#ghosts in a machine that only sleeps when we decide it will

[braisedhoney]

my mind is going. i can feel it. my mind is going. i can feel it. i'm afraid.

[bettyfrommars]

I'm on Fire//older!biker!Eddie Munson x artist!fem!Reader//90's au//Part 8

🚨18+Only, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, angst, biker!Eddie, biker!Steve, sexual innuendos, alcohol consumption, mention of financial troubles, falling in love, heartache, talk of commitment, talk of monogamy, casual sex, implied cheating, sex with someone other than reader, betrayal, having a stalker, biker gang, swearing, exotic dancers, reader wears dress and heels, reader wears red lipstick. Word count: 9.5k

Summary: In part 8, you start your new job as a cocktail server at the Velvet Hammer, and a few new characters are introduced. You and Eddie are officially falling for each other, while Eddie recalls a relationship from his past that left him shattered. A jealous ex-lover continues to try and rip the two of you apart, and this time, she might have succeeded. 90's playlist here

Series Masterlist

A/N: I'm not sure if it's that time of the month or what, but I cried twice while writing this🙃and not during the parts you might think. Rest assured that biker!Eddie and Reader are endgame. I love being in this world with y'all, and I always look forward to hearing from you! xoxox

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I'm on Fire//Part 8: From Here to Eternity

Day 3 of not hearing from Eddie, and you found yourself staring off into space, trying to calculate what could have possibly gone wrong. The idea that this was the kind of man that he was, that he would just ghost you without a word made your stomach sick. You thought you had developed better radar than that. You’d been listening to way too much Fiona Apple over the past 12 hours, but nevertheless---it was Thursday and you had to get ready for your first shift at your new job.

Shana, the hiring manager at the Velvet Hammer, let you know the dress code and a few ideas for what you should wear. It had to be skimpy and sexy and classy all at once, and at first you worried you might need to go shopping, but then Katie pulled this black latex halter top dress with a zipper down the front out of nowhere, and it didn’t fit her, so she assumed it belonged to her ex. Sure, it was not your signature style, but it gave you a certain Femme Fatale air of confidence that you hadn’t possessed before you put it on. Some of the servers got all decked out in creative makeup and wigs, but you decided to tackle your first day with caution.

You went over and checked the message machine in the living room again on your way out, just in case a call came through in the past 20 minutes that you miraculously did not hear, but the digital red number blinked a big, fat “0”.

Training at the Velvet Hammer was only about an hour long, and you met Jackie, the cocktail server you would be shadowing that night. She raised her eyebrow and gave you a bored look as she chewed her gum, hooking one of her long fingernails into the zipper of your latex dress to pull it down, exposing more of your skin. “That’s better,” she gave an extended wink. “We need those good tips tonight.”

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Meanwhile, Eddie spent the morning introducing the new office assistant around that he hired from a temp service, but then he had to leave to run a tow while Wayne showed her the ropes. The old man hated the suggestion that he needed help, but Eddie basically told him he had no choice. From Here to Eternity by Iron Maiden came on while he was en route back to the garage and his chest clenched, because for some reason, it made him think about you.

He never stopped thinking about you, really. But, if he kept busy with work, and drowned out the voices in his head with loud music and distractions, he could push aside the knowledge that he was already falling for you, and simultaneously come to terms with the fact that he was no good for you, and that you would be better off without him. The nights were the worst. He was back to getting only 3 or 4 hours of sleep, feeling like he had been spoiled on those occasions over the phone when he was lulled to dreamland by the sound of your sweet voice.

He knew in his gut that he was doing the wrong thing by not saying anything to you, but his denial was overshadowing his logic.

The suspension on the tow truck, or lack thereof, made him bounce as he came up onto the sidewalk lip to the driveway of the garage, and it somehow jarred his memory to the fact that your first day at the Velvet Hammer was tonight. He almost barreled right into the back of a car pulling out from one of the parking spots and had to slam on his breaks; he was becoming a hazard to everyone’s health, especially his own.

He needed to get his head on straight.

Fuck it, he needed to see you again.

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You were bummed to find out that Steve was tattooing at the shop, and not working the door that night, but the bouncer replacing him was also a biker who went by the nickname Thumper. He was stocky with big arms, a bald head, and a beard down to his chest. He called you darlin’ when he introduced himself to you.

“I’ll keep my eye on you girls,” Thumper reminded you and Jackie. “But be sure to come and get me if anyone give you any trouble.”

Tall, curvaceous Jackie rested her elbow on Thumper’s shoulder and leaned against him. “Thumper here tossed a guy out in the street for staring at me for too long once. He doesn’t play.”

“Ogling,” Thumper corrected. “The dude was ogling you, and if they’re gonna sit and get a free show to jerk off to later, they better be leaving decent tips for you ladies.”

Outside, there came the unmistakable growl of a gang of choppers coming up the street, and you excused yourself from the conversation to peek around the doorway. A group of Coffin Kings slowed down in front of the Velvet Hammer to acknowledge Thumper with a lift of their chins before speeding along to their destination, but none of them were Eddie.

The DJ played Thunder Kiss ‘65 by White Zombie an hour or so later as a purple and orange sunset blossomed over the mountains and the place started to fill up. A beautiful girl with a baby pink bob of hair got up on one of the stages with a pole and stated to work her magic while you carried a tray of drinks over to a table of four. The Velvet Hammer dancers never went completely topless, but they did strip down to tiny bikini sets that were plenty revealing, and their dance moves were seductively choreographed. The one with the pink bob had on finger-less, fishnet gloves, and a big tattoo on her thigh that you couldn’t quite make out.

You walked away as soon as you set the drinks down for the table, and Jackie snatched your arm.

“Where do you think you’re going?” She asked with a forced smile, talking without moving her lips.

You were genuinely confused, wondering if you somehow messed up on the drink order. “Um, nowhere, just--” you figured you’d get busy filling napkins and straws or something while you waited for more customers to come in.

Jackie pulled you to the side, bending close to your ear so that she wouldn’t have to shout over the music. “Part of the job is to socialize with the customers, honey, make them feel relaxed. Flirt with them, laugh at their jokes even when they are lame as hell,” she checked over her shoulder and smiled at the men at the table in question. “The more they think you’re actually interested, the bigger the tip, usually.”

You were nodding, taking the information in, wanting to do your job correctly. You’d been working in customer service in one way or another since you were a teenager, but, damn, you were horrible at faking interested or forcing conversation with guys you didn’t want to talk to. You hoped it was a skill that you could pick up from Jackie, because she was a magician at it.

You followed her back to the table so that she could introduce you to the group. It was four men, all in business suits, loosening their ties as they greeted you. They were a little older, ages ranging from 35 to 50, and the one who looked like he might be the oldest with a thick head of salt n’ pepper hair made eye contact with you and said he recognized you from somewhere.

God, the last thing you wanted was for a patron to recognize you from the gallery, that would be the worst.

“Probably from here?” You said with a lilt in your voice, trying to mask your bluff, hoping Jackie wouldn’t blurt out that it was your first day.

“No, I don’t think so,” he squinted, sitting back in his chair as he palmed his drink. “I’ve never been here before, so it couldn’t be that. But, I’m really good with faces, especially when one is as beautiful as yours.”

The forward compliment made you uncomfortable and you tucked your chin. He was a handsome older man, you couldn’t deny that. His eyes were such an intense blue, they were almost white, and you could tell from the way his shoulders fit in this suit jacket that he was in good shape and took care of himself. His friends were looking you up and down, and you could almost hear their internal lewd thoughts, but the older man—his name was John—kept polite eye contact with you as you talked. The watch he had on alone was worth at least a couple grand, and they all smelled like they were made of money.

But, none of them were Eddie, and so your banter felt particularly forced.

Thankfully, another group of customers came in and you excused yourself to follow Jackie over to the next table, wobbling for a moment in your heels before recovering quickly by bracing your hand on the back of a chair.

Later, just as John was leaving, a guy celebrating his 21st birthday had one too many tequila shots and tried to climb onto the stage, but his migration was interrupted by Thumper, who charged over to clam a big, meaty hand on his shoulder and remind him of the rules in a way that made the guys face go pale as he plopped back down into his seat.

You were standing at the bar with your back to John, but he came up behind you and touched your elbow. When you turned around to meet his gaze, he pressed some cash into your palm and said, “this is for you,” with a dimple and a wink, before heading out.

The rest of the group collectively left just as much of a tip on the table for Jackie. “A c-note tip on your first day?” She said with a shake of her head and a snort. “Sorry, but I kinda hate you right now.”

“Who was that John guy?” You whispered across the table to her as the two of you bussed the empty glasses.

“I have no idea,” Jackie shrugged. “His friends come in once in a while, but I’ve never seen that sexy DILF before. He had on a wedding ring, but most of the dudes who come in here do. It never keeps them from making a play.”

As the night progressed, there were eventually two girls dancing, one on each stage at opposite ends of the room. Jackie took her 15 minute break to go out into the alley for a smoke while you kept an eye on your tables. The dancers started a routine to Symphony of Destruction by Megadeth, and just when you had managed to get in a decent five minutes without Eddie on the brain, that song brought it all crashing back. You were at the far end of the bar, and when you glanced up to see who was coming in the front door---there he stood in the flesh, as if on cue: Edward Munson.

You blinked a few times, certain that your eyes were playing tricks on you and it was just someone who merely resembled Eddie, like a mirage appearing in the desert after you hadn’t had a sip of water in days. His muscular frame took up space in the doorway, wearing his black leather jacket, and his hair tied back to expose the two small silver hoops in his ear. He finished shaking Thumper’s hand, and then his eyes found yours, and the hint of a smile quivered on his lips. His gaze shifted around the room, taking in everyone in your vicinity, before they returned to you and hovered there.

A giddy breath hitched in your chest as you mirrored his reflexive grin, wholly unable to mask how happy you were to see him. But then, you remembered that this gorgeous dickhead is the one who selfishly left you in the wind for the past 3 days, and with a dramatic flourish of the tray in your hand, you spun on your heel to head in the other direction to check on some patrons near the stage.

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Eddie sat on his chopper with his boots planted wide on the pavement while he smoked a cigarette and stared at the red neon above the door to the Velvet Hammer. The decision to stay away had been to keep you out of Charlene’s cross hairs; to keep you from taking the brunt of this dark, underbelly of a life he had established for himself. As it turns out, staying away from you was too much torture for his raggedy old heart to bear, and that was saying a lot, considering the amount of shit he’d gone through in his life.

He indulged in long drags, sucking in his cheeks, watching people come and go out of the bar, wondering how you would react to him just popping in after days of silence. You knew he didn’t like talking on the phone, and besides---he needed to see your face. There was so much emotion a blind phone conversation could never capture; a lowering of the eyes or a worried brow. He needed to smell you, touch you, and taste your lips; he craved it in the deep corners of his cobwebbed soul.

If there was one thing about Eddie, he was patient when it came to matters of the heart. Matters of his dick were a different story, clearly, but when it came to those rare times in his life when he saw someone as a potential partner, he couldn't just dive in with reckless abandon; he wasn’t Steve. When Eddie loved someone, he handed over his entire heart: all of his loyalty, all of his trust, everything he owned---and that kind of vulnerability was not something he’d been open to feeling for what felt like an eternity.

There had been a woman who was very special to him once, years before you, and it ended with Eddie being hauled off to jail for beating the guy she was cheating on him with to a pulp. He bought a house and moved her in with him; he had a whole lifetime together with her planned in his head. But, there had been clear signs that it was never going to work, including the tiny detail that she never really loved him. Sure, she loved his image, the fact that he was in a band, the way he protected her, but he never felt like he could really be himself around her. He always felt tense and worried, like everything he did would never be enough.

He’d asked himself a million times since then what made him fall in love with her, and the most obvious answer what that he didn’t really know how love was supposed to feel at the time. His whole life, it felt like people were always leaving him, like he was always begging to be noticed and loved, and so her often cold disregard of him felt like familiar territory. Then, one day he comes home early from an overnight run with the Kings to find her taking it doggy style in their bed from this guitarist that Eddie had always considered a friend.

For months, she begged to come back, for him to forgive her, but once Eddie shuts a door, it locks forever. He knew he could never trust her again, which was the most important thing to him, and the pain of that betrayal still lingered like a permanent scar on his heart. In an effort to distract himself, he joined the Coffin Kings charter in Chicago and moved there for a year, fought in an underground bare knuckle ring, and did everything he could to numb himself. That was around the time Steve found out he was a father by way of Oliver basically being dumped at his doorstep, and Eddie realized he didn’t want to miss any more of his honorary nephew’s life.

All of the women he’d been with since then were just futile efforts to fill the void, until you.

So, what are you going to do about it, then, Munson? Just lurk out here on the street all night like a little kid at the fair who’s afraid of the big rides?

He dismounted the bike and stomped out his cigarette nub with the toe of his boot, adjusting the sleeves of his leather. Something made his defenses spike and he looked around the street to see if someone might be sitting in their car, watching him. At this point, he was almost certain that Charlene had paid someone to watch him, because for two days in a row, he’d noticed the same dark red Chevy Cavalier tailing him, staying at least one or two cars back. He didn’t see a car that fit the description parked anywhere near, but whoever it was could be anywhere, maybe even in the building across the street.

Charlene’s unhealthy obsession with him had to run it’s course eventually, she had to get bored and give up at one point. He hoped so, anyway. He couldn’t imagine her dragging this out for much longer, but he also never expected these threats from her in the first place, so he rightfully had his concerns. He thought maybe if he held out a few more weeks, she’d be off on one of her exotic vacations, and she could move on to ruining someone else’s life. But, he couldn’t wait that long to see you, to touch you. Hell, in a couple weeks you might not even want him anymore, and it was a risk he wasn’t willing to take.

There was a chance you might not want him now. There was a chance he’d already fucked everything up.

Thumper was a longtime friend, and he’d been with the Coffin Kings ever since back in the day when Wayne was a patched member. The two smacked their hands together in a signature grip as Eddie crossed the threshold onto the burgundy carpet. Inside the Velvet Hammer was buzzing with music and people and dancers wearing next to nothing on the back stages, people sitting shoulder to shoulder at the bar.

You might as well have been the only one there, though, because you were all he could see: simultaneously loving and hating the fact that you were dressed to kill. He’d never seen you in that color of lipstick before; it was a deep red and he ached to part them with his tongue.

He swore you were about to smile when your eyes met, he caught that adorable glimmer pass over your face and it made his heart still for a beat. But, then it faded just as quickly and you turned away to continue on with what you were doing, giving him the cold shoulder.

This was the first time you hadn’t rushed into his arms since this whole thing started, and it wrecked him. But, he also knew he kind of deserved it.

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Your mouth was moving and sounds were coming out, but you couldn’t remember a word you’d said to the guys at the table in the corner who were still nursing their beers. Your ears were ringing and your adrenaline was surging, flushing a hot wave over your chest. Had Eddie come there to see you? Or was he just there to casually have a drink and get turned on like everyone else?

If he wasn’t there to see you, and he planned on just coming by to hang out once in a while, you’d have to quit. There’s no way you could keep seeing him on a regular basis if this was how he chose to treat you, it would hurt too damn much, and no job was worth that. You had this overwhelming urge to run and hide somewhere, but you couldn’t duck out until Jackie came back, and so you straightened your shoulders and turned to face the music like a big girl.

And there he was: standing at the bar with both elbows hooked on the ledge behind him, boots crossed at the ankles, waiting for you. You could tell that he had just been checking out your ass because of the way his gaze flicked up to your eyes with incriminating speed. His expression was unreadable, but that was nothing new.

Reluctantly, but also, with excitement bubbling in your veins, you made your way over to him, pausing briefly as one of the other servers walked out of the hallway where the bathrooms were. Another song started up, this time it was #1 Crush by Garbage.

“Do you have a break soon?” Eddie swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry at how hot you looked in that strange zipper dress. “Or, I can come back?” His mind couldn’t help but jump straight to the fact that every single dude in the place was thinking dirty thoughts about you, and it made his back teeth clench.

He was there to see you, you thought, your heart soaring. But in almost the same second you realized that he could be there to tell you that this wasn’t working out, that he didn’t want to see you anymore, that he met someone else, that he was moving to Brazil: all of which would be awful, but then at least you could start the process of moving on instead of hanging in limbo. Moving on from Eddie…that sounded like it was easier said than done.

Just then, as your mouth was open about so answer him, Jackie came out adjusting her belt, chewing gum. “Your turn,” she said as she walked between the two of you. “Take a fifteen. Oh, hey Munson,” she added passively at the end, patting him on the arm as she continued around the bar.

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At the far end of the hallway there was a heavy metal door that locked from the outside automatically when it shut, and there was a little wood wedge out in the alley to keep it open a crack. You bent down to push the wedge into place while Eddie put his hands on his hips and stared at the brick of the building across the way so that he wouldn’t get an erection at the sight of your perfect ass up in the air.

On one side of you squatted a big, metal dumpster, and on the other side were a few square crates where employees sat during their breaks, the pavement between them littered with cigarette butts. It was dark, and the only illumination came from a bulb over the door across the way and a streetlamp further down where the alley met with the sidewalk.

Eddie could tell things were different, he could tell you were upset, probably even hurt and disappointed, and he hated that he had something to do with that. All he wanted to do was put his arms around you, but your energy was telling him that you weren’t ready for that.

“I’m sorry…” He hesitated. What was he sorry for? Lots of things. “...for breaking our date and not calling.”

Your tight stomach softened, and your gaze flicked to his after not being able to make eye contact since stepping out of the building.

Eddie hooked his thumbs into his belt loops and looked down at the ground, shuffling his foot. “I had some shit to take care of and I got overwhelmed. But I should’ve said something to you.”

This was starting to be a pattern with him, but you believed that he was telling the truth. It sounded like there was a lot more to the story, but a sincere apology was worth it’s weight in gold to you. You could also tell that he was nervous to be in front of you right then, like maybe you wouldn’t forgive him.

He opened his mouth to say something else and you reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it, making his gaze jump to yours. “Hey, it’s okay,” you told him as he unhooked his thumb from his belt loop and took your hand. “I missed your stupid face, that’s all.”

He gave a soft snort, a sparkle returning to his eyes.

You leaned in, resting your other hand on his chest, relishing the direction this conversation had gone and how safe and whole you felt in his presence. You searched his eyes. “You need to communicate with me if this is ever going to work, okay? I don’t want you to feel like you can’t tell me things. Really, there’s nothing you could ever share with me about your life that I wouldn’t be able to handle.”

He really, really wanted to believe that was true, but the cynical part of him, the part that had learned to keep secrets as a way of life, doubted that anyone was that understanding.

“Come here,” he breathed on the curve of a smile, cupping your neck, and pulling your mouth to his. There were a few tender, sweet kisses, no tongue, and then he brushed his nose across yours a few times, lips brushing yours as he spoke. “I missed this.”

You kissed his bottom lip, and then his top lip, savoring their plump, perfect shape, before resting your head below his shoulder and wrapping your arms around him in a hug, his leather squeaking at your embrace.

You released a long, heavy breath. “I thought you came here to tell me you didn’t like me anymore.”

He kissed your temple. “I never said I liked you,” he mumbled, to which you dug your fingers into his ribs in an effort to tickle him, simultaneously trying to pull away. But, he held you tightly in place, deep chuckles rumbling in his chest. “It’s much more than that.”

At those words, you settled, smile pressed up against him, swooning so hard you felt like you were drunk.

What he had with you was special, and now, in his thirties, Eddie knew how rare this kind of chemistry was. You were the drug he wanted to be strung out on.

This...this was his, and he wouldn’t let anyone, especially Charlene, take it away from him.

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There was a pep in your step when you returned to work, enough so that Jackie commented on it, giving you a side eye. “Who the hell got you off on your break?” she asked rhetorically.

Truly, your break had felt like it was over in a blink, like you and Eddie had only been standing out in the alleyway for a second before you checked your Swatch and had to scramble back inside. He asked if he could wait for you and walk you back to your car when your shift was over, and you were fine with that, but you let him know it would be another hour or so, and he didn’t seem to mind.

Eddie knew a lot of the people who worked at the Velvet Hammer. Or, more precisely, the people who worked there knew Eddie. The bartender that night was a guy who looked like Kurt Cobain and he ignored everyone else to make sure Eddie got what he wanted the second he sat down at the bar. The place was packed by then, but every chance you got, you would walk by and run your hand across Eddie’s back and give him a flirty glance over your shoulder as you schlepped drinks around.

Thumper came over and sat next to Eddie when the night got slow and had a beer with him, and the two went out front to have a smoke and chat about the good ‘ol days.

“Is that new server your old lady?” Thumper asked after a drag on his cigarette. He flicked the ashes to the sidewalk and cocked his head.

