want no other." 

Melkor accentuated his words with one well-aimed thrust, and suddenly pleasure bled into the pain. Now that his fána slowly grew accustomed to the Vala, the only thing Mairon could think about was how nicely his cock filled him, how it rubbed and pushed against his sensitive spots with every movement, how it caressed his rim as if it had been made for that purpose. The intensity of it all made it feel divine, so much more than anything he had experienced in his existence. 

Mairon relished every moment of it. Every thrust, every small noise Melkor made, every inch of skin against skin, every time hands dug into his flesh with fierce possessiveness. Perhaps he would indeed want no other after this, as he doubted that any other Ainu would fuck him like this. Without his arrogance, without his pride, he was well and truly stripped bare of all bravado and reduced to his base instincts, to a being filled with hidden desires, lust and a secret craving to be made to serve another, one greater and more powerful. 

He loved that he had made a Vala chase and catch him. He loved that Melkor showed him how much he wanted him. He loved that he was taken in a manner worthy of one who called himself a hunter of hunters. 

And he loved that, in the end, his flesh and his voice were what made a Vala come undone. 

Melkor held his hips in a bruising grip as he came, seeking to leave his mark with jealous determination. He didn't know if there were any others, and Mairon felt no obligation to tell him; perhaps he could retain the Vala's admiration and attention if he kept him on edge. 

"Mine," Melkor growled in his ear. 

Whether or not it was intended as a threat or a warning, all Mairon heard was a promise. 

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @angbangbaby @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @destinyeternity1 @edensrose @elanna-elrondiel @i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human @melkors-big-tits @melkors-defense-attorney @saintstars @sauron-kraut @singleteapot @urwendii

[morethansky]

ARC TROOPER ECHO | The right thing to do “No matter what, we are united. Rule one: We fight together.”

Bonus:

[thschei]

Btw uh I think it's kind of obvious, but if anyone's wondering

I've been putting my URL over photos because I don't want any gimmick blogs to save and repost them. It's one thing for a low quality picture of a bunny I saw in the yard, but if any of my pet pics were reposted I'd find it really disrespectful

We only have a really short time with our pets, so anyone who wants to get clout by reposting a picture of an animal I view as family should at least ask permission or have a watermark in their way

I know there's methods to remove watermarks, but at least this way it takes more effort than 3 clicks to repost one of my photos

[koishua]

this is going to sound funny and i totally don't blame you if you laugh but im tired of feeling like a yn

[gothamcityneedsme]

listening to the me:a ost for work and tbh it is incredible how much me:a is an improvement on the 'bioware open world game' formula. like i still think its weaker but in comparison to da:i, me:a is infinitely more playable and feels more full of an actual soul.

Like. I have 100%-ed both games. I will NEVER 100% da:i again, and honestly im not sure if i would even *play* it again. meanwhile i, 1000%, would replay me:a, and i could even see myself doing everything in it again. The grind isnt unbearable, gives you time to hear other party convos, and lots of the sidequests have memorable characters and concepts

[wild-at-mind]

Maybe I will get top surgery purely to avoid dealing with mammogram appointments in whatever state the NHS is in by the time I reach the age to get them!!

[1980ssunflower]

The way there isn't even a word that even comes close to encapsulating the overwhelming amount of love I have in my heart for these two 🥺💖💙

[mcmansionhell]

we've found it folks: mcmansion heaven

Hello everyone. It is my pleasure to bring you the greatest house I have ever seen. The house of a true visionary. A real ad-hocist. A genuine pioneer of fenestration. This house is in Alabama. It was built in 1980 and costs around $5 million. It is worth every penny. Perhaps more.

Now, I know what you're thinking: "Come on, Kate, that's a little kooky, but certainly it's not McMansion Heaven. This is very much a house in the earthly realm. Purgatory. McMansion Purgatory." Well, let me now play Beatrice to your Dante, young Pilgrim. Welcome. Welcome, welcome, welcome.

It is rare to find a house that has everything. A house that wills itself into Postmodernism yet remains unable to let go of the kookiest moments of the prior zeitgeist, the Bruce Goffs and Earthships, the commune houses built from car windshields, the seventies moments of psychedelic hippie fracture. It is everything. It has everything. It is theme park, it is High Tech. It is Renaissance (in the San Antonio Riverwalk sense of the word.) It is medieval. It is maybe the greatest pastiche to sucker itself to the side of a mountain, perilously overlooking a large body of water. Look at it. Just look.

The inside is white. This makes it dreamlike, almost benevolent. It is bright because this is McMansion Heaven and Gray is for McMansion Hell. There is an overbearing sheen of 80s optimism. In this house, the credit default swap has not yet been invented, but could be.

It takes a lot for me to drop the cocaine word because I think it's a cheap joke. But there's something about this example that makes it plausible, not in a derogatory way, but in a liberatory one, a sensuous one. Someone created this house to have a particular experience, a particular feeling. It possesses an element of true fantasy, the thematic. Its rooms are not meant to be one cohesive composition, but rather a series of scenes, of vastly different spatial moments, compressed, expanded, bright, close.

And then there's this kitchen for some reason. Or so you think. Everything the interior design tries to hide, namely how unceasingly peculiar the house is, it is not entirely able to because the choices made here remain decadent, indulgent, albeit in a more familiar way.

Rare is it to discover an interior wherein one truly must wear sunglasses. The environment created in service to transparency has to somewhat prevent the elements from penetrating too deep while retaining their desirable qualities. I don't think an architect designed this house. An architect would have had access to specifically engineered products for this purpose. Whoever built this house had certain access to architectural catalogues but not those used in the highest end or most structurally complex projects. The customization here lies in the assemblage of materials and in doing so stretches them to the height of their imaginative capacity. To borrow from Charles Jencks, ad-hoc is a perfect description. It is an architecture of availability and of adventure.

A small interlude. We are outside. There is no rear exterior view of this house because it would be impossible to get one from the scrawny lawn that lies at its depths. This space is intended to serve the same purpose, which is to look upon the house itself as much as gaze from the house to the world beyond.

Living in a city, I often think about exhibitionism. Living in a city is inherently exhibitionist. A house is a permeable visible surface; it is entirely possible that someone will catch a glimpse of me they're not supposed to when I rush to the living room in only a t-shirt to turn out the light before bed. But this is a space that is only exhibitionist in the sense that it is an architecture of exposure, and yet this exposure would not be possible without the protection of the site, of the distance from every other pair of eyes. In this respect, a double freedom is secured. The window intimates the potential of seeing. But no one sees.

At the heart of this house lies a strange mix of concepts. Postmodern classicist columns of the Disney World set. The unpolished edge of the vernacular. There is also an organicist bent to the whole thing, something more Goff than Gaudí, and here we see some of the house's most organic forms, the monolith- or shell-like vanity mixed with the luminous artifice of mirrors and white. A backlit cave, primitive and performative at the same time, which is, in essence, the dialectic of the luxury bathroom.

And yet our McMansion Heaven is still a McMansion. It is still an accumulation of deliberate signifiers of wealth, very much a construction with the secondary purpose of invoking envy, a palatial residence designed without much cohesion. The presence of golf, of wood, of masculine and patriarchal symbolism with an undercurrent of luxury drives that point home. The McMansion can aspire to an art form, but there are still many levels to ascend before one gets to where God's sitting.

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