Eddie propped his foot up behind him, against the building, wallet chain hanging down his thigh, thoughtfully exhaling gray smoke into the night. “Maybe, if I don’t fuck everything up,” he coughed.

Thumper wheezed in a laughing spasm. “You still sticking it to that rich bitch, what’s her name?”

Eddie stiffened. “That’s been over for a while. Bitch got all Fatal Attraction on me,” Eddie’s vernacular took a turn when he was around the older charter members, it was second nature.

“Man, I wish I was 20 years younger,” Thumper sucked in the tuft of graying hair that was under his lip. “Those were the days.”

Eddie was eager to change the subject. “How is the fourth marriage working out for you?”

“Fifth,” Thumper corrected with a nod. “Divorced Jeanie last spring, married Lorraine a few months ago. No kids this time, I got the snip. One more baby momma would break me.”

As bleak as the conversation topic was, Eddie had an inner warmth radiating through his body, healing him, now that he knew the two of you were back in a good place. He didn’t know if a traditional wedding or kids were things that you wanted, but he saw himself making coffee for you in the morning and bringing it to you in your studio while you worked on a painting. He could see you running out the door to hug him as he dragged himself home after a long day at work. A life together with a porch swing and a view of the sunset, maybe a cat and a dog and some chickens. A big garage for his bike and whatever classic car he was working on at the time.

God, he was getting a head of himself. Did you even like dogs?

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Back in the dressing room at the end of your shift, you and Jackie were both changing out of your work clothes and into something more comfortable when Jackie whipped around in only her bra and panties, startling you as you pulled your shirt on over your head.

“Hold up, you never told me you were Eddie Munson’s girl,” she hushed, giving you a sustained look of awe. “The stories I’ve heard about that cock are legendary.”

The way she sounded when she said it suggested that you should’ve been proud, but the declaration only succeeded in activating your anxiety. You tried not to think of all of the women in town he’d given orgasms to as you tied the laces on your shoes. As long as he was faithful to you, none of that other business should matter. But still, somehow it did. That reminded you, maybe it was time to lay the cards out on the table and have that monogamy talk before you got more invested than you already were.

There were still a few customers hunched over their drinks as you walked out, but the dancers were done, and you said goodbye to Jesse, the bartender, thanking him for all of his help. Jackie gave you a high five, and hugged Thumper before she headed off down the opposite side of the street, high ponytail bobbing.

You smiled up at Eddie who was standing there with his arm out, waiting for you to curl against him so he could wrap it around your shoulders.

“I thought for sure you would’ve ditched me by now,” you told him, slipping one of your hands into his back pocket.

“Nah, you’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Eddie joked, lifting his hand in a wave to Thumper as the two of you headed off down the street.

“Take care of that one,” Thumper shouted. “She’s a good girl.”

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“Are you?” Eddie asked as the two of you approached your car that was parked a block away.

“Am I what?” You asked, stopping to turn and gaze up into his face.

Eddie lifted his chin with a smirk, exposing the tattoo lines that peeked out of the collar of his shirt across his throat. “A good girl?”

You wet your bottom lip with the tip of your tongue and tilted your head. “Depends on who wants to know.”

He pulled took you into his arms for another kiss, eager tongues this time, moans in the back of throats, cock jumping in his jeans.

Your lips came away just enough to speak, your hand cupping his face, the stubble around his jaw prickling your palm. “What about you? Are you a good boy?”

There was a shiver of hesitation on his breath before he answered. “Only for you.”

The two of you were locked in a moment, you could’ve been on the sidewalk, you could’ve been standing on the moon---nothing mattered and you had no concept of time.

But then Eddie spoke up again. “Do you wanna get out of here? Go for a ride? I want to show you something.”

You didn’t have to be back at the Velvet Hammer until Saturday, and the thought of getting on Eddie’s bike again gave you excited goosebumps.

Eddie started opening the strap on one of the black leather saddlebags on the back of his chopper once the two of you arrived, and you stood back and watched as he pulled out a second bare bones helmet, the top shiny like the round edge of a bowling ball.

“I got this for you,” Eddie said, passing it over. “It should fit better than mine.”

You were speechless for a moment, looking down at it, touched by the thoughtful gift. “Thank you, I love it,” you whispered. He placed it on your head and adjusted the strap under your chin, diligently making sure it fit correctly.

“Is it too tight?” He asked, making sure the sides weren’t pinning your ears.

“It’s perfect,” you nodded.

He straddled the bike. “Do you remember how to get on?”

But you were already grabbing onto the back of his jacket and swinging your leg over. You’d been practicing getting on the back of Eddie’s bike in your dreams.

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You clung to him as the two of you sped along in the dark, your fingertips meeting at his stomach, chest glued to his back, core locked to his tailbone. He had on a pair of clear, protective glasses to keep the bugs from blinding him, and every so often, he would reach one hand down and put it over yours as the bike wound up the hill. You’d kiss the exposed skin on the back of his neck between his hairline and the collar of his leather, and he’d squeeze your thigh.

The spot he wanted to you to was a grass ledge near a line of cherry blossom trees that overlooked the city. He pulled out a thin blanket from one of his saddlebags and stretched it out over the grass. Lights down below twinkled like stars and you took your new helmet off to get comfortable next to him.

“Yep, it’s ugly,” you joked, referring to the spectacular view.

Eddie stretched his legs out in front of him and braced himself on his hands. “I knew you’d hate it just as much as I do,” but then there was a sliver of hesitation, his foot moving back and forth as he considered if he should say it or not. “I’ve never taken anyone up here before.”

Summer was fast approaching as far as the temperature went, but the nights were still chilly, and you had a sweatshirt on, but his proximity and the tone of his voice was rapidly throwing coals on the fire in your circulatory system.

Things progressed quickly. One second, you were laughing at a joke he made, and the next---your lips were on each other, hands roaming over each other’s bodies, heat throbbing between your legs. You were trying to push his jacket off, but Eddie sat up and removed it in a flash, tossing it on the bike with a twist of his wrist.

You rutted your hips against him a few times, but you could sense the hesitancy he had for whatever reason, and you took hold of his hand to move it down to your core, enjoying the growl he let out when he latched on to the wet heat already permeating through your jeans. You clung to his neck as he unzipped them, and you wiggled your hips out so he could slide his hand in. He paused only to take his rings off of his H-E-L-L-F-I-R-E knuckles, and then his fingers dipped back down to curl inside your underwear, slipping into the gushing arousal he found there, groaning against your mouth.

His thick fingers rolled in circles over your anxious nub. “Is this mine?” He asked in a throaty whisper, pressing his forehead to yours, waiting for you to answer.

Saliva got stuck in your throat but you whimpered a yes. He starts to slip his fingers down through your folds and you quiver as he travels deeper, aching to penetrate you, but you catch his wrist, stopping him from going any further.

“I have to...to say something,” you breathed.

Eddie pulled his hand out and rested it on your thigh, and brought his face back so he could see your eyes as you blinked at him under the moonlight. “You can tell me anything, baby.”

You planted a kiss on his chin, feeling nervous for some reason when it came to setting your boundaries. “I can’t be intimate with you if you’re also doing this with other women. I need to know that we’re…” you struggled with how to word that. Demanding some large scale commitment from him might come off as getting ahead of yourself. “I need to know that you and I are something special and there’s no one else,” you paused to lick your lips, eyes lowered to the neckline of his shirt.

Nothing you said could’ve pleased Eddie more, and his attraction to you intensified ten fold in that moment. He used the crook of his finger to tilt your chin up, encouraging you to meet his eyes. “There’s no one else. There hasn’t been anyone else since the barbecue at Robin’s house.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to add, “if you’re my girl, there will never be anyone else,” but he didn’t want to come off as smothering, or make you feel uncomfortable with the intensity in which he was capable of devoting to you.

Relieved, you brushed his cheek with your thumb. “Trust and monogamy are really important to me, I need to know I can trust you,” your eyes met, searching deep, and he pulled your hand to his chest. “You’re the only one I want to be with, and I think we could---”

But Eddie’s lips found yours with a new level of need as he wholeheartedly agreed, so caught up in his growing feelings for you that he didn’t have the words to express them. He could ramble on about cars and music and bikes all day long, but when it came to feelings like this? He was struck dumb.

“I want to taste my girl,” he choked out, helping to work your jeans down with his hand as you kicked them down and off, keeping your mouth on his while your hand clutched his hair that had fallen from the tie and was loose around his shoulders.

“I want to be in your mouth, baby,” you gasped as he met your eyes and then made his way down, lifting your shirt to kiss your stomach, tongue darting out to tease your flesh, face stubble tickling.

A purr escaped his throat as his mouth found its destination and he planted kisses on the outside of your soaked underwear, down your slit, and then he peeled them to the side with his finger, darting his tongue in just enough to make you writhe.

“You can...take those off…” you breathed.

He kissed your inner thigh. “You let me take care of it,” he told you in a deep voice, as he continued on with his business.

His tongue dove in to penetrate you a few times, swallowing, groaning, “fuck, you taste so good,” his hot breath fanned against you as his cock begged for release, his hips rocking against the ground.

The need to be inside of you was overwhelming; painful, even, but he hadn’t brought any condoms with him, and he didn’t know how you would feel about being that close to him this soon in the game. The thought of getting you to cum in his mouth already had his cock leaking.

For some reason, the way he pulled your underwear to the side was turning you on even more? He sucked your clit in and flicked it with his tongue, moaning against you, and it made you arch your chest, exposing your throat to the cherry blossoms above as you cursed. He drew a few long licks along your slit, and then you felt a finger go in just as your fingers dug into the grass on either side of the blanket.

“Are you mine?” Eddie asked between sucks, sinking another finger in.

Crickets made their music all around as the soft hush of the town life below drifted up in the darkness.

“I’m-I’m all yours, baby,” you stammered, forehead clenched.

Eddie’s fingers found a rhythm, moving long and deep in fast strokes as his mouth found the perfect spot that made you hiss, “right there right there,” and he kept working until he could feel your tight walls start to clench around his fingers.

“You’re so good, baby,” you were mumbling, barely coherent now as a strangled cry escaped your lips and your hips fucked into his hand and Eddie’s pelvis fucked the ground, and your eyes started to roll back in your head.

“Eddie, Eddie, cum-cum-cumming,” you jerked as the velvet walls crashed around you, limbs popping spasmodically, whimpering his name.

Eddie pressed his mouth against your core, one hand around your thigh to pin you against his tongue so that he could drink every last drop, riding the high with you until he knew your nub would be too sensitive, and then his tongue returned to your hole a few times, moaning with pleasure at the sweet nectar of your release.

And then you were pulling him up, coaxing him into your arms, your mouth eager to find his and taste your spend on his lips. He wrapped the side of the blanket around you to keep you warm as you rolled against him, both lost in an oxytocin high, muttering words of affection to each other.

Both falling hard under the adoring pink eyes of the cherry blossoms.

------------

The next day, someone knocked on the door to the women’s restroom at the Velvet Hammer because it was locked, and Steve’s head sprang up from between the thighs of the woman he had propped up on the sink counter.

“Ocupado!” he yelled in Spanish, lips and chin glistening in the dim red light.

The woman with the short skirt shoved up around her waist and her feet planted on his shoulders whined, “Don’t stop, Stevie, I’m close,” which made Steve’s mouth lunge forward again with unbridled enthusiasm.

About a minute later, she came, while grabbing his hair and telling him no one ever made her cum that hard. She was a yoga instructor, and they’d only met up a few times so far, but he was already thinking about getting her name tattooed somewhere on his body.

As they were cleaning up, there was another knock at the door, this time it was more of an aggressive pounding, followed by the voice of Jackie, one of the servers. “Telephone call for you, Casanova!” She swatted the door a few more times with the palm of her hand.

Steve let Mary the yoga instructor go out first, and then he followed after a ten count, tucking his shirt in and slicking his hair back as he went. Mary went to the bar to wait for him. It was almost 9:30 and he was getting off early that night because there was another bouncer there, and it was slow for a Friday.

Steve ducked in behind the bar and yanked the receiver to his ear. “Yeah, this is Steve? Whadda ya want?”

It was you, and by the sound of the gentle sucking in of breath and tremor in your voice, you had been crying. Your voice was a tiny mew. “Steve? Have you seen Eddie tonight?”

At the dire tone of your voice, Steve curled into the corner of the bar and put a finger in his other ear so that he could hear you more clearly. “I haven’t, but I should put an ankle monitor on him. Are you okay? Are Oliver and the girls okay?”

You cleared your throat, about to try and explain, but then just said, “Everyone is fine. I’m sorry to bother you. I have to go,” and then you hung up on him, sobs jerking in your chest.

-----------

Earlier that same evening, Robin and Oliver came over to have a pizza night with you and Katie at your place, and then Robin and Katie cuddled in front of the TV while you and Oliver spread out at the kitchen table to make some art.

You had been messing around with some watercolor pencil sketches when they first arrived, and Oliver was mesmerized. He sat as close as he could to you and asked if he could help. You brought out a bunch of markers and crayons and brushes from your studio, and the two of you worked in silence for periods of time, just enjoying the craft. He was a creative, intelligent little boy, and the latent motherhood genes in your DNA made you feel very protective of him. Mess with you? Fine. Mess with Oliver? I will end you.

His concentration reminded you of a younger you, honestly, and a couple times he mentioned his Uncle Eddie and your heart swelled.

Speaking of Eddie---last night, after he made you cum like a banshee, you got dressed so he could take you back down the hill to your car. You called him once you got home, like he asked you to, but you hadn’t heard from him since. Fridays were always busy for him at work, never mind the rest of the shit he had to deal with, so you weren’t too worried about it. He’d probably call you later when he was in bed. There had been a palpable shift, and things were different between the two of you now. You were both on the same page, each committed to a mutual respect for each other.

By the end of the evening, when there was only a few crusts of pizza left in the box, Oliver gathered the handful of artwork he’d created on your sketchbook paper, and slid them over to you as if he was making a business deal.

“Can you sell these in your gallery?” he asked, bending one of his small fingers into the stack. “That way I can help my mom pay some bills.”

For more reasons that one, you started to tear up. You turned your head away to sniff and ran your finger under your eyes, blinking as wide as you could to keep the waterworks at bay.

“Ollie,” Robin said softly. She had just been coming up behind him when he said that, and her eyes met yours. “Things have been a bit stressful lately, but I never told him to---”

“I wish I could,” you nodded, composing yourself, turning to smile at Oliver. “These drawings are worth way too much, though, our gallery could never afford them.”

He looked thoughtfully down at the stack and shuffled them, smiling to himself, and then he pulled one out and passed hit to you. “This one is you and uncle Eddie. You can keep it.”

You were suddenly so emotional. Was your period close? Was someone cutting onions?

The picture he drew with watercolor pencils and charcoal and crayons was a tall stick figure with long, wavy dark hair holding hands with a big pink heart with arms and legs, but no hair or other defining characteristics. An orange oval with legs and a round head to represent your cat Charlie, and there were “m” shaped birds and a sun in the sky.

You thanked Oliver, swallowing back a hitch in your chest, and immediately went over to put his artwork on the fridge, wiping your wet cheeks.

-------

Robin and Oliver had been gone for 20 minutes or so, and you and Katie were wrapped up on opposite ends of the couch watching a horror movie in the dark, candles burning on the coffee table, when the doorbell rang.

It didn’t just ding once: whoever it was blasted their finger onto the button a good 6 or 7 times before they let up.

“What the hell,” you murmured, pausing the tape as you got up, prancing to the door, hoping that it might be Eddie.

You peaked through the peephole and was confused to see no one there. Your eyeball was scanning around for other signs of life when it landed on a manila envelope on the doormat.

“Where you expecting some mail?” You called to Katie, and she got so curious, she jumped up from the couch to come down the hall and see what made you ask that.

She checked the peephole to take a look at the envelope and the surrounding area. Down the street, you heard a car engine start up.

You backed up, worry creasing your brow. “Leave it. I have a bad feeling.”

Katie threw you a look over her shoulder before she unlocked the door and swiftly bent down to snatch the envelope before reeling back inside and clamping the locks down again.

“It has your name on it,” she said, handing it to you.

Sure enough, on the front was your full name in block letters, and on the other side was a sealed lip held in place by an aluminum tab.

Just then, a dark red Chevy Cavalier crept down the street without its headlights and eased onto the main road, out of sight.

-----------

Eddie was at the garage finishing up until 6, and then he had a beer with Bones, who was also a Coffin King and one of his mechanics, and then he went over to Wayne’s to help him install a new cabinet in his bathroom. He made them both some tomato soup and grilled cheese for dinner, and it got him wondering if you would like it if he made it for you.

It was getting late, and he almost called you from Wayne’s, but decided it would feel good to take his boots off and lay down first. He’d let you know the night before that you might not hear from him until late; he was determined to be a better communicator and not let you down again.

He yawned as he entered his apartment, locking the door behind him and throwing his leather on the back of the sofa.

The new answering machine that he had picked up from Radio Shack on his lunch break, and set up at your request, was blinking that he had 2 new messages, but it wasn’t something he was used to checking, so he cracked open a beer and hopped in the shower first.

------------

Once you saw what was in the envelope, denial was the first stage you jumped to.

“But, what are these?” You spread them out on the kitchen island, shock clamping down on your brain so that it refused to process the information in front of you.

They were 8x10 photos, taken with some type of high-powered camera...of Eddie. In his apartment. With two different women on separate occasions. All taken within the past couple days.

How did you know that they were taken within the last couple days? Whoever took them didn’t want to leave you with any room for doubt, and so they were holding up the front page of the paper for that day to mark each incident.

But, you knew Eddie so well, that detail would not have been necessary.

In the ones where he was in nothing but his boxers, kissing Erica in the hallway, you could see the markings from the love bite on his neck that you had accidentally given him over the weekend when he came to pick you up at the gallery.

In the second set of photos, where a tattooed redhead you didn’t recognize was behind him on the bed with her arms wrapped around him---he was in the exact same t-shirt he’d worn last night with a smudge of your red lipstick on the white collar. From when you were both under the cherry blossoms. When he promised that you could trust him and there was no one else. After you opened yourself up to him and let him take a piece of you.

“Who would do this?” Katie said in a hush, almost to herself, picking up each one to look at it closer. “Why would someone do this?”

“There must be a mistake,” you mumbled, your nervous system crashing, feeling lightheaded.

Katie swallowed and put down the photo she was holding, giving you a look that was full of sadness and concern. “How could it be a mistake, though? That is definitely Eddie.”

Feeling yourself about to lose it, you scrambled to pull all of the photos together and hurried down the hall to lock yourself in your room. Once inside, you clutched the photos to your chest and slid down the door until you were on the ground, shaking, choking on tears.

-----------

The older man with the salt n’ pepper hair and crystal blue eyes returned to the Velvet Hammer on Friday evening just to see if you were working. He had a whiskey sour at the bar and asked after you, but was told you didn’t have a shift that evening. Steve overheard the conversation he was having with the bartender and went over to him.

“She’s a friend of mine,” Steve raised an eyebrow, rolling a toothpick between his lips. “Why are you asking about her?”

John turned on his bar stool and shook Steve’s hand, white teeth brilliant against his tan skin.

“She waited on our table the other day, and, it took me a while, but I finally realized where I knew her from.” He paused to extend his hand and ask Steve if he could buy him a drink, but Steve declined.

John opened his wallet to pull a business card out. “I bought some original art from her at an outdoor market a few years ago. She’s a brilliant painter," he met Steve’s bored gaze, seemingly unaffected by the intimidation factor that he usually had on people.

He handed Steve his card. “I’d love to commission another piece from her, if she’s willing. Do you think you could have her call my office?”

Steve inspected the card, turning it over.

“I wrote my personal line on the back,” he continued. “I’m usually at work, but my secretary always knows where to find me.”

Steve knew that you’d be glad for the extra cash, so he slipped the guys card in his back pocket instead of throwing it away like he normally would.

“I didn’t catch your name?” John asked Steve.

“That’s because I never threw it,” Steve returned, introducing himself.

“Good to meet you, Steve,” he nodded sincerely. “My name is John. John Gregson.”

Steve had already read his name on the business card and was still trying to figure out why it sounded so familiar as he watched him get into a black Mercedes across the street.

----------

Eddie was in his gray sweats, drying his hair with a towel when he finally noticed the number 2 flashing on the machine. He pushed play absently as he went to sit on the bed.

The first message sounded like a strangled gasp and then a sniffle, and it made his head snap up, both hands holding onto the blue towel around his neck.

“...Eddie…” it was you, and he could tell you were in distress, and you’d been crying. He leaned forward to hover over the machine, his brow clenched. There was a stretch of time where you were struggling to speak and only managed to swallow a few times. “….why would you do this to me?” Then another pause when it sounded like you were whispering whywhywhy over and over under your breath.

You finished with, “This hurts so bad...." And then there was a click and the message abruptly stopped.

Eddie’s head was reeling, fear and worry jack-hammering in his veins.

His eyes wide and frantic, he picked up the receiver to call you, but then the second message clicked on.

The sound of Charlene’s voice spiked with amused laughter sent a dagger into his gut:

“I warned you.”

--------

Part 9

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Taglist for my loves: @hideoutside @leilalaufeyson02 @lilpotatobean2 @dandelionnfluff @sidthedollface2

@munsons-mayhem28 @eddiemunson95 @kelsiegrin

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[huramuna]

a maid's folly - chapter 7.

dark aemond x maid ofc minor aemond x floris baratheon work is 18+, minors do not interact, lest ye be smited.

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summary: a new maid from the Vale arrives at the Red Keep during a tumultuous time and becomes ensnared in the One-Eyed prince's web.

word count: 4.7k

this chapter took so long to do, so sorry for the delay. after this, we have one chapter and the epilogue. we are approaching the end!

i don't do taglists any more unfortunately, its mostly because i never remember and then feel bad about it so i've made a second blog just for reblogging my fics! @huramuna-fics -- follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings!

warnings: smut (details below cut), power imbalance, religious guilt, dark Aemond, canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence (details under the cut), Aemond being a touch starved weirdo, possessiveness, jealousy, this is going to be ANGSTY

the dog days are over - florence + the machine • am i dreaming - metro boomin, a$ap rocky, roisee

content: p in v, oral (m receiving), creampie, aemond has a breeding kink. attempted forced abortion, threats of mutilation.

They had stayed together that night and every night for a fortnight. Aemond made a point to the serving staff that he was not to be disturbed under any circumstance during the night after dinner or the morning before he broke his fast. He had shown Rosemary the tunnels connecting through the keep– her first experience with it being when he rescued her from certain death and brought her into his bedroom– and they became their haven to get to one another.

After their first coupling, Rosemary fell asleep in his bed, sprawled out next to him. She murmured in her sleep quite a lot, he noted, as he had watched her for a few hours before finally sleeping himself– but not before barring his door, just in case. When the morning light strewn from the half-drawn blinds, Rosemary’s eyes fluttered open and it took her a moment to realize where she was exactly. 

Turning over, vision still blurry, her hands ran through Aemond’s hair, interweaving it between her fingers, his scent filling her nostrils and making her snuggle up closer to him. It felt very dream-like, and she wondered if she was still dreaming. Poking her nose against his head, she slipped her arms to his waist, effectively spooning him, clinging to him like a leech. The events of the previous day exhausted her, physically and mentally– she knew that her current position, to be clear, her position being naked, skin to skin with the prince in his bed, was likely a precarious one– but with the brush of death just the day before, she decided for the time being that she didn’t care. She wanted the illusion of happiness, even if only for a few hours. 

Aemond gave a little grunt in response to her shifting movements, effectively dislodging her from his back, then turning over. His one violet eye was bleary with sleep, the puckered skin around his other socket twitching– he had taken out the sapphire some time during the night. His hand came up, fingertips brushing against the soft skin of her chin, then trailing up her jawline, committing the slope of her bones to memory. His lips were pursed slightly, his tongue darting out to wet them as he leaned forward, kissing her forehead slowly.

Rosemary let out a sigh of contentment, followed by a soft giggle. “Your whiskers,” she whispered, tugging his chin down in turn, her thumb rasping over his skin where the very beginnings of unshaved stubble tickled against the bridge of her nose, “Tickles.”

“Whiskers? Am I a cat now?” he grinned, letting her tug his head all she liked.

“Mmm, yes,” she responded, “A contemptuous tom cat.”

“Contemptuous,” he echoed, notching their noses together, lips ghosting over one another. “Such sophisticated vocabulary for so early in the morn.” he closed the gap and kissed her softly. It was intended to be short, sweet and chaste.

But the smallest of moans escaped her throat. He pulled back, brow perked. Her face was christened with red, eyes half-lidded as she settled against his lips again, their mouths moving fervently against one another. Aemond found it quite amusing, his mouth curved into a sly grin as he moved his hand up her bare thigh, fondling the soft, doughy flesh near her bottom.

She responded immediately, her body contorting into his, her nipples brushing against his chest. They parted momentarily, to which she was hastily whispering, “T-teach me,” she quivered, “How to please you– I want… I want you to feel like I did last night when,” Rosemary looked slightly bashful, “When you put your… mouth on me.”

“You please me just fine,” he hummed back, supplanting his mouth against her throat, leaving trails of kisses and bites.

“Please, Aemond,” she whimpered, tugging on his hair to pull his head back so they could lock gazes. “... I want to make you fall apart like you did I.” 

Aemond gave a puff of acquiescence. “There are many things– but you are still injured, I don’t wish to push you,” he laid flat on his back, pushing hair out of his face. His length was standing at attention, leaking at the tip. “Use your mouth.”

She shifted her body to lay across his chest, her heart pounding in her chest. Her hand grasped at the base of his shaft, giving it an experimental tug. She felt his fingers lace themselves into her hair.

“That isn’t your mouth, little lamb,” he chastised, “Turn this way– need to see your face.”

Letting him guide her head and position her body, she was laying on her side, strewn across his legs.

“Open,” he murmured, and as she did so, he took his free hand, prodding two fingers into her mouth, suppressing her tongue. The act caused her mouth to fill with saliva, the wetness pooling just before her lip. “Keep it open.” Aemond grunted as he lowered her slowly by the hair, fixating the head of his cock into her mouth, nestling between her lips and she gave a hum of satisfaction at the salty taste. The saliva spilled over, dripping down his length and onto the patch of dark hair at the base.

Slowly, he rocked her head up and down, hardly moving down his length, but just to exemplify the motion. Loosening his hold on her hair, he let her take the lead. She gave a few kitten licks before copying the bobbing motion, eventually making her way past the tip. Her eyes, now wide open, watched his face carefully to try and catch any change of emotion. The scent of him— warm and all consuming— filled her nostrils, encouraging her further. She managed to make it more than half way down his cock before faltering, a tiny mewl escaping her as it prodded the back of her throat, a few tears spilling down her cheeks. 

Aemond was good at suppressing his expressions normally, able to hide his contempt, glee or any other emotion he may be feeling within him, keeping a stone-faced facade. However– all of his premonitions and his usual well-schooled features fell apart as he watched Rosemary suck him off, those pretty, huge brown eyes wide, tears forming at her lash line from her exertions– she made little whimpering noises, similar to the ones from the night before when he was fucking her that made him go insane. This was true madness, wasn’t it? Seeing the woman you love drooling on your cock– wait. Love? Love. The notion caught him off guard, the feeling going straight to his core. He fucking loved her. He felt the tightening of his balls and knew he needed more– he reached quickly and pulled Rosemary off of his length, earning him a confused whine.

“Did I do something wrong?” she whimpered.

“No- you were perfect,” he breathed heavily, the heights of his cheeks tinged with rose, “Just… come here,” he leaned forward, picking her up easily and placating her atop his length– not inside yet, but horizontally between her folds. She was soaked, the cheeky woman. “Want to… spend inside of you.” he hummed, his stomach twisting slightly at his admission, feeling the smallest tinge of bashfulness at it. His hands squeezed her bottom, giving it a tiny smack. He was trying to hold back and not be too rough with her– she was still recovering from the ordeal– but damn the Gods if he didn’t want to take her right now, fast and hard. He wanted her on every surface of the room, every place in the Red Keep, his little cockdrunk lamb.

“Mmm,” she nodded slowly, biting her lip. Her thighs quivered as his slicked cock brushed against her clit, sending jolts throughout her. “Please.”

“I’ll do the work,” he leaned up, whispering in her ear, “Just sit back and look pretty, sweet lamb.” he kissed at her neck as he positioned her, sliding her down his length and slotting into her. He nestled nicely in her, giving her another moment to adjust. 

“A-ah,” she mewled, her previously wide eyes back to their half-lidded stupor, “Feels different.”

He hummed in response, moving his hips and her body in tandem as he fucked into her, hitting that sweet spot more easily from his angle, bullying against it. His fingers left red marks on her thighs and he hoped, prayed that when she would look at them later in the mirror, she would feel him all over again– think of him. Her sweet little noises spurred him on like a call to action, his hands moving to flatten against her spine, letting her lay back on them, her nails sinking into his thighs as she tried to find purchase to stay aloft. 

Even with him doing all of the work, she still looked exhausted, her face reddened, a bead of sweat forming at her brow. Her walls clenched around him as she neared her end, he guessed. His thumb grazed down from her spine to between her legs, sliding against her clit in tandem with his bucking. “C’mon,” he growled in her ear, biting on her lobe gently, “Come undone for me, my sweet girl.”

“Aemond, Aemon-d-... !” her voice came in hazy, feverish whines as she barrelled towards her end, taking him with her.

Rosemary clenched around him like a vice, burying her face into his shoulder, descending into a panting mess. 

His climax followed soon after, his movements stilling as he came inside of her, grunting like a besotted dragon. “Mine, fucking mine, mine,” he growled, his nose pressed to her neck as they both caught their breaths. “Mine.”

Their days started and ended much the same way– Aemond did well on his promise to himself to have her on every surface in his chambers. On the bed, over his desk, on the floor in front of the fire. They coupled like a pair of newly-weds, unable to keep their hands to themselves for the majority of the day.

They still had to be careful, though– extremely so. Aemond did his best to investigate the man that had attacked her in the city, but by the time he returned to where the body was, all evidence was washed away. Some carefully laid questions to the City Watch turned up nothing– it was as if it never happened, the man that he killed never existed. They were also extremely careful with the possible repercussions from their pairings– Lady Jeyne had taught Rosemary the recipe for moon tea many years prior, so she made sure to have a stockpile of herbs for such occasions, although her memorization of the exact recipe was teetering on hazy. She felt much sickness throughout the day, attributing it to the tea, as it was known to upset stomachs and the like.

A full two moons after their affair began, Rosemary was in Helaena’s solar, folding clothes. She was perched on the settee while Helaena and the children were out, tidying up around the chambers. A knock at the door interrupted her focused reverie, her head lifting up. She hadn’t the faintest idea who it could be. 

Opening the heavy door, Floris Baratheon was on the other side. Her features were schooled into a neutral pleasant smile. “Ah,” she started, her hands placed neatly over one another, “Is my good-sister to be here?” she asked.

Rosemary blinked. She hadn’t totally forgotten about Aemond’s impending marriage to Floris– in fact, it was one of her sources of ire. As unenthused as Aemond seemed with the match, Rosemary couldn’t help but be fearful of what it meant for them once he and Floris wed. She straightened her dress, putting on her best open-minded and objective face– trying not to think about the fact that Floris’ husband-to-be was breeding her practically every night. “Lady Baratheon,” she smiled softly, “I’m sorry, but Princess Helaena isn’t here– she is out with the children and the Queen at the moment. Is it an urgent matter, my lady? I’d be happy to take a message for her grace.” 

Floris shifted slightly, inclining her neck into the chambers. “Ah– well, mayhaps you can help me, then,” she gave a saccharine sweet smile, “I am trying to embroider a gift for the princess– we are to be sisters, after all– and you should know her better than most, as her handmaiden. Would you say that would be a correct presumption?” 

“Oh– yes. I am quite close with Princess Helaena and know her quite well,” she hummed, “What are you trying to embroider for her?”

“I haven’t quite started yet, I am looking for the right subject to portray. Could I interest you in tea later this afternoon, Lady Rosemary? We can talk about Helaena’s favorite things in my chambers– if it would interest you.”

Rosemary cocked her head slightly, her guard going up. She was a servant– mayhaps not as lowly as others in the Keep, but subservient nonetheless. She wasn’t entirely sure why Floris would be inviting her to tea to talk about the princess. “That is… a most gracious offer, my lady. I would love to sit with you for tea but I have much to do once Helaena and the children return– and I am not a Lady, just Rosemary is fine.” she gave a lopsided smile, fiddling with the hem of her dress as her anxiety rose.

“Please– I insist,” Floris continued, leaning forward slightly, “It will only be… fifteen minutes of your time. How about at high noon?” 

Rosemary’s stomach churned as Floris stared her down. She was a servant, and was to be subservient to the others in the Keep, especially a high-ranking Lady such as Floris. She couldn’t exactly say no. Slowly, she nodded. 

Floris was overjoyed immediately. “Oh, perfect! I will see you then.” she curtsied and jotted off.

High noon rode around quite quickly and Rosemary was pacing around all the while– she wore a small hole in her sleeve from her incessant picking. She knocked on Floris’ door, down the way from the main gathering of chambers in the Holdfast. “My lady? It’s… ehm, Rosemary.”

“Come in, come in,” Floris called. She was sitting at the tea table, two additional seats pulled up. “Help yourself.” she waved over her personal maid, whispering something in the young girl’s ear. The maid nodded and left right away, closing the double doors to the chamber, as well as the doors to the adjoining room they were to sit in. 

“… thank you for your most gracious invitation, my lady,” Rosemary murmured, sitting down on one of the pulled out chairs, glancing at the empty one next to her. “You wished to speak of Princess Helaena?” 

“Mm, yes,” Floris smiled, swirling her tea with her spoon, continuing to motion for Rosemary to drink her own. “Tell me, what does the princess fancy?” 

Rosemary swallowed, staring down at her tea. The smell was oddly familiar, and yet she couldn’t quite place it at the moment, the rest of her senses overwhelmed. She didn’t take a sip, just stirred it errantly, mimicking Floris. “Oh, well, she loves bugs. It caught me off guard at first as well but you get used to it, and it becomes quite endearing. Right now she is set on procuring a Dornish Horned beetle, which is apparently exceedingly rare.” 

Floris’ spoon scraped the side of her cup as she listened to Rosemary prattle on about Helaena. With each breath leaving the handmaiden’s mouth, she became more and more irritable, like flecks of porcelain breaking off of a shattering vase. “I hope you don’t mind, but I invited a friend to dine with us.” 

Her mouth went dry, the alarm bells going off in her head. Turning back, she heard the hollowed thump of a cane. A slightly hunched over man approached, an unnerving smile plastered on his face. Larys Strong. “Good afternoon ladies,” he hummed, taking a seat right next to Rosemary. “How is the tea?” 

Floris shifted in her seat, her eye line casted downward, away from Larys, as if afraid to meet his gaze. 

“Ehm,” Rosemary started, “I hadn’t… tried any yet, truthfully.” 

“Hm,” Larys leaned back in his seat, hands steepled on the top of his cane. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting, my lady. You may know me— Lord Larys Strong.” he pried a hand from his cane, offering it to Rosemary. 

“Rosemary Stone, my lord,” she shook his hand— it was clammy and made her skin crawl— forcing herself to smile. “I’m no lady, my lord, just Rosemary is alright.” 

“Ah? Not a lady?” he inquired, pouring himself tea, but just like Floris, not actually drinking it. “I find that quite odd, with the company you keep, rubbing elbows with the royal family.” 

Her grip on her spoon tightened and she used every ounce of willpower in her body to keep a cool head. “I beg your pardon, my lord— I don’t quite understand your notion. I am Princess Helaena’s handmaiden and caretaker to her three children, but I assure you, it’s nothing more than professional obligation.” she kept her voice steady, even if it was a blatant lie. 

“Ah? Ever dutiful you must be. To be requested specifically by Prince Aemond, then handed off to the princess and promoted to handmaiden so quickly– if Princess Helaena ever tires of you, mayhaps you would serve well as my handmaiden?” Larys gave a small smile, but there was no warmth behind it. 

Rosemary shifted uncomfortably in her chair, feeling very much like a cornered animal. “... that is a kind offer, my lord, thank you.” she spoke methodically, staring into the expanse of her tea. She raised it to her lips, drinking in the scent. It was strong and herbal, but nothing like the usual herbs used for tea. The sticky scent lingered in her nose and churned her stomach– she didn’t wish to drink it. She knew the scent from somewhere– it smelled of resin and balsam and she could practically feel the clinging of sap to her nose. Glancing up, she looked at Floris, who was leaning forward in her chair intently, waiting for Rosemary to drink it. The scent finally registered in her mind. Tansy. Sticky, medicinal tansy. This was tansy tea– more commonly known as moon tea.

Rosemary’s demeanor and facade had been strong throughout– but her heart stopped momentarily, her eyes going wide. They know, they know. They fucking know– they know– her face told all as she placed the cup down with shaky hands. “I-I… I should really get back to the princess, she will worry if I am gone for long.” she hadn’t really thought of the possibility of her being pregnant with the prince’s child– she had taken her moontea, right? 

The waft of strong mint perforated her nose then. She recognized it as wormwood– another ingredient in moontea. The one that she had forgotten. Moon tea was a very specific recipe, needed to be made with specific herbs in terribly accurate amounts, any of the amounts left out may result in the brew not doing its intended purpose: preventing a child. Drinking the wrong tea for the two moons that she and Aemond had been together– her hand clutched her stomach. Her illness she experienced throughout the day wasn’t an effect of the tea. She was pregnant– she’d missed her monthly bloods, stupidly attributing it to the tea. 

Bile rose in the back of her throat as she stared down at the tea. They knew; Floris and Larys. They knew she was in bed with the prince every night, filled to the brim with his seed and then some. They meant to rid her of the child growing inside of her. Moon tea was meant to be drunk the morning after coupling, or within two days. There was no telling the effect it would have this far into a pregnancy– it would likely kill her trying to induce miscarriage.

Floris clenched the table. “Drink your tea, maid. It’s rude to not drink it.”

“P-please– I… I must… I must go– Helaena… the children.” 

“What are children– but a weakness,” Larys said then, “A folly, a futility. You know the right thing must be done here, dear Rosemary. But you are hesitant, love stays the hand. Love is a downfall. We shall give you two options to choose from, Rosemary Stone. First, you shall drink the tea and leave the keep, leave the city. Second, you choose not to drink the tea– that is truly the wrong choice, I’m afraid– and you will be shipped to the Silk Street where I know of a woman whose speciality is cutting out bastard babies from the mother. She has a surprisingly high survival rate, truly. Then, you shall join the Silent sisters and become a handmaiden of the dead– a vow of silence written in blood, the wagging appendage in your mouth snuffed out, cut out, ripped out, it matters naught.”

Floris, all the while, was simmering. “You’re ruining everything– I don’t understand his obsession with you, truly! You’re a maid, a bastard at that. What is so special about you?” she stood up now, flinging her own cup to the ground. “Drink the fucking tea!”

Rosemary felt like she was floating outside of her body, her ears ringing. Her fingers felt numb as she still held the tea to her lips, trembling like a leaf. “It… it’s too late– the tea,” she croaked, “It… would kill me if I drank it–”

“All the better, then!” Floris leaned across the table, pushing the cup towards Rosemary’s mouth.

She didn’t want to drink it– she didn’t. Letting go of the cup, she pushed back against Floris’ hand, shoving her backwards, along with her tea. It all happened so fast, Floris suddenly atop Rosemary on the ground, smacking and slapping her. “You’re ruining it, ruining everything! Why can’t you just go away?!” the tablecloth came down in a crash, sending all of the porcelain to the ground.

Rosemary put her arms up once again, shielding her face from Floris’ demented assault. “St-Stop!” she was screaming now.

The doors to the solar flew open. “Ah, my good-sister to be!” it was Aegon. Aegon? Wha– “Goodness, what’s going on here?” he walked around the room, Ser Arryk behind him. “Ah, Rosemary. Helaena is looking for you, no time to be… hm, what are you two doing? Quite a precarious position, Lady Baratheon, seemingly beating my poor lady wife’s favorite handmaiden.” 

Floris froze, letting up her grip on Rosemary, sliding off of her. She was silent.

“And Larys Strong– didn’t know you were an enjoyer of two women with one another, hm? Ah, but we all have our own odd proclivities, don’t we?” Aegon sauntered over to Rosemary, scooping her up into his arms. Her face was reddened from the slaps that Floris managed to get in, her nose bleeding. “I’ll be taking her, Helaena is distraught, you must understand. I’ll be sure not to mention this… indiscretion to my mother, grandsire, or brother, as a favor. Good day to you both.” he gave a wobbly bow, obviously not used to holding the weight of a woman in his arms. He walked out of the solar and into the hallway, cautiously looking side-to-side. “Ser Arryk, make sure they don’t follow.”

The knight nodded, standing at the door.

Aegon huffed, adjusting Rosemary in his arms. “I’m not cut out for this saving maidens in distress business, truly. Though, I suppose you aren’t a maiden anymore.”

“... out of all of the people, I expected you least, Aegon.”

“You underestimate the power of Helaena when she is… in her moods. Usually she’s quiet, despondent,” he slunk close to the wall, prying open a door behind a statue and descending into the tunnels, “But this time– she was incorrigible, crying, squawking– it was giving me a headache. Consider this my good act of the decade,” Aegon shrugged, walking through the tunnels with ease, he’d obviously traipsed through them frequently. “... may it be my moment of sobriety, but… you make my sister and brother happy. You’re good with my children– I may be a fucking idiot but I’m not blind.”

“... thank you, Aegon.” she murmured as he shouldered his way through another opening, leading them out to Helaena’s solar.

She was there, distraught and pacing. When the doorway hinged, she descended upon them like a swarm of butterflies. “Oh, Rosemary, are you alright? Oh, that horrible woman has bloodied up your nose!” Helaena sniffed, her eyes rimmed red. She glanced at Aegon then, nodding to him. “Thank you, brother.” 

“Don’t mention it– please. I can’t have my reputation as a lecher ruined by my acts of goodness.” he laid Rosemary down on the settee, nodding to her and Helaena before retreating back into the tunnels.

Helaena stooped down next to Rosemary. “I… I saw it– they were going to hurt you, even more than that silly doe hoofing you,” she swallowed, putting her hand on her friend’s cheek, “... you must leave.”

“Leave?” 

“It’s not safe. You must leave, you must. I hate to get you up after just sitting down but we must leave now.”

“N-now? But… Aemond,” Rosemary murmured, her eyes stinging. “He doesn’t know anything that’s happened– he… he could protect me… us.”

“You know as well as I that if Aemond found out, Larys nor Floris would be leaving this keep alive, charred to the bone and sinew. That would be… complicated for a number of reasons– politics are… delicate. It wouldn’t do well for him to kill his betrothed, especially the daughter of a hothead like Borros.”

“I can’t just leave him, Helaena– I’m… pregnant.”

“I know,” she hummed softly, pressing their noses together, “You are now my sweet sister, in blood and heart. But… we must go. Come.” she pulled Rosemary up from the settee, wrapping a plain cloak around her and pulling up the hood, leading her to the tunnels again. “Aegon told me the way out.” she held Rosemary’s hand in her own, the other skimming the wrought stone. “Made to choose, but they choose for me,” Helaena muttered under her breath, “We must have these tunnels guarded more carefully, I think.”

They approached the end, cracking the wooden door open. “... I will miss you. I have not seen if we will meet again, but I sorely hope we do. But if not… you are the greatest friend I’ve known, the kindest– you are my sister, truly. We are but two butterflies that met on the breeze, but not meant for eternity, I fear,” Helaena let go of her hand, pressing a heavy sack in her hand, the jingling of coins heard, “Make a new life far from here, a place with lots of nectar for you, beautiful flowers,” she leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together, “Take care of my nephew.”

“Two butterflies,” Rosemary responded, tears flowing down her face, “I quite like that,” she paused for a moment, “I fear Aemond would disagree. He thinks me a lamb. Helaena– tell him… tell him I love him– tell… tell him something.” 

“You shall tell him yourself one day, I hope. Now, be free, woolen butterfly, flitting on the breeze…” she kissed Rosemary’s cheek and parted from her, descending back into the tunnels, walking back to her solar. “The thread weaves once more, mending opened wounds… herbs shall turn to flowers, blooming.”

–

It was past dinner time, well past it. And yet, she wasn’t here. His Rosemary was nothing if not punctual. 

It must be something with the twins, or Maelor– mayhaps Helaena needed her help with something– she wouldn’t be late on purpose. Aemond paced, stopping at his wardrobe and opening it, pushing through a false-back and pulling out a soft silken garment, Rosemary’s nightwear. It smelled of her, so sweet and warm, lavender and that scented soapberry brew she bathed in.

The unlatching of a lock was heard towards the bookshelf, where his room connected to the tunnels, she must be here, surely. “Rosemary, love. You’re a bit late.” he admonished softly, the pads of his fingers rasping against the fabric absentmindedly. 

It was a crop of blonde hair that passed through the threshold of the tunnels– but not Rosemary. 

“Helaena? Where is Rosemary?”

“Brother,” she murmured, her voice solemn, “There’s… been an accident.

[mychoombatheroomba]

Razor's Edge

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 18

If you've learned one thing, it's that moments of peace never last long.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

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Chapter Index

TW: PTSD, angst, terrible coping mechanisms

There wasn’t much sleep to be found that night, and Leon was glad it was for a different reason than seeing ghosts dance in the dark. No, that night, he lay awake with only you on his mind. He found himself peering through the shadows, looking towards where your bunk was - one row up and two to the left - wondering if, maybe, you were having trouble sleeping for the same reasons. 

It made him feel a little ridiculous, that he was so excited to feel your touch, but he didn’t have it in him to feel embarrassed by it anymore. He was still young and now, for the first time in months, he actually felt it. 

He felt like a person again, instead of a cog in a machine, being crushed and reforged into something he wasn’t. 

So, however silly it was, he let his excitement keep him up long into the night, and when he finally slept, he dreamed of you. Only of you. His mind graced him with your touch, your taste, and Leon was all too happy to let the dream overtake him.

In the morning, he wondered if you knew what he was dreaming about, because as you and the rest rose from bed, your eyes found his instantly. The sweet torture began then and there. The anticipation. He wasn’t sure then how he was going to endure the countdown until evening, not when you were so close to him all day. Just out of reach. He glimpsed the skin of your back as you got ready, sliding your shirt on. Keeping your back to everyone. Hiding your scars. Then he caught you looking his way as he pulled his own shirt over his head. 

You grinned - so small that only someone who knew to look for it would catch it - and Leon wished he could grab time and push it past him. He wanted the day to blur by, to skip ahead. 

When you all formed up for morning drills, though, and Leon saw more of a storm than a person when he looked at Major Krauser, he knew that the day would, in fact, be a long one. 

It wasn’t the running with munitions cases that clued Leon in to the fact that Krauser was angry, or the way he timed each person at the firing range. Hell, even the doubled punishments for mistakes weren’t too out of the ordinary. It was the fact that Krauser was so quiet through it all. Never once did he make a scathing remark, or give one of his cruel, crooked smiles. He would just give corrections and dole out discipline with a tight-lipped frown, pointing out each and every misstep. Every moment of weakness. He wasn’t sure if he was frustrated or grateful that the struggle of it all forced him to focus on something other than you. By the time lunch rolled around, Leon was well and truly grateful for the extra hours he’d put in with you - Williams, Alenko and the rest of the cadets that had moved up with him were boneless as they slumped into their seats. He, at least, only felt like he was going to pass out a little. 

Even you looked winded, your shoulders slumped forward a bit and as you steadied your breathing. Still, you offered Leon a look - one that he’d come to know as encouragement. The day wasn’t over, after all. 

But god, he wished it was. 

He wished the two of you were alone, somewhere else where he could act on his desires. All the exhaustion in the world wouldn’t change that, he was sure. He decided then and there that even if this day sapped all his strength, he’d still drag himself to your side. So, he would endure whatever he had to, if he could escape to your touch when evening fell. He would push through the training, even if Krauser seemed to have a bone to pick with each and every one of them. 

“What did we do to piss him off?” Williams asked from down the bench, draping herself over the table only for Alenko to shove her away from his food. 

“I think us existing is justification enough for him,” he huffed. 

Leon wasn’t so sure - and if your expression was any indication, neither were you. Krauser was an asshole, sure, but never without purpose. At least, that was what Leon had seen of him since he started training with the Major. So, if he was pushing this hard . . . “He always has reasons for what he does,” you said, and both Williams and Alenko seemed surprised you were speaking to them at all. Leon couldn’t blame them - it wasn’t often that you engaged with the other members of the squad, even those that you had trained with for longer. He almost laughed at the fact that you were doing it now to defend Krauser’s brutal teaching style. But then, he saved your life once, hadn’t he? Leon could understand your loyalty, even if sometimes he disagreed. 

“I know he’s trying to prepare us but damn,” Williams said after a while, shaking her head. “Feels like my legs are gonna fall off.” 

“You’ll be fine. He picked you all to be here for a reason,” you insisted. It wasn’t a reassurance delivered with an abundance of compassion, per se, but Leon could hear the sincerity in your voice. It made him smile, and even through her surprise, Williams almost did the same. 

Then, she grimaced again. “Yeah, well, kinda wishing I got left back with the old squad, right about now.” 

“What?” Leon grinned. “And miss out on all the fun?” 

“It’s only fun for you because you’re getting one-on-one instruction with the fucking Terminator, Kennedy.” Williams glanced over to you as soon as she said the words, wincing as she realized she’d spoken them out loud. “No offense.” 

You just shrugged, taking another bite of your food. If anything, Leon swore you might have liked the nickname. “None taken.”

“Which reminds me,” Alenko butted in, looking towards you and Leon. “If you ever want a break from sparring with just each other, I wouldn’t mind getting a few pointers. Can’t let you outclass us in everything.” He gave Leon a friendly, challenging grin, and Leon wanted to return it. He did his best to, but the idea of other people joining in the evening training the two of you had been doing . . . it was selfish of him, but he didn’t like it, to say the least. 

Especially today of all days, when you had all but promised him what he’d been dreaming of for weeks. 

“You almost had me in the assessment,” you said to Alenko coolly, even if Leon thought he saw a bit of tension creep into your jaw. “You’re doing well already.” 

“Yeah, but we all could be doing better. Maybe that’ll give Krauser less to be angry about, if we’re all pushing ourselves.” 

“There’s pushing and then there’s punishing,” Williams said, then added, “again, no offense.”

“And we’ve been getting our asses kicked every day for the last week,” Alenko shook his head. 

“All the more reason for us to put in some extra hours. Less ass-kicking sounds good, don’t you think?”

He was right, but even so . . . Leon glanced between you and the other soldier, trying to think of what to say that wouldn’t give anything away-

“Alright,” you said, and Leon nearly jumped out of his skin until you went on. “Tomorrow, if you want to join, you can. Don’t think fighting today would do you or me any good,” you said, glancing at the way Alenko’s body was slumped in on itself, and Leon could kiss you then and there for the evasion. 

Alenko huffed a little laugh and nodded. “Fair point. Think the mandatory sparring will be enough for me today.” 

Leon almost agreed with him. He couldn’t help but feel that the worst of Krauser’s trials that day had yet to come. So, as the squad formed up in the training yard that afternoon, he tried to prepare himself. Everyone was paired off, and Leon found himself standing across from none other than Valeria, the soldier giving him a wicked smile. She didn’t say anything - not while Krauser was giving instructions - but Leon could almost hear her taunts anyway. He glanced over at you, seeing you rolling your shoulders back, standing across from Alejandro. It almost made him laugh; after last night, you likely had some frustrations to vent with the man, even if Alejandro didn’t know it. 

That urge to laugh died in Leon’s throat when Krauser started to speak, his words more serious than Leon had ever heard them. “Come arm yourselves. We’ll begin when I give the word and not a second before,” he said, gesturing to his side, to the table where sunlight shone bright off of steel. 

Leon followed behind the other recruits, reaching the table just as you and Alejandro reached for the knives . . . and then paused. It didn’t take Leon long to realize what had made you both hesitate. He had become intimately familiar with the practice blades over the last few weeks. All blunted with cheap grips, designed to take a beating and to imitate the real thing closely enough for practice’s sake. 

The knives on the table were not the blades you all have been using so far. Rather, they were pristine, their handles seemingly untouched and their blades brand new. 

Being brand new wasn’t the only thing that caught Leon’s eyes about those blades, and he felt his heart speed up.

They looked . . . 

 “Are these edged, sir?” Alejandro asked first, and Krauser just gave him a look. 

“They are,” the Major nodded, and Leon felt his stomach drop. “Now go, you’re holding up the line.” 

Leon hadn’t known Alejandro long, nor did he know him well, but he could see the normally intense man waver before he reached for the weapon. There was confusion in his eyes as he stepped to the side, and he carefully thumbed the edge of the knife, like he was sure that Krauser had been lying. By the knot that formed between his brows, Leon could see that the Major had been telling the truth. The weapons they were going to be using today were edged. They would cut skin and muscle, if they weren’t careful. It was enough to scare Alejandro and the rest. Even Valeria stiffened at his side, a look of disbelief crossing her face. 

Leon was scared, because he’d never felt the bite of a knife before. He’d never known what it was to have steel part his skin like that. Not in a fight. Not when it was against someone trained to go for the kill. Even so, he couldn’t think too long about his own fear. 

The only person he could think of was you, because he saw the way you froze at the table, a knife clasped in your hand and your gaze fixed down on its blade. “We don’t have all day,” Krauser said, and the words forced you to move. When you turned so Leon could see you, you didn’t look at him. Even as you walked past him to join Alejandro, you didn’t spare him a glance. You didn’t spare anyone a glance. You just moved through the crowd with that unreadable expression, knife clutched tight at your side. 

He knew you weren’t seeing the world as it was, then. You were seeing that night, just as he had seen Raccoon City when Krauser had sent your squad after his in the dark, during his assessment. He knew, as you looked over at Alejandro’s knife, that you weren’t here, but rather, you were fighting off a memory. 

And he knew that, in this moment, there wasn’t anything he could do to help you. 

But he was going to try, anyway. 

“Sir, I don’t think we should-”

He didn’t even get to finish the sentence before Krauser fixed a cold glare on him. “Take the goddamn knife, rookie,” he said, before Leon could even make his point. “I have a lesson to teach.” 

The threat implied in his tone was not lost on Leon. He knew Krauser would make his life hell if he pushed this issue. He knew that he would probably just be removed from the exercise at best. At worst . . . he wasn’t sure what the worst case scenario would be. Didn’t really want to know what Krauser’s “worst” was. Not when he’d been willing to tear gas Leon and his squad for a training exercise, and not when he was going to make them fight with edged weapons now. 

He wasn’t going to do himself any favors, and at the end of the day, however you felt about what was happening, you weren’t backing down. You never would. 

So, Leon set his face in stone and reached for a blade. 

It weighed no more than the practice knives, but somehow, it felt heavier. That was all Leon could think as he and Valeria made their way to their own space, each of them eying the weapon that the other held. 

Were he elsewhere, he might have been awestruck - his mind might have assured him that this wasn’t happening. 

He knew better, though. 

He knew the blade and the threat it represented were very, very real. 

“You’ll start and stop when I give the word, understood?” 

There was silence for just a moment too long. 

“Understood?” Krauser demanded. 

“Yes, sir.” The responses were all strained. Some of the recruits, Leon included looked between each other, trying to determine if this was all some sick joke. Others just raised their blades into their preferred guards, silently preparing. Whatever the response, everyone had one thing in common: fear.

And that fear didn’t matter to the Major. “On my mark,” Krauser’s voice was the tolling of a bell across the churchyard, looming and mighty and inescapable. Leon could only bend his knees and raise his weapon, his mind rushing and his eyes wide. He and Valeria looked at each other, eyes, hands, blades, trying to determine what was about to happen. Trying to divine who would move first. Where the blades would fall. 

This was the first time he’d seen the soldier across from him afraid, but even in that moment, there was no doubt in his mind that she would attack him. That she would not hesitate. 

Krauser began a countdown. “Three-”

Control the blade-

Use the attack-

More than just your knife-

Smaller arm movements-

Everything you and the Major had told him, every lesson, flooded him so fast he could barely pick out details. He suddenly came to doubt the steel in his hand, even after all the hours spent training with you and the others. Even if he knew he was skilled, because even skilled people made mistakes. Even you made mistakes. 

Even Valeria could make mistakes. If either of them made a misstep, if either of them missed a dodge? Or cut a little too deep? 

“Two-”

He knew what pain was. He’d survived explosions. The crushing strength of a monster twice his size. A bullet. 

He could do this. 

That was what he thought as he gripped his knife tighter, the knowledge of what he’d lived through waging a brutal war against the fear of being cut. 

He didn’t have to win. He just needed to protect himself. 

“One-”

All went still. Leon felt his mind retreat to a safe distance when he needed it most. He could only stare at the knife across from him, and the woman who held it. He knew his heart was pounding in his chest. He knew fear throbbed in time with it, but he couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel anything but a heaviness that could kill. 

Oh, god.

Oh, god.

Oh, god-

Is this what you’d felt-

“Hold!”

Leon flinched, because he’d been ready to retreat. Ready to guard. Ready to bleed. Instead, he found himself staring ahead at an equally confused Valeria, the two hesitating to breathe because they wanted to make sure they’d heard the Major right. 

“You can all drop your guards,” Krauser said, and Leon felt something flash through him. Not anger, not frustration, but white hot fury. 

What the fuck had that been for?

He’d let them think they were going to cut each other to pieces in the name of practice, and for what? 

Krauser must have known to expect such anger, and such questions, because he spoke again before a slew of curses threatened to explode from Leon’s lips. “Nothing quite like the threat of real steel, is there? Sobers you up. You can have all the training in the world, but if you don’t respect the threat those knives pose, then you will get bled, someday. Going forward, when we’re using our practice knives, I want you all to remember how this felt today. And I want you all to work past that fear, because if you freeze up out there, if you give the enemy a second to act, then you will die.” His eyes, a cold blue searched the faces of the recruits before him, and Leon swallowed when he saw him glance your way. “You have to be ready. Always.” 

There was something in his voice. A frustration. A fear. 

Leon noticed it, but he didn’t much care. Didn’t feel sympathy. Because, as the squad was dismissed, he saw your face, haunted and distant, more frightened than he’d ever seen you. Alejandro noticed too, placing a hand on your shoulder. You shrugged him off, and Leon saw you fight to get your mask back on - that expression of impassiveness you hid behind so often. 

It was a failed effort. 

⧫⧫⧫

You’d failed. 

You’d seen a knife in front of you, a real, edged knife, and you’d failed.

You thought of that moment over and over again as the evening crept in, watching Alejandro’s blade as you waited for Krauser to tell you to begin. Only, you hadn’t seen Alejandro standing in front of you. No. You’d seen a dark room, and snow outside, and-

You should have known-

“What are you-” 

The knife went into you once. Twice. Three times-

You heard more than felt the bone break under the steel-

Red lenses where eyes should have been-

The gas mask hid his face, but you could feel no pity in his gaze-

Someone screaming your name-

The pain of it seemed so recent, then, and as you’d looked at that blade, you could remember with perfect clarity the agony of it. The pain that burned you from the inside out, that drove you to be what you’d become today. 

All those months spent vowing you would never feel that pain again, and you hadn’t even been able to face it here. 

How could you ever hope to survive in the real world again, if you froze when facing down a squad mate? One who wouldn’t have even gone for the kill, if the fight had actually happened. 

How could you protect anyone if you were this weak? 

Weak. 

Weak. 

That was the word that plagued you that night. When you heard Leon say your name softly, like he was afraid you were going to break, you couldn’t help but whirl on him, your anger flaring because you weren’t breakable. He didn’t need to treat you like you were. 

Then you saw his eyes, the concern there - concern and support, but no pity to be found. 

He’d never pitied you. 

You didn’t know if you could thank him for that, but you should have, maybe. 

You saw his eyes and that anger faded. Got pushed far enough back that you could almost think clearly, even as your chest felt full of hot air and your hands were clenched tight at your sides. 

“What do you need?” Leon asked, and you wanted to hate him for being so considerate, for knowing exactly what to say to you in that moment. You wanted someone to be angry with other than yourself, but it couldn’t be Leon. This wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t even Krauser’s. 

The blame was on you, for not being ready. For being too weak to escape the past. 

So, when Leon asked that question, you knew your answer, even if you were sure it would confuse him. Even if you’d promised him a night of soft touches and gentle sighs. 

“Training yard.” You grunted more than spoke the words, looking away from his eyes. 

You couldn’t look into his eyes for too long. Not now. 

There was a moment of hesitation, but you saw him nod in the end. “Okay.” 

He followed you there after dinner - a meal spent in near silence. The rest of the squad had seen your reaction to the knives. They’d seen your scars, most of them. They knew better than to ask, and they knew better than to approach you today. You were grateful for the peace, if it could be called that. Then again, with the way your thoughts assaulted you, “peace” was perhaps the wrong word. Still, you wanted to be alone with those thoughts. You wanted to try to get them under control, so that by the time you and Leon reached the training yard, you would be at an equilibrium again. 

It was no great surprise to you that your plan failed, and your mind was full of troubles when you handed Leon a practice knife. There was no music playing that night.

“You’re going unarmed?” Leon asked, and you nodded without hesitation. 

“I need you not to hold back,” you said, watching as Leon’s face shifted. “I need you to come at me like you want me dead.” 

The words made Leon’s expression shift, and he took a step forward, about to protest. You stopped him. 

“Just do it,” you said, more forcefully this time. 

You hoped he could see all that you couldn’t say in your eyes. You needed this. You needed to prove to yourself that this was something you could do. You needed to be ready, so you wouldn't ever feel a blade parting your flesh again. You needed to put the past behind you at last, and maybe, just maybe, overcoming this fear was the way to do that. 

All of that was a lot for just one silent moment of eye contact. You knew Leon couldn’t read your mind. He wouldn’t know your reasons unless you told him. 

Still, it seemed that moment of eye contact was enough - and you knew as he nodded that he didn’t need to know your reasoning. Not when he probably had similar shadows biting at his heels. Leon nodded then, swallowing as he did it and raising the blade in front of him. 

“When you’re ready,” he said. 

“Don’t give me a warning,” you shook your head. Leon grimaced but nodded. 

He went for your heart first. 

You moved out of the way, your eyes flaring and any counter you would have normally performed absent.

It’s real, you tried to convince yourself, clinging to the utter and complete terror you’d felt during Krauser’s lesson. That knife is real, and if it touches me, it will draw blood. 

Leon lunged again after a moment, clearly still hesitant. “I said not to hold back,” you growled, knowing full well that you were being selfish. That you were asking him to do something he was uncomfortable with. 

But he was obliging you.

He was obliging you because he wanted to help, because he was sweet. Kind. 

If he stayed with you, would you get him killed the way you’d gotten everyone else killed? Would you be too slow, and he just fast enough to stop you from dying while forgetting himself? Would you have to watch him turn into something because you failed? 

No.

No, because you were going to be stronger than this. The past had you in a strangle-hold, and you were going to spit blood up in its eyes, kick it between the legs and overpower it. You were going to win through spite and skills and sheer power. 

Leon’s knife found its way to your neck before you could even register it, and you realized you’d been lost in your thoughts. Too focused on what you wanted, you forgot what was in front of you. 

It made something dark and deadly claw at your stomach, and you clenched your jaw. 

“Again,” you said, more forcefully than you maybe intended. 

Leon looked at you for a moment, but again, he did as you asked. 

And again, after just a few moves, you found yourself dying to a move that you should have been able to stop. He’d come at you with a feint - one you used on him more times than you could count - and the knife stuck just below your armpit as you tried for a block too slow. Bleeding you out. It made heat rise to your face, anger with yourself coming with it. You should have been better than this. 

You were better than this. 

“Again.” 

It’s real.

This time the knife slashed across your throat when you fumbled a disarm. 

“Again.” 

The knife is real.

He caught you in the stomach-

“Again.”

It’s not Leon attacking you. 

The side-

“Again!”

Red lenses where eyes should have been-

The heart. The knife hit right above your heart, and for a moment you thought you’d pulled the edged knife from your memory and into reality, because your chest hurt. You backed away, grinding your teeth together so hard your jaw ached, your throat constricting. It was anger. Anger was bringing about this reaction in you.

It didn’t matter, though. You had to keep going.

“Again-”

Leon spoke your name, and you stopped because you had never, in all these weeks, heard him sound so forceful. His eyes, normally so soft and blue, were unyielding as he looked at you. Unyielding, but compassionate in a way that only he could manage. He put the knife in his pocket and stepped towards you, reaching a hand up towards you slowly. You stilled, letting him come closer, expecting him to rest it on your shoulder. Instead, it came up to cup your cheek, and something in you began to chip and shatter. “You’re not there,” he said simply, seeing through you and into the memory you’d conjured up around you. “You’re here, with me.” 

His touch was a reminder of that, so soft against your face - a gentleness you’d not known before, completely alien next to the life of grit and gunmetal you lived. 

“Breathe.” 

It was enough to pull you back to the present, enough to make you feel the shoes you were standing in, the cooling evening air, and the beating of your heart slow a touch. 

You did as he asked, breathing slowly. In, then out. The pain in your chest made it hard, but you did it anyway. All the while, Leon kept his gaze on you, as much as part of you wished he would look away.

You stared into the sky of his eyes, searching for something you couldn’t place. Somethings, maybe. All of them unknown and out of reach. And he let you look, holding your gaze and looking for the same things in you. It was a moment that may have lasted seconds or hours, and you wouldn’t have known. Once your breathing steadied, there were still so many emotions left simmering beneath the surface, and chief among them was shame. You shouldn’t have had to rely on Leon for this. You shouldn’t have had to be doing this at all. 

“I’m sorry-” you croaked, speaking to the living and the dead alike.

Leon just shook his head, looking at you from under that ridiculous sand-blond hair. “Don’t be.”

It didn’t stop the shame from pooling in you. It didn’t erase the fear or the memories, but it did let other things rise to the surface. Things like gratitude, for him being there, fear, for him being so selfless and caring and, most of all, affection. Affection so strong it was almost staggering. 

That affection nearly knocked you to the ground when, after a moment, Leon’s hand fell away from your face and reached for the knife in his pocket. You watched him spin it around his fingers the way you so often did, giving you a soft smile before he spoke. “Again?”

That’s a dangerous game you’re playing, you’d said to Leon. Again, your own words bit into you, and you were feeling too much else to care.

“. . . Again.” 

He moved just too fast the first time around, and you were just regaining your focus. The knife ended up pressed against your neck, and you felt those thoughts encroaching again, but you brushed them off. 

You were here. You were with Leon. 

Another win for him came after a longer fight, and you could feel yourself getting tense again. 

You were with Leon, and he would never hurt you. 

And therein lay the problem, and thinking of it had you breathing heavy as you lost once again, after you nearly managed to disarm him. 

He cared for you too much. You knew what happened to people that cared for you.

You bared your teeth, blocking attack after attack. Then you grunted as a slash found your arm, but you weren’t done yet. 

If anything happened to him-

He attacked your leg, and you realized just in time that it was a feint. You blocked and struck his stomach with your free hand. He retreated just in time to avoid you taking the knife from him. 

If he died protecting you, as so many others had-

A cry of exertion escaped you as you moved to the side, seeing the knife flashing towards your gut. Towards where your scar lay. The motion made your dog tags smack against your chest. 

You would never forgive yourself. 

Your hands moved fast, trapping Leon’s hand and the knife in it against your stomach, against the rough scar tissue hidden beneath your shirt. 

You had to be stronger.

The knife came free of his grip as you twisted it loose, yelping in pain as you strained his wrist in doing so. 

You had to be able to protect him.

You bared your teeth in a yell, moving the knife so fast it could barely be seen. It landed at his windpipe, and he inhaled sharply. Eyes wide, lips parted, he looked at you then, and you saw fear in him. Not fear of you. Fear for you. 

You wouldn’t lose him, too.

You let your knife fall to his chest when you crashed your lips against his, the world around you be damned. You wanted to forget. You wanted that happiness you’d pushed away for so long. You wanted him. 

You’d made him a promise, after all. 

After a moment, he kissed you back, his free hand coming up to your shoulder as his lips moved against yours, trying to keep up. No easy feat, because you were all fire. Maybe you weren’t going to burn for long, but while you did . . . you were going to burn bright and burn strong. As you parted from him, the two of you breathless, you saw in Leon’s eyes that he was going to burn with you. 

But he was Leon. He was considerate and kind, even when his eyes were dark with desire. “Are you sure-” 

Your jaw tightened, and you realized then the pressure in your throat. It hurt as you nodded, choking your words so they were quiet. “I’m sure. If you are.” 

He looked at you then, and you thought for a moment you were going to break because no one should look at you, wretched as you were, with such care. Such adoration. “If it’s what you want - if it’ll help - then I am.” 

And then you kissed him again, letting the knife in your hands fall to the ground so you could hold him instead.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

A/N: Soooooo next chapter will be NSFW!

[newmih]

A night at the funfair

Words: 500+

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, female reader

Summary: Just Dean on a roller coaster…

NA: It's been so long since I wrote last and I honestly don't know if it's any good Enjoy anyway ^^

Main Masterlist

It was the smell of candy that had first attracted Dean Winchester. Then the cheers of the crowd convinced him to stop. Sam, Y/N and the older hunter had been riding aimlessly for a few hours after completing a case a few days earlier. So when he realized they were passing a funfair, he couldn't help but go along.

Sam hadn't minded, on condition that they went straight home if they came across any kind of clown. As for Y/N, she'd only followed them because she needed to stretch her legs.

After a few taffy stalls in which they left with a multitude of giant stuffed toys, Sam decided he'd had enough and disappeared in the direction of the food with the promise of bringing some for Y/N and Dean.

The young woman would have liked to follow him, but she didn't know what Dean alone at the carnival would be like, and she had no intention of finding out. Yet she soon regretted her decision to stay with him when, after giving all their winnings to a family, he grabbed her by the sleeve and pulled her towards the biggest ride.

It wasn't that she didn't like this kind of attraction, but at the time, after hours of nauseating rides and hours of rifle shooting, the hunter just wanted to sleep.

She grunted as she tried to free herself from his grip, but he was much stronger than she was, and soon she found herself in the middle of the line with no means of escape.

-Oh come on Y/N!!! It'll be fun!

She shook her head at her friend's pleadings, but followed him anyway. The ride looked like a giant swing, only more complex and frightening. The man sat down beside her, not in the least afraid, but convinced that this was why Y/N had refused to follow him in the first place.

The machine started up, swinging from left to right. It was when he began to turn on himself that she felt a strong pressure on her left arm. She turned her head but couldn't see anything because of their seat except Dean's clenched hands on her. A mocking rictus appeared on her face as she realized what was happening.

Dean was scared.

-Aww, are we scared?

Her mockery was lost in the air as the attraction increased to a new level. The turns on himself had finally made the hunter lose all ego and he began to scream. A burst of laughter came from Y/N's mouth, who finished the trick in a fit of giggles after Dean hadn't stopped screaming once.

When they finally went down, the huntress was still hilarious and despite all her threats to keep quiet, she couldn't stop herself.

-Let's not tell Sam, okay?

Bended in half, she nodded. At the same time, Sam returned with a bag of candies and a candy apple, which he gave to Dean and Y/N. He was still dusting off his clothes, trying to regain his self-confidence.

-What's going on, Dean? You look like you've seen a ghost.

He froze before arching his chest.

-I don't know what you're talking about.

Sammy smiled before taking out an open camera from his pocket.

-Oh, yeah? Are you sure about that?

please reblog if you liked it!!

[temmtamm]

omg hi i also currently have donnie brain rot and will totally dump some requests in your asks! also just wanna say thank you for your service there’s not many rottmnt blogs active, your doing gods work <3

anyways can i request some hc of donnie with a reader who speaks a diff language? (spanish to be specific if you want) like would he try and learn it? would he be annoyed he doesn’t know what they’re saying? would he shit talk with them in secret? inside jokes?

please and thanks you!

✰RISE BROS W/ SPANISH SPEAKING S/O✰

(Asks are temporarily closed until I can finish them all)

❀LEO❀

Both him and Mikey speak a little bit of Spanish, so he can understand most of what you're saying, but likes to play dumb so that way you don't stop.

Took special notice to your use of "Mi luchador" when you're tired of his antics.

Just something about the way you say that as you're trying your best not to chew him out for whatever stupid shit he did today just makes him fall in love with you all over again.

Whenever you have trouble with an English word, surprisingly he won't tease or poke fun as he usually does and would instead correct you as quiet as possible.

One day it somehow slipped out that he really knew what everything you're saying meant, as one night after a particularly long battle he sleeping mumbled "Mi mundo" to you while you two were cuddling. He definitely had some explaining to do after.

☁︎RAPH☁︎

Look, I love him but I think we can all agree he wouldn't know what the he you are saying.

It's not that he doesn't know Spanish or what it is, he definitely heard some of it and learned a few words of it thanks to Ghost bear.

He is unlikely to understand all of the little nicknames you give him until Leo decides to be a little menace and translates you one day.

His favorite of all the nicknames is "Mi héroe", not only cause it feeds into his hero complex but it makes him feel like his leadership skills are actually being appreciated by someone.

He never corrects you when you get anything wrong in englisj- Matter of fact, even if you pronounce a word so terribly wrong he's convinced the way you said it is the right way and will pronounce it like that too.

He loves it when you cuss people out in Spanish, he doesn't know why but he is absolutely smitten when you get so deep into an argument or conversation that you start speaking your mother tongue without realizing.

☀︎MIKEY☀︎

He, like Leo, can speak spanish although only a little. He mostly knows just pet names and a few curses in Spanish.

He loves to call you "Vida Mia/Mio" and in return you usually call him the same, though you still also save a few pet names for when it's just you two and you want a cuter more intimate pet name for him.

He is quick to correct you whenever you incorrectly say something in English, even offering to help you with the words you struggle with.

He sometimes likes to mimic things you've said- Like if you stubbed your toe and said, "Oh, hijos de puta. Te comeré vivo." He'd repeat it himself when angry or hurt. This has resulted in Leo and Raph chewing you out for turning their baby brother into a cussing machine.

He doesn't really mind though, if anything he fines it fun restarting some choice words you say to his brothers whenever they get into a fight, even if it always results in you trying to get him to stop by not cussing.

The attempt is futile though, as he had a taste of the bad boy life, and he wants more swears and devious behavior

⚕︎DONNIE⚕︎

You'd think with how smart he is he'd know a multitude of languages, but you'd be wrong.

He was much more busy with his tech and being enamored with science than languages.

Though, he knew that his lack of knowledge on other languages would bite him in the ass one day, and bite him in the ass it did!!

He sometimes automatically thinks that whenever you're talking in Spanish, you're talking shit about him but after building a translator for himself he was surprised to see that when you were ranting in Spanish, it was really about mushy lovey stuff that you thought he wouldn't enjoy but still wanted to say.

You love to call him "Tesoro" and although it's cheesy and a bit overused, he likes to call you "Mi Amor" whenever he's having a lovely moment.

Unfortunately, he is a stickler for grammer and will constantly correct and tease you whenever you have trouble with an English word.

Thanks for reading ♥︎

@el-chiste

@nightmarewhispersxx

[littlebitsmile]

in flames [C.L.] | Chapter III

Welcome back! This took me a bit longer than usual, but it's still Sunday, so I'm glad you decided to join me (: Hope you all had a nice first week of 2024 - only 55 more days until we see our munchkins driving in circles again - hope this makes the wait a bit shorter.

As always, have fun (:

story: in flames driver: Charles Leclerc [C.L.] trope: #haterstolovers summary: Always working three times as hard as everyone else, Emma does not intend to blow her chance of driving among the best of the best in her very first season in Formula 1. Concentrating on first and foremost getting ahead of her brother, she does not even notice that there are some people even in her own team who think she does not deserve this spot and would rather see her fail. And one driver in particular seems to have a need of always reminding her of that.

────ʚ C H A P T E R III ɞ────

Music booms from the headphones in my ear, my feet float over the treadmill, drops of sweat run down the sides of my face. Next to me, all I can hear is Max's heavy breathing and the occasional quiet "f*ck" as another intensive interval approaches. My calves gave up the ghost ten minutes ago and have been cramping ever since, but my pride won't let me stop.

I actually wanted to squeeze in an extra training session this morning before Max woke up and wanted to hang out and do some off-season stuff, but unfortunately, he was already at the coffee machine when I decided to roll out of bed. He then followed me into the fitness room of his apartment without any comment.

He has been kind enough to let me stay with him, Kelly, and Penelope for a few years now so that I can avoid living with our parents and even worse, letting them decide what happens next with my accommodation situation. As the eldest son, he has probably had his experiences and learned his lessons, always being the one to take the blows, and although he always pretends to give me a hard time, I'm sure that deep down he doesn't want me to go through the same hell he did. The fact that I can never come close to his golden boy in our father's eyes anyway is a different story.

I breathe heavily but try to concentrate on the view. Monaco's harbor landscape is one of the most beautiful I have ever experienced. A little too much lifestyle of the rich and famous for my liking, but Max loved it here right from the start, when we first visited a few years ago. Maybe because he can live right next to the racetrack, waking up every morning and sipping his breakfast coffee with his brain already imagining those cars on the streets right in front of him.

"You're quiet," he presses out between his lips at some point. I don't look at him but concentrate on a small yacht that is about to leave the outer jetties. He gets a kick out of seeing me suffer, I’m sure of it. If I don’t let myself get distracted by the pain in my legs, I can do a few more minutes on this torture device.

"I'm dying," I reply, trying not to fall down at the same time. My diaphragm starts to painfully remind me that I'm not my 26-year-old racing brother, who has been doing this for years and years, never losing sight of his goals, exceeding his limits.

He reduces the speed on his treadmill and starts to jog slowly before continuing: "When are you flying to England? For simulator runs and so on?"

I'm still running at the same pace as before. I try to show February 15 with my hands, holding all of my ten fingers up, then five and the peace sign as a two, but I'm not sure if he immediately understands what I mean.

In the time between the end of the season and the first pre-season tests, the world stands still in my head. I enjoy visiting friends for once and not feeling bad when I see photos in our group chats of everyone getting together and me missing. Max, on the other hand, never leaves his zone - his racing set up in his study glows for hours every day. When he's not training, eating, or sleeping, he lives and breathes motorsport, whether it’s on or off track. Maybe that's why he's such an exceptional talent. Or maybe he is just stupid, for not living his life during his prime time and will fall into a pit of self-despair when he’s 40.

"Excited?" he interrupts my thoughts. I can’t remember what we were talking about, and he notices. “For the UK, I mean? Rain and cloudy weather?”

I nod. My lungs are burning, and I don't know who exactly I'm trying to prove something to. I keep running, my thighs are starting to burn like hell. A few of my fingertips go numb, and my head starts to feel dizzy. There are a few black dots here and there, but it isn’t the first time something like this happens and it won’t be the last.

"What number are you going to start with?" Max asks. I shrug my shoulders, not wanting to give too much away about whether I'll keep my number from Formula 2 or change it. Mostly because I haven’t thought about it and I would love to have a number with a deeper meaning.

"You could take 69."

When he says this, I almost stumble on the treadmill. I hold on left and right and hop onto the side edges as the mechanical noise belt continues to run beneath me. Although everything inside me hurts like hell after the last hour and a half of running, I must laugh out loud. Max grins sheepishly at me. Sometimes I am not sure who of us is the older sibling.

"I think that would be more your thing, don't you?" Out of breath, I put my hands on my hips and lean my upper body against the treadmill display. I try to calm my heartbeat, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth.

"I've already got the 1; that's enough for me..."

“You won’t have it forever, though," I interrupt him before he falls into another monologue of self-congratulation. I wiggle my eyebrows and grin mischievously at him. Then I stick my tongue out at him, and he rolls his eyes before hitting me on the shoulder with his fist.

"The only one I'm afraid of is you,” he admits openly. I look at him in disbelief. Where has this recognition suddenly come from? I almost choke on the sip of water I’m taking. “But you're in the wrong car anyway, so at least I don't have much to fear this season.”

"I don't need your false assumptions, Max. We've never lied to each other." I look into the distance, back to the harbor. I wonder what my life would be like if I wasn't the person I am.

"I'm not lying, I promise. I'm more afraid that this team will take you down with them."

"Aston Martin won't drag me into the abyss. They're giving me a fair chance."

"You would have had a fair chance with me and Red Bull."

"Fair, Max? Really? As number two? How well did that turn out with the last team partners? Lewis and Nico? Lewis and Valtteri? You and pretty much everyone who came after Sebastian? The only off-track friends who were in the same team and still get on well are Carlos and Lando. I don't want that for us." Now I turn to him. A furrow forms between his eyebrows, and he looks down at the ground. He knows I am right, and I think that causes him greater pain than what I just said about us not being able to be proper teammates.

"If you don't perform at Aston Martin, if you even get the chance to show what you are capable of in that sh*tbox of a car, then no other team will take you. There is only one chance to be part of this grid, and I just can’t believe you would rather not drive at all than have me as your team partner?" He is frustrated, I can feel it in his voice. So I try to soften my voice and understand him from his point of view.

"Max, I love you; I really do. You're the coolest brother in the world, and I'm not saying that because I get to live in your cool penthouse in the middle of Monaco.” There is a chuckle, and I know he wants to reassure me that he loves to have me here with him. But before he can speak another word, I continue. “But I've been compared to you my whole life and I will continue to be. This hasn’t been easy, for any of us. But for a change, I can decide for myself whether to confront it or if I just leave my phone off and not read the news, because no one in my own team will compare me to you." The conversation has taken on a serious tone, but I know he understands what I mean.

"I get it. I still would have liked you to be the wing woman. Pretty sure we’d be great. With you keeping all those madmen away from me." He winks. Then he looks straight ahead towards the panoramic window. It's quiet between us for a while.

I think back to his first victory with Red Bull. How he threw himself into the arms of his team afterward, so proud and so full of emotion, as if someone was finally accepting him for who he is, no ifs, ands, or buts. He doesn't talk much about his relationship with Christian Horner, but I'm 90% sure that Christian is in many ways the father figure for Max that our father could never be for him. How he has grown with this team and gone from a really misunderstood driver to a three-time world champion. He wouldn't leave Red Bull until they cut him out from inside with a digger and chainsaw and shipped him to the other side of the world. He lives, breathes, and burns for this sport and for the people in his immediate surroundings, a quality that I greatly admire in him and that not everyone is able to appreciate.

"If you could be someone else or do something else, what would it be?" The question catches him off guard. He is confused for a moment, then looks thoughtful and shakes his head.

"I don't think I want to be – can be - anywhere else. This is where I belong."

I believe him. But suddenly I'm not so sure if my answer would be the same.

As the plane lands in London, I grab my backpack, put on my cap, and hide my face a little better. I'm almost certain that some paparazzi is waiting for me in the arrivals hall because I seem to be the only one from the F1 paddock not traveling by a private jet. I wonder why.

I quickly get through security and baggage claim, so it feels like no more than 30 minutes before I step through the airport doors and out into rainy UK weather. To my right, an elderly gentleman with a sign saying "Emma V." walks towards me and takes my luggage. I thank him, get in the car, and then we make our way to the Aston Martin headquarters. I fall asleep unplanned and only wake up when we arrive.

I am overwhelmed by the polished floors, the glass structures of the building, how everything looks as if this is not the headquarters of a Formula 1 team but of Iron Man and the Avengers.

Mike Krack, the team principal, comes to meet me, shakes my hand, and welcomes me to the hallowed halls. I'm then given a tour, starting with the departments I'm least interested in, such as budget and logistics. I know these people are as important as anyone else, but I am a driver, so the technical departments will be my home base.

"But you're certainly not here to look at the view. You want to go to the simulators, right?" Mike states correctly at some point. I nod vigorously. "Then that's our next destination."

And no matter what I was expecting, it wasn’t that. As I step into a room with a screen as big as the panoramic view back at Max’s apartment, I immediately want to leap into the seat in front of it. I wait for a nod of approval from Mike before I hop into it and feel the leather beneath my hands and notice the smell of something new. I shriek. If this is a dream, I never want to wake up. And before someone can stop me, I’m already turning the machine on and getting ready to drive my first laps in the simulator.

────ʚ [Masterlist] [Chapter II] [Chapter IV] ɞ────

[ashandsweets]

Haunted

JoelxReader

Drabble inspired by Florence, Bill, and Frank. Joel meets a survivor not too far into the outbreak and takes pity on her.

Warning: Major character death, substance abuse

************************************************

“Look, I ain’t calling you a liar-“

“Just for one night. Please! I promise to be gone by morning.” You pleaded with the man, hands clasped together while you fell to your knees. How long was it since you had a safe place to rest your head? Two days maybe? Didn’t sound long now that you think about it…

He cocked his gun and pulled it back, letting out an agitated sigh. You looked like Sarah’s former school teacher. His heart ached, still reeling from the traumatic loss of his daughter just 6 months earlier. He distracted himself from the pang in his chest by assessing your appearance. Joel could tell those eyes ain’t seen a lick of violence. Those soft hands probably hadn’t either. He motioned upwards from the ground, letting you know it was safe to get up.

“Oh, thank you, sir!” You practically leapt up from the ground and futilely attempted to brush off the dirt staining your skirt.

It was at that moment Joel realized you’d die out here on your own. His nostrils flared in annoyance as he continued to study you. A looker, no weapons, too trusting…your misfortune could be worse than death. Thoughts of Sarah and his innate desire to keep her safe flooded his brain.

You tried to break the thick silence. “I”ll be gone by morning. Is there anything I can do?”

“Just don’t lie to me.” Joel spat, putting his gun back in the holster.

You didn’t lie on purpose. How were you supposed to know this stranger’s pity would override his conscious? A widow, safely cocooned in the outer city limits, until other survivors began looting and shooting your town. You made it out by the skin of your teeth with only the promise of a “safe zone” the next state over from your neighbor who stayed to fight. You’d never make it alone.

“I ain’t calling you a thief,” he tossed the stale bread your way. “Just don’t steal from me.”

You greedily gobbled it down, still trailing behind the gruff stranger by second nightfall. Stars shined bright, illuminating your path. Such good fortune seldom came those days. You thought better than to question it.

“You know, we still don’t know each other's names.”

“Names make ‘em real.” Was his harsh response. You decided you’d had enough of this whiplash. Picking up your pace, you got ahead and planted yourself inches away from him. He furrowed his brows in annoyance.

“Move.”

Instead, you took his free hand in yours. Truth is it warmed him up. Been a long time since he was touched by another.

“I am real…” he started to recoil at your words, withdrawing his hand when you gripped it further, placing a timid kiss on his knuckles. An almost inaudible moan escaped past his lips. You raised your head, shaking a little.

“My name is (Y/N)…thank you for keeping me.”

Keep you? Like a stray? Joel couldn’t help but groan in amusement. Well, what the hell? He wouldn’t be meeting up with Tommy for a few more weeks. Having another set of eyes could come in handy till then. Not to mention, you were easy on the eyes…and kind.

“Joel Miller.” He looked down and shuffled a bit. You had the nerve to smile.

“Nice to meet you, Joel Miller.”

*

*

*

“I’m not calling you a ghost, just stop haunting me…”

20 years in the post-outbreak world took a heavy toll on Joel. He crushed up the tiny plastic bag of pills and poured himself another glass of fire. It was the only way he could conjure sleep, the type that made him forget his dreams. Joel was tired of seeing faces, so many he lost count.

“And I love you so much, I'm going to let you kill me.”

Joel tilted his head back, letting the music soothe his senses as darkness took over. His final thoughts before giving into slumber were of you.

A liar that said she’d only spend the night. Instead she spent fifteen years.

A thief that stole his heart, a second chance at love.

A ghost Joel failed to protect, shot down in his arms just like his own flesh and blood twenty years earlier.

[mandareeboo]

Dude I’m sobbing pls talk about the ending of inside job I need to know wether or not it’s bad I cried hard, for a 30 minutes, while eating a cookie

Listen I was NOT expecting to be so invested in Regan and Ron and I was and I was heartbroken even though I'd figured it was coming.

The thing is. The thing is- even without all the timelines to prove it- Reagan and Ron were clearly not meant to be in the long-term. I don't mean that in a "damaged people aren't meant to be together" kind of way. I mean that in a "their damage repels and attracts them like magnets and it will always hurt when they clang" way.

Ron is passively suicidal when we first meet him. This is not exaggeration- a single blast of a memory gun can wipe an entire life, and Ron tried to chug an entire bin of it. Chances are good that he'd have lost all bodily function, if he survived at all. The season goes to great lengths to show us that, for all his charm and care for Reagan, he's clearly very guilty for the things he's done- to the point he tries to keep Reagan away from it even though she does worse regularly. He constantly blames himself for small shortcomings or mistakes and sabotages any friendships he could make along the way. He goes silent for a solid week to plan an entire new world for them because he's so tired he decides to run.

But Reagan isn't! Reagan is a short woman filled with big rage against the machine and a dwindling patience for bullshit. Reagan doesn't want to run, or to leave Cognito- she HAS to fix it, has to tape that bitch together, has to tear anyone who stands in her way a new hole. It's how she copes with a childhood that was chosen for her.

And in the finale- Ron is basically dead, you know that? His mind is erased, and the script gives him a new name and ambitions and life. The man Reagan loved is fucking dead. Sure, she can see his face, sleeping peacefully for the first time in likely a decade, but it's not him. It'll never be him again.

(There's also the side note to be made here that Ron seems to really want kids- he mentions schools in Appleton, his perfect future has one, etc- and Reagan doesn't seem to want any at all, to the point she agrees to ghost protocol after seeing them mentioned by Rafe, so that would be a massive issue in their dynamic eventually.)

At the end of the day, I still really believe Reagan and Brett are best for each other, friends or romantic. They bring out the best in each other. Reagan's blunt nature helps Brett remember she wants him around and is happy to do family dinners or admit a walking dog onto the team, and Brett's positivity helps ground Reagan's pessimism. Ron and Reagan only brought out the best in each other in private- outside their home it brought out their worst constantly.

[voidartisan]

More Ideas for TCW Modern AU

No war no drama just a wholesome family sitcom

There is DEFINITELY a roadtrip at some point. Ideally all the clones are shoved into one van and have invited Anakin and Ahsoka and maybe Obi-Wan and Plo to join them

There's a plot point about Korkie getting his driver's license, or Anakin losing his, or both

Ahsoka runs for student council against Lux Bonteri

Yoda teaches the neighborhood kids martial arts and the clones get an "I'll Make a Man Out of You" style training montage

They try to throw a surprise birthday party for Satine but inevitably bungle it somehow

Satine, Padme and Ahsoka have a spa day and Anakin gets arrested

Korkie plays matchmaker

Anakin definitely has a car in the garage that he's working on but has to go to ridiculous lengths to get parts for

Lux, Ahsoka, Korkie, and Barriss all get assigned to the same group for a school project

Fives brings home an espresso machine and all the clones are vibrating at the speed of sound within two days. Cody and Rex have to lock it in the attic and eventually defend it like the last two survivors in a zombie apocalypse movie. Fives sees that it has gone too far and sells it on ebay

Bo-Katan is Korkie's Cool Aunt who lets him do things Satine would not approve of. She occasionally shows up for a couple days with no notice and weirdly prescient gifts for her nephew, crashes on the couch for a night, and then disappears the next morning.

Obi-Wan stress bakes

Obi-Wan and Satine decide to take a week-long vacation to celebrate their anniversary, leaving Anakin in charge. This proves to be a Bad Idea and Plo has to save the day

Lux, Ahsoka, Korkie, Anakin and Barriss go ghost hunting in the abandoned house down the street (all the spooky stuff is just Yoda messing with them)

Rex is constantly looking for excuses to stay over for dinner because both Satine and Obi-Wan are excellent cooks. most of his brothers are... less so.

There's a running gag about Yoda's garden being attacked by demon rabbits that can chew through chicken wire. It's heavily implied that the clones are behind this so that Plo can be the Best Gardener In The Neighborhood, but the bunnies are actually just Like That

Obi-Wan has one of those four-person chessboards that he pulls out on family game nights when Anakin isn't home. Satine is the reigning champion.

Barriss sleeps over and Ahsoka begs everyone to be normal but the fire deparment ends up having to get involved

The clones never discuss it but there's a jar in the background stuffed with coins and bills labeled 'dirt bike fund'

There's a community talent show for some reason. Korkie spends the entire episode doing unrelated and increasingly bizarre things. When anyone asks him about it he says he's preparing for his act. Quinlan keeps trying to get Obi-Wan to do a sword-fighting demonstration with him. The only performance we see in full is Fives's theatrical rendition of "oh where is my hairbrush". All we know about Korkie's act is that he leaves the stage to thunderous applause and Satine and Obi-Wan are in the audience holding hands and shedding tears of pride and joy.

So much potential for holiday episodes

Grandpa Dooku turns up unannounced for thanksgiving dinner (extra tension provided by the fact the Obi-Wan is clearly the favorite grandchild)

Ahsoka, Korkie and Lux try to catch a halloween vandal that turns out to be Barriss

4th of July shenanigans (with fireworks)

Valentine's Day episode where Anakin is consistently foiled in attempts to slip away to see Padme by Ahsoka looking for boy advice because Bariss thinks Lux has a crush on her. Subplot with Obi-Wan and Satine trying to have their first romantic dinner date in like three years but things KEEP COMING UP.

Sentimental Father's Day episode where Anakin and Obi-Wan remember Qui-Gon, and Ahsoka and Korkie attempt to find the PERFECT gifts for Plo and Obi-Wan, respectively (Ahsoka has already found her gift for Obi-Wan, it's that one card that says "what is a dad? you. you is a dad." she knows he'll secretly treasure it), and think they've failed miserably but everything turns out okay and it's very wholesome and a little cheesy.

Wholesome christmas episode where Anakin and Padme have their gift of the magi moment and Ahsoka has to hide that she accidentally found out what Plo is getting her and Satine and Korkie and Obi-Wan make a ridiculoulsy elaborate gingerbread house to bond and relax and the clones and Quinlan have a disastrous holiday light competition (Cody gets to be a little bit feral in this one. as a christmas gift. to himself)

Next season someone is sabotaging the light competition. It turns out to be Obi-Wan, who just wanted to bake cookies and put up his lights in peace like a normal person, which he finds extremely difficult when his neighbors are SCREAMING AT EACH OTHER in their front yards

Cliffhanger at the end of a season where Padme finds out that she's pregnant with twins.

We find out that Leia and Luke call Obi-Wan "Uncle Ben" because his name is really hard to pronounce for two-year-olds and everything they said came out sounding like Ben anyway

When the twins get older there's a very popular clothing brand called Rebel Scum and they get a shirt for Obi-Wan so that he can "be hip with the youngsters." (quoting Luke)

[writer-in-theory]

California Dreamin' — harringrove.

Summary: When Steve goes on his dream road trip to California alone, he finds the unlikeliest of ghosts in a tattoo shop. Prompt: B1 - Tattoo Shop // A2 - Reunion Pairing: Bottom!Steve Harrington/Top!Billy Hargrove Rating: Explicit Word Count: 10.7k Content Warnings: 18+ ONLY, Canon-Typical Violence, Discussions of Trauma (canon-based), Needles (tattoos), Emotional Smut, Implied Unprotected Sex, Anal Sex, Scar Worship, Non-Graphic Smut, Insecurities Read On AO3: HereA/N: This is another fill for @harringroveson-bingo and @billyhargrovebingo !! This was meant to be a short lil fluff fic but ended up being angst and smut, so here we are. Huge thanks to @serenity-lattes for cheering me on and beta-reading through this whole thing (and coming up with the tattoo shop name!). Also many apologies for making @lcvingprentjss cry.

Harringroveson Bingo Masterlist // Billy Hargrove Bingo Masterlist

Steve was 10 miles from his destination when he saw the shop. It was a smaller building, nestled between a record shop and coffee shop that looked designed for people more academically inclined than he’d ever been. It wasn’t trying to be anything it wasn’t—no flashing lights or intense neons that decorated every other building he’d driven past that night. Maybe that was what had drawn Steve to the tattoo shop on the corner of West Eleventh and Park, the simplicity of the ‘Valhalla Ink’ sign above the door. 

Already he could hear the wild screams from Robin and Eddie when they inevitably saw his tattoo, maybe by that point it would already be healed up and slightly faded from time. Nancy would be told about it by Robin, and she’d shake her head and talk all night about how much he’d changed from the Steve Harrington she’d known in school.

As if none of them had changed after what happened, after what they’d lost. 

That was it then, Steve decided if only to divert his mind away from what had long since been over. He found the nearest street parking, offering the Beemer his ritualistic thank you for surviving the trip thus far, and set off to the shop. When Steve had pictured himself making this trip, it had always been in an RV with too many kids to keep track of and a loving partner who made it all worthwhile. Still, when he’d woken in Hawkins one Thursday to realize he was well and truly the only one left, he couldn’t help but pack a measly bag of supplies and hop into his car without any real plan to guide him. All he knew was that he’d end on the beaches of San Diego, his one true dream destination.

“We could make it, you know.”

“Where, San Diego? Get real.”

“No, I’m serious. After the summer, we could get out of here. I’ll take what I can from my parents, we’ll get in your car, and we’ll go. You could show me the beach.”

“You’ve seen the beach.”

“I haven’t seen your beach.”

Tattoo shops. Beemers on their last legs. Shitty road motels with the kinds of beds he didn’t really want to think about too closely. Tattoo shops.

Steve was getting a tattoo, and then he’d find someplace to sleep, and then he’d deal with the beach tomorrow when his mind had time to recover from the drive. He could handle that much right now, he knew he could. 

The shop was even more picturesque inside. There were chairs and machines, sure, but there were also worn surfboards hanging on the walls and old records tacked up alongside them. They were bands Steve never listened to on purpose unless he wanted to harm himself with the memories, though seeing them treated like art in this way made something warm wrap around his heart. He would have liked that. Or maybe He would have called it pretentious, snickering at Steve for trying to get a tattoo when everyone knows it wouldn’t really fit in with his style.

Who the fuck knows anymore.

“Hey, we’re about to close!” a voice called from a distance away. There was a door open in the back of the shop, maybe it was from there. “I don’t have time to start anyth—”

Steve Harrington must have died on the trip. He must have gotten into an accident on the way and his friends were being told because there was no fucking way this was happening right now. The man looked different—older than he’d ever been allowed to be, with shorter hair than Steve had ever seen him with. It was long enough to still show off those curls, one lone corkscrew hanging into his face and obscuring a part of those familiar blue eyes, now filled with far less anger than they once had been. He was in a t-shirt, exposing all of the tattoos he’d never gotten to get before but had always talked about, along with several white scars that trailed his skin like veins. He was different, but no amount of years between them would ever let Steve forget him.

“Billy?” Steve whispered, like speaking anything louder might make this ghost disappear.

He’s sure Billy didn’t hear him—there was no way he could’ve with the amount of distance between them now—but the other man still jerked back like he’d been hit. 

“What are you doing here?” Billy Hargrove—Billy fucking Hargrove—asked, and the sound of his voice alone was enough to gather tears in Steve’s eyes. 

He thought he’d lost all right to hear it again.

“I’m—” Steve began, though cut himself off quickly after noticing the expression on Billy’s face. He wasn’t crying. No, his blue eyes were clear and looking side to side, categorizing every door in the building. He stood light on his feet, every muscle tensed like he was ready to run the second any of it got to be too much for him. Steve had a million questions, ‘how are you alive?’ being the chief one, but all he could do was sigh, press a smile into his face like a cookie cutter, and say, “To get a tattoo. I can come back tomorrow though, if you’re closing. Or never, if that’s what you want too. I don’t, I don’t...whatever you want.”

Billy looked like he was going to tell him to get out. He opened his mouth, eyes alight with the same kind of fire that had once gotten Steve laid out on the floor of Joyce Byers’s kitchen, but then he closed it all too suddenly, fire dimming with the kind of resigned hopelessness that Steve had grown accustomed to in his own mind.

“Have a design in mind, Harrington?” 

“Uh, no, no I haven’t thought that far ahead,” Steve admitted, feeling his cheeks burn pink. 

When Billy laughed, it felt like everything would be okay. Not hearing it for six years had nestled something deep and immovable in Steve’s chest, but he felt it nudge away as the room filled with that sound again. It was still as odd and wondrous as ever—Billy’s chin tipping back with the force of it, a punch of sound like he’d been fighting the release of such a happy noise.

“You haven’t changed, have you?” Steve wanted to scream that he had. He wanted to grab Billy by the shoulders and shake him until he saw the kind of changes he’d been forced through. Before Dustin left for college, he’d called him tired, old. Even before that, when Robin was sitting in Nancy’s car ready to follow her around the world if the other woman asked, she’d cried over how worn out he’d seemed. Withering, Steve thought to himself, he was withering. 

Steve only shrugged, but that seemed to be a good enough answer as any because Billy waved him over to the desk where a notebook and pen rested between them. This was the closest they’d been since....well, since. Closer, Steve could see the scars didn’t stop at his arms. They continued down Billy’s hands, to wrap around each finger like marionette strings. He supposed that’s what Billy had been at the end, or what he’d always thought had been the end, a puppet.

“We had a funeral,” Steve whispered then, unable to stop them up even when he tried.

“Steve,” Billy warned, fingers gripping the pen tightly like a lifeline.

Still, against Steve’s better judgment, he pressed. “Robin, Max, Lucas, and I. We had a funeral. A real one, not the bullshit your dad se—” 

“Steve!” Billy shouted, other hand smacking down on the counter loud enough to make Steve jump back. The anger faded quickly, disappearing somewhere past the scars both new and old Billy carried with him. “What kind of design were you thinking of?”

Right, tattoos. He was here for a tattoo.

“I don’t know,” Steve admitted. “I told you, this wasn’t in the plan.”

“Do you trust me?” Billy asked. 

To the ends of the Earth, to where no one has ever gone before, with every breath Steve had left.

“Sure, I trust you.”

It was awkward in ways Steve didn’t think was possible, watching Billy design. The other man kept the page close to him, arm wrapping around it to conceal the design from Steve’s view while he worked. He mostly didn’t talk, leaving Steve to focus on the scratch of the pen on cheap paper and the way Billy’s tongue still poked out of his mouth when he was concentrating. 

Eventually, Steve wandered. Billy looked up at him once, but when he never said anything Steve took it as permission to continue. He walked around the perimeter of the large room, taking in each bit of covered space on the wall. The surfboards were all signed, some with Billy’s name—or rather, first name. Steve didn’t recognize the last name—and others with names Steve didn’t have any chance at recognizing.  There was a shelf of cassette tapes in the back, where all of the chairs and benches were. Most were bands he would’ve crinkled his nose at years ago.

“You could at least try to woo me with some better music.”

“The hell are you talking about? I’ve already wooed you, Pretty Boy.”

There was one, however, that stuck out to Steve. It was in the middle of the pack but there may as well have been a spotlight on it with the way it drew his eyes. He plucked it off the shelf, opening the case to make sure his heart was on the right track. Sure enough, in the little corner of the inside cover rested his own handwriting. SH, ‘83. 

“You have my Tears For Fears tape?” he asked, spinning around to hold it up for Billy to see. 

“They found it in my car,” Billy answered quickly, eyes looking back down to his notepad. That elicited more questions than it did provide answers, but Steve knew better by now than to push.

“I would’ve hoped my music taste rubbed off on you a little more, but, I guess this works,” Steve teased, popping the tape into the player before returning to the counter. “Figured something out?”

“You know, normally clients come in with ideas. They don’t expect me to come up with the perfect tat for them on the first try,” Billy said, his eyes never once leaving the page.

“Well I’m not any normal client, now am I?” Steve said quickly, leaning over to see it and jumping only a little when Billy’s hands smacked down to shield the page from view. “C’mon, Billy, I wanna see it!”

“Whiny brat,” Billy hissed, catching even himself off-guard for long enough for Steve to grab his hands and move them away from the page. Steve nearly gasped when he saw the drawing, fingers instinctively moving to brush over the pen strokes. Billy drew a bat, adorned with familiar nails through the barrel. Around it was a crown fit for a king, wrapped around each other like Steve’s very own coat of arms. 

“It’s perfect,” Steve told him, “that’s what I want.”

“Good, I wasn’t gonna redraw it,” Billy said, motioning for Steve to sit in one of the chairs while he disappeared into the back room he’d been in when Steve had first walked in. 

This was really happening. There was still time to leave, to tell Billy he was actually joking and they could go grab coffee to catch up instead of stabbing a needle repeatedly into Steve’s skin. But the tattoo was perfect, and no one would ever expect it from dethroned ex-jock Steve Harrington. 

It felt a little like a blur, having Billy so close. While Billy readied the machine and slipped on black nitrile gloves, Steve stared. There was no way the other man didn’t notice, but Steve couldn’t find it in himself to care. All he could think about was the fact that Billy was here, now, and not in the grave they’d abandoned him in six years ago. 

The needle hurt on his forearm, but it was the kind of hurt Steve could deal with. It wasn’t cruel Russian fists or suffocating demobat tails, or even the deep devastating hurt from losing—

It was the bearable kind of hurt.

“Most guys whine like babies for their first ones,” Billy spoke up, eyes still focused on what he was doing. Needle, wipe. Needle, wipe. “You take the pain like a champ.”

I always did. “I think Robin would say that’s not a good thing,” Steve laughed, lightly so as to not jostle his arm under the pen.

“You keep talking about her like I know who that is.”

Right. Fuck, so much had changed in his life that Steve hadn’t gotten to tell him about.

“Do you remember my dorky coworker from Scoops?” Steve asked.

“The one with the You Suck board?”

“I seem to remember there being a You Rule, too, but yeah,” Steve answered, rolling his eyes at what bits and pieces Billy had remembered. “We’re friends now. Best friends, actually. She was there, that night. I know it was a lot and you probably don’t remember any of it, but she was there. She was there for me after too, when I couldn’t really tell everyone about…us.”

Billy was quiet for a while, the only sound in the building being the continual hum of the pen as he dragged it over Steve’s skin. Just when Steve was about to bring up another topic, Billy spoke again. “I remember it.”

“That night?” Steve asked tentatively, watching with nothing but uncertainty as Billy rested the pen back on the cart beside him. 

“I remember all of it,” Billy admitted, blue eyes meeting Steve’s hazel. “I wasn’t in control, but I was there. Watching, feeling...everything.”

Billy knelt over El, so far from Steve he couldn’t make out the minute changes in either one’s expressions. All he saw was the moment Billy stood up, yelling and reaching out toward the monster in defense of the girl. The moment Billy caught one of the monster’s arms with both of his own, Steve knew. He knew.

“Billy!” Steve screamed, throat feeling like it had torn to shreds. “Billy, no!”

“I thought you died,” Steve spoke again, daring to bring it up now that Billy couldn’t leave. He needed to know, needed some kind of explanation for how they were together now. Steve had felt Billy’s heart stutter to a stop on the floor of the Starcourt Mall six years ago. “They said there wasn’t a b—That there wasn’t anything to bu—they said there wasn’t anything left.”

“I did die, I think,” Billy answered. “That’s what the fuckers told me.”

“How did you end up here?” Billy ignored the question for a while, picking up the needle pen again and setting to work. “Billy.”

“It’s old news, okay?” Billy sighed out, fingers tightening against Steve’s arm.

“It’s not old to me,” Steve whispered out, wincing as he caught what was playing on the tape. 

Memories fade but the scars still linger, goodbye my friend. Will I ever love again?

“It’s not old to me, Billy,” Steve pressed, more insistent now as his confidence burned brighter and brighter. He’d missed how he’d felt around Billy—like he was made of starstuff, untouchable against the very worst the world had to throw at them. “An hour ago I was still mourning you.”

I cannot grow, I cannot move, I cannot fell my age.

“A week ago I was mourning you. A month ago, a year ago, I was mourning you. Six fucking years of it, Billy, and you were here. The whole time, you were here.”

Engulfed by you, what can I do? When History's my cage, look forward to a future in the past.

“You think I wanted to be?” Billy snapped out, fingers pressing harshly into Steve’s arm as he held it down onto the workspace. “You think I wanted to wake up in some fucking lab, alone? That my idea of a happy fucking ending was being told to get out? To leave with nothing but the shit they found in my totaled car and whatever fucking hush money the US government decided to throw at me?”

“US gov—did Owens do this? He said you were d—”

“That’s kind of the idea, Pretty Boy,” Billy said with such cynical harshness it took Steve’s breath away. “Can’t be a lab rat if no one knows you fucking exist.”

It was too much. It was too much pressing against his heart, his brain, and suddenly the continued scratch of the needle was too much too, overwhelming to the point of making Steve want to rip his hair out and chew on his knuckles for peace. Billy seemed to recognize it, too—he always had, even before Steve knew what these reactions were—because he set down the machine, wrapping Steve’s forearm in plastic so they could ‘take a break’.

“Want some water, Harrington?” Billy asked, dipping his head to catch Steve’s eye.

Water. Water would be smart, but the shaking in his hands wouldn’t be steadied by water he wanted, he wanted... “Have a smoke?”

“Nah, kicked the habit. Kills people, you know?” At Steve’s small whimper, Billy winced. “Bad joke. Yeah, I got a smoke, but you’re not lighting up in here.”

Steve followed Billy outside, where he pulled a pack of cigarettes—still Marlboros—from his back pocket and offered Steve one only after lighting one of his own. Dustin may have kicked him for smoking again after trying so hard to stop completely, but Dustin wasn’t exactly there, was he? He deserved a smoke, after everything that had come out of the last legs of his trip.

The silence was bearable, more bearable than it had been in the close quarters of the shop. They both leaned against the wall, so close Steve could feel the heat radiating from Billy’s shoulder, but the open air of San Diego washed over him and eased any worry before it could compound.

“Why’re you in California?” Billy asked after some minutes had passed, watching cars pass rather than look at Steve.

Steve shrugged, unsure of how well he could really explain himself. “I’m just driving. Wanted to get out of Hawkins, see the ocean.”

“You know you can’t swim with that, right?” Billy asked, one eyebrow raised and the hand holding his cigarette pointing toward Steve’s wrapped-up forearm. 

He hadn’t thought about it, though it would’ve probably occurred to him by the time he got down to the water. “Yeah, yeah,” Steve answered, “I just, needed to see the beach.”

As if in an echo of the past, Billy smiled a thin-lipped smile and said, “You’ve seen the beach before, Harrington. It’ll look just like all the others.”

“No, it’ll be different,” Steve answered immediately, turning his head to face Billy too. “I haven’t seen your beach yet, and I mean to.”

If he closed his eyes, Steve could imagine he was back at the Quarry. They were laying under the light of the stars, smoking and talking about the future. Billy was holding onto him and Steve was promising Billy the entire world, if only they could make it through one last summer in Hawkins. He’d pack a bag and toss it into the back of the Camaro, and they’d drive until they found the beach Billy had grown up at, the beach that had been his peace for so many years. 

Except they hadn’t made it, and Steve had been left with all the promises he could never fulfill. 

“So this Robin. She your new girlfriend now?”

The idea alone pulled a loud laugh from Steve, warmth filling where the icy chill of loss had just resided in his heart. “No, ew, no,” he continued to laugh, bringing a hand up to scrub at the tears building in his eyes. “I’m not her type.”

“I think you’re everybody’s type, Harrington.”

“No, I mean,” Steve shook his head as the laughter began to die down, wishing he could call Robin with complete surety that she’d answer, if only so he could tell her what happened. She’d heard enough about Billy that she’d know what this meant, she may have even understood what Steve was feeling in that moment better than he did. “She’s dating Nancy now. They’ve lived in Boston since Nancy started college.”

“Prissy Wheeler?” Billy balked, making Steve grin at the old nickname he’d refused to drop even six years ago. “Wheeler is dating some girl from band?”

“Yep,” Steve answered, popping the ‘p’. “You missed a lot. We all ended up sort of...well, I guess there’s a reason we ended up friends. Jon’s out in Lenora Hills with this guy, Argyle, he met in school, you’d like him.”

“Lenora Hills...California? What’s Byers doing there?”

“Oh, they moved out there after...well, it’s kind of a long story,” Steve concluded, finally putting out his cigarette once his hands stopped shaking.

“So you keep saying.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Steve sighed, knowing he should tell Billy more, but where did he start? How could he possibly recap six years in a town’s history that Billy had never really cared about anyway? How could he recount so many years of his own history, knowing most of it would result in talking about how much better the days would have been if the memories could have been shared with Billy? “What’ve you been up to out here?”

It was Billy’s turn to shrug, dropping his cigarette and stepping on it. “We should finish up your ink.”

“Just one thing?” After so many years wondering what Billy could have done with all the time he hadn’t gotten, Steve was a little more than desperate to know what had ended up being his life. 

“C’mon, Harrington. I want to get some sleep tonight, let’s go,” Billy insisted, holding the door open until Steve had no choice but to return back to his seat. 

They didn’t talk much through the rest of the tattoo session, only little inconsequential statements thrown here and there to fill the space. When it came time to pay—or force Billy to actually accept the wad of bills he’d outstretched—and leave, Steve found himself hesitating by the door. Billy was busying himself cleaning up the space before closing the shop, only glancing up when he didn’t hear the bell of the door ring to signal Steve’s departure.

“What, forget how to open doors on your own, princess?” Billy called out, no malice hiding within any of his words.

Steve couldn’t stop himself from what he said next, the words flying out of his mouth before he could truly process them. “Come home with me.” At Billy’s confused look, he tried to explain. “I mean, I’m gonna go find a hotel to crash for the night. You should come with me, so we can catch up.” So I don’t have to stop looking at you, so I know you’re actually alive and this isn’t some horrible dream, so you can take me to your beach like we planned.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Steve.” Billy’s answer was curt and to the point, no room for any arguing back. Even after all these years, he still knew how to handle Steve.

“Right,” Steve breathed out, wondering how he was ever meant to gather enough strength to walk away from him. With a careful, stilted breath, Steve managed, turning and slipping out of the tattoo shop like it hadn’t turned his entire world on end.

The next three days passed by like a blur. Steve couldn’t bring himself to get to the beach, or to go talk to Billy again, or really do much of anything except sit in the cheap motel room he’d found a few blocks from the shop. 

Steve didn’t really know how long he’d stay in California, figuring he’d stay until it felt right to go. At the rate it was going, the trip length would be defined by his rapidly dwindling funds. There’d been no choice but to move out of his parents’ house after Vecna, finding they wouldn’t have understood or accepted the Steve Harrington that had emerged from the rubble, but that also meant he’d given up every ounce of his inheritance in order to go prove he could be his own person. Sometimes, especially now as he lay with a sore neck on the scratchy thin sheets of a motel bed, he wished he wouldn’t have felt so determined to prove anything to them.

He considered calling Robin. He probably should’ve, actually. She would smack him upside the head if she ever found out this happened, that he’d found his long lost lover kickin’ it in sunny California, right when he had his quarter-life crisis and ditched his entire life for some roadtrip that once included Billy in the plans too. Every time he looked at the dingy plastic phone, however, Steve couldn’t bring himself to dial the number. How long had it been since they last spoke? Her birthday had been in March, he knows he called her then. Had she called for his?

In the end, Steve ended up not calling Robin and not going to the beach. He wound up at the tattoo shop again, this time in the light of day. It was busier now, the sound of whirring tattoo machines filling the space along with music that Steve is fairly certain comes from Twisted Sister. Billy wasn’t anywhere in sight, but the door in the back of the shop was closed. Was that his office? Did Billy have an office now?

The woman at the front counter seemed a little skeptical as Steve approached, his eyes never leaving the back door until he was right up at the counter. “Hey, um. Is Billy in today?”

“And who are you?”

Good to see Billy kept company with the same level of people skills as he did. “An old friend.”

“Billy doesn’t have old friends,” she answered immediately, raising one eyebrow as if to ask why he was still sticking around. Suddenly the entire place really didn’t seem like his kind of scene—he stood out in perfectly clean jeans, a white shirt with little stripes on the sleeves and a red vest. Steve stuck his hands in his jean pockets like that might somehow help him navigate the situation. “What do you really want?”

He had to wonder how much of Billy’s past he’d told this woman. They clearly were close, if she was willing to protect his privacy this intensely. Did she know he was hiding from the government?

“Can you just,” Steve sighed, trying to reign in the bubbling irritation threatening to boil over. “Can you tell him that Steve came in?”

That seemed to do the trick. The woman’s entire expression changed, morphing into something more akin to shock than the cool deference she’d worn before. “So you’re that Steve then,” she spoke lowly, like she hadn’t really intended to say it out loud at all. “Wait here.”

So he’d at least told her about him. The fluttering in Steve’s chest was something he hadn’t quite felt since he was still in high school, figuring out that yeah, maybe he did find some guys hot. And sure, maybe one of those guys happened to include Billy Hargrove, who wasn’t all that bad once you got past his defense wall. 

“Everything healing alright, Harrington?” 

Hearing Billy’s voice still took his breath away, like the first time he’d seen Billy step out of that slick blue Camaro in the Hawkins High parking lot. Even then he’d known the man would change his life, Steve just hadn’t anticipated it would ever go like this. 

“Huh?” Oh, tattoo. “Yeah, yeah it’s great. It’s really uh...healing. Well. It’s healing well.”

Billy nodded slowly, eyebrows raised as he watched Steve completely short circuit. “Good. There something you needed? I have some schedules I need to work on.”

Why was he here again? Steve scrambled to find something that would keep Billy out here with him, could get him some more time to talk. There was so much he wanted to say and even more he wanted to hear, and yet Billy didn’t seem like he wanted any part of it. Just one more time, please. “Well, you did so well on the first one I thought I should get another. Tattoo, I mean.”

“You want another tattoo.”

“Yep,” Steve confirmed, fighting the urge to wipe his sweaty palms against his jeans. “That’s why I’m here. For a tattoo.”

“Most people wait a few weeks for the first one to heal, and to see if you even like it.”

“I’m not most people,” Steve fought back, wincing at the desperation beginning to hint at the edges of his words. “Look, no one back in Hawkins can do this nearly as well as you. I just, I trust you.”

Steve could see Billy weighing his options. Finally he sighed, nodding his head and guiding Steve over to one of the setups in the far back corner, away from prying eyes (and ears). 

“What do you want this time?” One look confirmed everything for Billy. “You still have no idea, do you?”

“Absolutely not.” 

“You didn’t come here for a tattoo, did you?”

“I definitely did,” Steve said, offering up the arm that the first one had been done on. “Ink me up, big guy.”

That pulled out a snort from Billy, though he quickly schooled his expression into mock sternness as he answered, “Don’t ever say that again.”

“Then tat me up already!”

“You are the dorkiest person I’ve ever met, and I had the misfortune of meeting the nerd herd,” Billy laughed, beginning to trace something out in his notebook. 

“Hey, that’s my nerd herd you’re talking about.” Though it had been years, Steve couldn’t help but smile at how easily they fell back into this. He could have imagined only days had passed since they’d talked, sipping beers and sharing kisses when no one was looking.

Billy was keeping the design a secret. He’d shaved Steve’s arm and placed the stencil, firmly telling the man not to look until he was done. Because Steve trusted him. 

“I surf.”

The statement came out of nowhere, far enough into the process that the steady sting of the needle had lulled Steve into a sort of trance. He blinked away the fogginess, turning to look at Billy at the statement. The other man hadn’t stopped working, like it wasn’t a big deal that he’d offered up something of where he’d been the last six years. Like he trusted Steve, too.

“Are these all your boards?” Steve asked.

“Some,” Billy said. “Some are from friends. That's what I did for a couple years, just surf. Helped with some of the physical shit.”

“Yeah, I know how that is,” Steve answered, mind immediately going back to the nearly four weeks he spent laid in bed recovering from the emotional devastation of losing Billy and the, maybe more pressing to some, physical devastation of actual Soviet torture. There was also the time after they’d gone into the Upside Down, when he’d practically collapsed from the literal fucking bites taken out of him the second he knew Vecna was gone. “I saw on one of the boards...you go by Billy St James now?”

“My mom’s maiden name,” Billy answered. “They suggested I change it, you know, after the demon monster impaled me.”

“Not funny.”

“You could get rid ‘a Harrington too. Feels good cutting ties with shitty dads.”

It did sound tempting. Childhood had been defined by ‘living up to the Harrington name’, being the best heir to the legacy, and being perfect, in every sense of the word. How relieving it must feel to finally shed the name that burdened him for so long. Steve could already imagine the pride he’d feel in changing it, ensuring that the Harrington name would end forever and all with him. 

And yet, Steve knew he could never do it. Harrington was also the name Dustin called him when they were bickering, and it was the name Robin used when she was worried about him but trying to pretend not to be. It was the name Billy, even now, still called him despite having called him ‘pretty boy’ and ‘princess’ on the first day they met.

There was a history there, and no matter how badly Steve wanted to wipe away any trace of his parents, he couldn’t wipe away the one family who’d actually given a shit about him.

“Nah, think I’ll hold onto it a little longer. Been hit in the head so many times I don’t wanna confuse myself.”

Billy’s scowl wasn’t something to mess around with. It was strong enough to clear rooms if he wanted, and this close, it rendered Steve completely silent. “Cut it out, would ya?”

“Cut what out?” Steve practically whined, the only thing keeping him from throwing his hands up in frustration being Billy’s large hands holding onto his left arm as he worked. He’d been doing so well, trying to navigate all the things Billy didn’t want to talk about, all the things that would spook the other man before Steve was ready to say goodbye. What had happened now?

“I hated that shit when you did it before, hate it even more now,” Billy snapped, turning the machine off and dutifully beginning to wrap Steve’s arm.

“Billy, do what? I’m not a mind reader.”

“Stop sayin’ all that shit about what a dumbass you are, or how no one actually needs you around. It’s fucking exhausting and sad as shit. You know how much breath you could save if you thought something good about yourself every once in a damn while?”

“I get it, message received,” Steve rolled his eyes, though the warm feeling spreading through his chest hadn’t gone unnoticed. It was the kind of conversation that had stopped the second Billy was gone—suddenly the only people around were the ones who tossed around ‘idiot’ and ‘dingus’ and ‘airhead jock’ like they weren’t knives to be buried deep in his chest. “You know, most people are actually nice when they give a compliment.”

“I’d rather die,” Billy shot back, smirking at the clearly doe-eyed look Steve was giving him. “You don’t want nice.”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Steve said as he followed Billy back over to the counter. “I know you’re a big softie at heart.”

“Harrington,” Billy warned, though only smiles decorated his face. 

“Come see the beach with me,” Steve blurted out again, hoping the long pause Billy spent staring at him meant an agreeance.

“I can’t, pretty boy, you know that,” Billy sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “But you should go, show off that new ink.”

“Hey, no flirting in the shop!” the woman from before shouted over, “Can we go back to when you were pining for the rest of your life or whatever?”

Billy tilted his head to stare at the ceiling, like he couldn’t quite believe this was his existence. Pining? So he had thought about Steve in those six years, enough that even this woman Steve had no idea existed knew about him. Maybe there really was some hope, after all, if he could keep talking to Billy without scaring him off. 

All it would take was time, and luckily Steve had plenty of that. 

It became a pattern: wait a few days, walk down to the shop and convince Billy to spend an hour giving him whatever new design the other man could think of. After the second—a small smattering of wildflowers that Steve wished he could recognize to decipher the meaning of—Steve knew Billy was the best person to make the decisions for what art would cover his arm. And art it was, because soon enough Steve’s arm resembled a canvas, full of little mismatched designs that just seemed to work together, despite none of it having been planned out in the first place. But while Steve loved the tattoos, nothing quite measured up to the time he got to spend with Billy. 

They didn’t talk about Hawkins again—in fact, Billy seemed intent to ignore that he’d ever lived there at all, shutting down near completely if Steve accidentally brought up someone they’d known. So instead, they talked about Billy’s days spent trying to find a new couch for his apartment, and all of the silly tourist attractions Steve had visited on his trip from Indiana. They talked about how Billy had used his government hush money to startup the shop, and how the people working there became the family he’d always dreamed about.

They found a balance that worked for them, until the night Billy finished Steve’s impromptu sleeve. The last design was taking longer, leaving Billy to offer to close up the shop after everyone left. It was just them in the building, listening to Steve’s old tape again because ‘Billy, you gotta give me a break with some actual music.’

“What’re you gonna do now that we finished?” Billy asked, wrapping up Steve’s bicep and discarding his gloves. 

Steve didn’t know, and really he didn’t want to think about it because now he had no excuse to see Billy anymore, no way to convince the man to stick around him. There was nothing after this, no plan except to eventually get back to the only place that he had once called home. The only place he knew to go was the eternal safety net of his old hometown. 

“I don’t know yet,” Steve answered in the only way he knew how, shrugging as they walked the familiar path back to the counter. “Might finally get to the beach.”

“You still haven’t gone?” Billy asked, eyebrows raising.

It wasn’t for a lack of trying. Every morning Steve had gotten up, and tried to put on swim shorts and a t-shirt, but every time he couldn’t leave the motel room. Something was stopping him at the door, keeping him from walking down to that beach alone. It was always meant to be his goodbye to Billy, his only way to try and move past the night when he froze in time for six years. Now that Billy wasn’t just alive but standing right in front of him, living where they’d once promised to run away together.

“Haven’t gotten around to it.” It was the easiest answer to give, the only thing he could say without revealing everything laying underneath the surface.

In the next moment, Billy was grabbing his keys and heading for the door of the shop. He stood outside, waving for Steve to hurry up like he was just supposed to understand what was happening. “Well?” Billy huffed when Steve was too slow, jingling the keys at him.

“What’re we doing?” Steve asked, watching Billy lock up the shop the second he cleared the door. 

“What d’you think we’re doing? We’re going to the beach.”

The beach. They were going to the beach. 

“But...but isn’t it closed at night?” Smooth, Harrington. Steve could feel his cheeks heat up at Billy’s laugh, trying to press a scowl to his own face but knowing it couldn’t have come across as all that intimidating.

“C’mon, pretty boy. You’re really gonna start following the rules now?” It was a goading if he’d ever heard one, some kind of jumpstart that Steve even now felt sparking him to life. He could practically hear the unsaid words on Billy’s lips, the where’s King Steve gone to now? in those blue eyes.

It was impossible to say no to Billy Hargrove when he really wanted something, when he took on such bright playfulness that spelled out trouble with every smirk. So he allowed himself to be guided to the water, unable to take his eyes off of Billy as though he were under a trance. 

It was quiet out there, just far enough from the city to dull out the noises and lights of a Friday night. The only sound was that of the waves lapping up at the sand in front of them, water spilling over their ankles before drifting back out to the ocean. The moon was out, nearly full and giving them enough light that Steve could see Billy’s face beside his. They’d sat down in the sand after Billy had warned Steve not to get his healing tattoos wet. Steve didn’t know the last time he could sit like this with someone else, simply co-existing in such a peaceful environment without anything to worry or think about. They weren’t talking, but really they’d never needed to be talking constantly, rather finding peace in being near one another.

“It’s beautiful,” Steve spoke up, turning to face Billy. 

“It’s home,” Billy breathed out, fingers of his far-sided hand digging into the sand. “I’m glad you’re here, Steve.”

“Don’t tell me you’re getting soft now,” Steve teased gently, maybe to hide away the heavy feelings stirring in his chest. 

“Never,” Billy answered, staring at him with such intensity that Steve couldn’t look away, captivated by every emotion that was too heavy, too conflicting, even to begin to read. All he knew was that in the years they’d been apart the feelings they’d had for one another hadn’t faded. 

When Billy leaned in, Steve didn’t move. He couldn’t, paralyzed by shock and the strange fluttering in his stomach. Being kissed by Billy felt like having life breathed back into him, like he was somehow moving but not quite alive since that summer. Steve held onto Billy tightly, fingers digging into his shirt like if he let go then the man would drift away from him. 

It only lasted a few seconds, but when they parted both men were breathless. 

“I thought we wouldn’t get this again,” Billy admitted, blinking dazedly like he was trying to wipe away the feelings washing over him. 

“Yeah,” Steve said, chin dropping a little. Tell me about it.

“Kept wondering what you were doing, if you’d found someone to make you happy,” Billy explained. “Thought maybe I’d see you eventually, here. Thought you’d have the little shitheads with you, though.” His jaw tensed up all at once, the stiffness stringing through his neck and shoulders until Steve wondered what it was that Billy was thinking about now.

“They’re not little anymore, and they’ll let you hear it every day if you called them that,” Steve tried to laugh through the heaviness against his chest. “Dustin and Lucas are off at college, too busy with their smart people classes to pick up a goddamn phone. Mike is helping out with Eddie’s tour—yeah, Eddie Munson. It’s a long story. But El, the girl you saved? She’s been traveling lately, trying to see as much of the world as she can now that we don’t have to worry about the lab coming after her. Will went with her, because apparently they moved out to California and became best friends. They’re all old now, they outgrew their babysitter.”

“You forgot one.”

“What? I didn’t—Oh. Oh shit,” Steve hissed, regret and cold realization seeping over him until he wondered if it would be better to just run now. Billy didn’t know, no one had known to tell him. “Billy, I don’t...Billy, the Upside Down didn’t stop after Starcourt. It came back, and we had to...Max, she...”

Billy’s expression darkened in an instant. “What happened to my sister, Harrington?”

He was messing this all up, ruining what had always meant to be a sweet moment. “Oh God no! No, no, Max is fine, I promise. She’s more than fine, she’s happy,” Steve rushed out, hands waving about as he tried to prove his point. “But last time, the only way we could put a stop to everything is if she...Fuck, I don’t even know how to explain it. Vecna, the monster we were fighting, targeted her. We tried to help her but she got hurt.”

“How hurt?” Billy’s hand was running over a spot on his abdomen now, right in the center. Though it had been years, Steve could imagine clearly the way a monstrous tentacle had stabbed him straight through the spot. He couldn’t help but wonder if Billy was still feeling it even now. “Steve, how hurt is she?”

“She was, she was in the hospital for a while. Like, a really long time. But she woke up, and she’s been doing so well lately. Max just moved in with Lucas, I think when they come back to Hawkins over their break they’ll tell us they’re engaged,” Steve rambled.

“Steve.”

“She’s blind, now, Billy. Max can’t see, and she uses crutches to get around most of the time unless she’s being stubborn,” Steve explained, reaching out for Billy’s hand and smiling sadly when the man let him take it. “I hate that it was her, that she had to get so hurt but...she’s really, really happy. She’s recovering well, she and Lucas have been better than ever, and she’s starting to paint, which...Max is amazing.”

Billy scrubbed his free hand over his face—once, twice, three times as he took in everything Steve told him. “But she’s...she’s okay?”

“Yeah, yeah she’s okay,” Steve reassured him, squeezing Billy’s hand once until he looked over at him. “Really, I wouldn’t lie to you about this. She has good and bad days, sure, but there is nothing that could stop that girl. She still misses you, though. Won’t really talk about it, but...I know she’d want to hear from you, to know that you’re okay.”

“Her and Sinclair, huh?” Billy asked, clearly avoiding the pointed suggestion Steve had made.

“Yeah,” Steve laughed, “they finally figured their shit out. I thought I’d be in a retirement home before they worked it out.”

“Sounds familiar.” Billy’s face was softer now, something of a smile tilting up his lips. 

“It does, doesn’t it?” Steve chuckled, “How long did it take us?”

“Longer than it should’ve. We got there eventually.”

“A couple of fights later.” 

“Hey, you can’t say we weren’t passionate,” Billy chuckled, no doubt imagining the same moments Steve was on the basketball court, by their cars in the parking lot, out by the Quarry when no one was watching.

Laughter blossomed between them, the sound rising and mixing with that of the waves, and though it would take time Steve knew in that moment that they’d be okay.

They ended up back at Billy’s apartment, after. It was far more spacious than what Steve was expecting, but the simple explanation of ‘government hush money’ had cleared that up quickly. The place was cleaner than Steve expected, decorated sparingly and with just enough signs of life scattered throughout. 

It shouldn’t have surprised him when Billy kissed him again, but Steve gasped as his back pressed against the bedroom wall. Billy was gentle—a far cry from the rough, bruising touches they’d once given each other, a lifetime ago—hands on either side of Steve’s face. This was more rushed than the previous, Billy pressing insistently against him until he was flattened against the wall. 

Steve held on to him too, hands finding the short curls at the back of Billy’s neck. “I like this,” he murmured, tugging lightly and relishing in the gasp it pulled from Billy. “Your hair, I like it.”

“Yeah?” Billy’s lips moved to his neck, causing Steve to tilt his head back against the wall, lips parted and eyes raised to the ceiling like he might find some salvation there. His hands moved to Billy’s waist, tugging closer as the man covered what felt like the entire expanse of Steve’s neck in marks. 

“Yeah,” Steve breathed out, “it’s a good look.” 

The second Billy’s leg slotted between his thighs, pressing so close it practically begged for Steve to rock against it, Steve thought he might combust. He groaned, eyes fluttering closed only long enough to realize he missed the sight of Billy focused entirely on him. That look of arousal had always been one of Steve’s favorites—Billy’s tan cheeks flushing with color, pupils wide, and the first signs of sweat along his hairline. 

It all shuttered to a stop the second Steve’s hands reached for the hem of Billy’s shirt. Within seconds Billy’s expression shuttered closed and his hands wrapped around Steve’s wrists, not tight but warning. 

“Hey, what happened?” Steve asked, watching as Billy’s expression pulled even tighter. His eyebrows pulled together, eyes looking low to not meet Steve’s gaze. “You can talk to me. Do you want to stop?”

“No, I don’t,” Billy immediately answered. “I just—Stevie, if you’re expecting what I looked like before you’ll be disappointed.”

The scars. Steve had seen them plenty of times in the weeks they’d spent together at the shop, sweeping across Billy’s hands and arms. He’d seen what had happened in real-time, too, and could imagine now what was leftover from the scene. 

“You must think pretty low of me, huh?” Steve said lightly, not once letting go of Billy’s shirt. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Billy’s lips and smiling at the surprised look it garnered. “I finally find you after six years, and you think I’ll run off because of some scars?”

Steve gave a testing little tug of the hem, and though Billy’s hands stayed wrapped around his wrists he allowed the motion. With one hand he held onto Billy’s, lifting it to give a gentle kiss to one of the marionette-string scars there. “They proved you survived, how could I hate them?”

“Steve,” Billy nearly whined out.

“Do you trust me?” His voice dropped lower, hazel eyes never once leaving blue until Billy was nodding.

“‘Course I do, pretty boy.”

So Steve pressed his fingers to Billy’s chest and pushed, soft but insistent until the backs of Billy’s knees hit the bed. “Lay down for me.”

“Think you can tell me what to do?” Billy raised one eyebrow, lips still parted like he wanted to rile Steve up. It was a familiar game, the push and pull between them that only served to make Steve fall even further for the man. 

“I just did, didn’t I?” Steve returned just as easily, smirking as Billy listened and laid down on his back. “There’s a good boy.”

“Watch it,” Billy warned, though the little shuffle of his hips hadn’t gone unnoticed. For another time, Steve reasoned out. Tonight was about relearning each other, the games could wait.

Steve took his time climbing atop him, straddling Billy’s hips, leaning forward until he could kiss him again. It had been ages since the last time he’d done this, and only briefly did the sparks of insecurity pop in his head. Would Billy be able to tell that he was out of practice? What if he couldn’t be as good as he’d once been, would Billy be disappointed?

Except, it took exactly one look at Billy’s face for all of it to wash away. He looked like he’d found an angel, lips parted and head following Steve minutely when he broke the kiss. 

“You’re gorgeous, you know,” Steve told him softly, hands running over his clothed chest until they could grip the bottom hem again. “It’s not fair, really, that I get to see you for the first time twice.”

This time when Steve lifted Billy’s shirt, there was no resistance. In fact, his back arched to help Steve pull the fabric up and off of him, discarding it somewhere behind them. Aware of the eyes on him, Steve tried to rein in his reaction. He’d seen what had happened, had been standing feet away when Billy had single-handedly held off the Mind Flayer long enough for El to get away, but even that couldn’t have prepared him for seeing the large expanse of scarring across Billy’s abdomen. More of him was scarred than not, large starbursts of white in the center of his sternum, his sides, his chest. Lines like those on his arms spread out like wires from the bursts, crisscrossing in across nearly every inch of Billy’s chest. 

Steve wanted to cry at the simple fact that Billy would be reminded of what happened to him forever. It wasn’t easy to hide away and forget about, no way to cover all of it up and pretend. He’d survived, but he’d been alone and hurt and even now was more affected than anyone ever was let on. It wasn’t fair, Steve wanted to scream at whoever would listen. He’d gladly march through the Upside Down again if it meant sparing Billy from any more hurt at the hands of it.

“Like I said,” Steve finally spoke up, lips pressing against the first large scar on the right side of Billy’s chest. “As gorgeous as I remember.”

Billy’s entire body was tense like he was waiting for his worst fears to be confirmed at any second. Steve had no intention of doing so, though, instead sure to show Billy just how much he loved every inch of his body. He loved him, loved that they were getting a second chance when it had once seemed so impossible. He could only hope Billy understood, could see it in his eyes every time he looked his way. 

The gasp Billy let out as Steve’s tongue flicked over one of his nipples was intoxicating, causing white-hot electricity to run through Steve’s body down to the tips of his toes. A pleased smile warmed his face as Steve reached up to lightly pinch the other, watching as Billy actually goddamn whined, his back arching into the touch. 

“You’re a fucking tease, Harrington,” Billy hissed out, hands reaching up to grab at Steve though the man quickly knocked them away.

Lifting his head enough to make eye contact with Billy, Steve couldn’t help but wink. “You say that like you’re surprised, Hargrove.”

“Fuck you.”

“We’ll get to that, too,” Steve grinned, moving back to continue his worship of Billy. He took his time, working his way down Billy’s chest and stomach, paying attention to every scar he passed until his lips brushed the waist of his jeans. By the time he was done, Billy was practically writhing under him, hips shifting under Steve’s and hands tangled up in his hair. 

Those hands gave an insistent tug to Steve’s hair the second he reached for Billy’s jeans, drawing a hitched out moan from Steve. “Get up here,” Billy demanded and Steve couldn’t help but listen until their faces were so close that their noses nearly brushed. “Wanna see you too, pretty boy.”

No, not yet. 

Steve fought back a wince, wishing Billy would have let him get his mouth on him before asking for this. Because maybe, just maybe if Billy was already wrought with pleasure he wouldn’t notice what rested under Steve’s own shirt. It may have been hypocritical to think, but Steve’s appearance had once been everything. He’d been King Steve, praised for his golden boy charm and even more golden looks. After that he’d been Billy’s Pretty Boy, constantly told how perfect and soft and wonderful he was. And he’d loved it, he did. Even now he could feel himself melting under such warm praise but he couldn’t help but think that he wasn’t that pretty boy anymore, that there were some things that the demobats and Vecna had taken away forever. 

“Where’d you disappear to?” Billy asked, thumb reaching up to rub at the space between Steve’s furrowed brows.

“I’m not—,” Steve tried to explain, throat catching around the words. “I’m not the same either. It’s not pretty anymore.”

“Hm,” Billy hummed, large hands already tugging insistently at Steve’s shirt. He allowed it to happen, keeping his eyes closed as Billy said, “Think I’ll be the judge of that one, sweetheart.”

Steve jumped at the feel of Billy’s palm resting flat on his stomach, off to the side where a demobat had once sunk its teeth in and torn. The other came up around Steve’s neck, fingertips gently rubbing over the line he normally kept hidden by high-collared shirts.

“What did they do to you, pretty boy?” Billy whispered out, and the softness with which he spoke cracked something within Steve. His face contorted as he felt the first stinging of tears building behind his eyelids. His hands dug into the sheets on either side of Billy where he held himself aloft, shaking his head a little as if that might help to compose himself.

His head sunk until his forehead pressed to Billy’s chest, and Billy allowed him to do so, hands moving to wrap around him in a tight embrace. One rubbed his back, the other coming up to its familiar hold in Steve’s hair. Steve could feel Billy’s fingers find the rough scarring on his shoulder blades from being dragged halfway across a different dimension, rubbing gentle circles into the numbed skin.

Steve’s entire body shook, and he felt his warm breath stutter out against Billy’s skin. It was easier to manage like this, eyes closed and his entire world narrowed down to Billy. “We went down there. The Upside Down, we were there.”

“Shit, Steve.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve laughed wetly, wondering only briefly how they both had ended up crying. “I never minded taking a hit if it meant protecting them, but this...I misstepped, and I get this.”

“It’s okay,” Billy tried, his voice tight with his own tears. “What happened to scars being a sign of survival, huh? It goes for you too.”

“This was all I had.” Steve’s hands found their own holds on Billy, their bodies tightly together as Steve’s face shifted to hide in Billy’s neck. It was easier to let it out, easier to be honest about the parts of himself he’d been hiding away for years. “Everyone else moved on eventually, everyone stopped needing me. They left and recovered the best anyone could. You did, too. You have this whole life out here, and I...I’m still in Hawkins. I barely finished school, I don’t have any real skills or hobbies, and I can’t even be good for my looks anymore because who the fuck would wa—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Steve,” Billy spoke, voice firm but not once threatening. One hand was tucking itself under Steve’s chin, coaxing him away from Billy’s neck and up enough that they could face each other. “Don’t.”

“Billy,” Steve sighed, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise up in his cheeks. 

“Hey, I mean it. Do you have any idea what it felt like to see you walk into my shop that night?” Billy asked, brushing away Steve’s hair from his face and tucking it behind his ear. “You make me feel alive again, Steve. You make all of it feel worth it.”

When Steve couldn’t find it in himself to speak, Billy continued. “I need you as much as you need me, you got that? Everything...everything’s been about you.”

It was too much all at once, and yet everything Steve had needed to hear for the last six years. No one had ever made him feel quite so wondrous as Billy, who might as well have been the sun and stars himself. 

“This one,” Billy spoke lowly, thumb brushing over the wildflowers tucked into Steve’s forearm, “was because you wore that shirt into the shop. It reminded me of sitting out in that field together in Hawkins, and you called it our first date because we’d gone a whole three hours without cracking any jokes at each other.”

“You remember that?” It had been in their senior year, when spring was just beginning to warm the air and wildflowers took over every inch of free space in Hawkins. They both had gone there independently, each searching for a tiny escape from the problems they were facing and instead finding each other. It was one of the first times they’d spoken kindly to each other, the first time Steve had looked into Billy’s eyes and thought this was someone he could love. His heart burned bright at the knowledge that he’d have a piece of that memory on his skin forever. 

“I remembered your smile, how it felt like you warmed me up from the inside out with one look,” Billy admitted, his hand moving to another one higher up on Steve’s arm. “And this one, for the birthday party you tried to throw when you found out no one ever remembered mine.”

“I still celebrate it, every March,” Steve whispered, feeling like he was beginning to see Billy in an entirely new way all over again. 

“See? That’s what I mean.” Billy reached up with his other hand, wiping at some of the stray tears left on Steve’s face. “You’re unlike anyone else, Steve. You saved me when I needed it, let me help you now.”

He could do that. Steve could picture himself staying here, settling into this city that had already felt like more of a home than Hawkins had felt in the last decade. Maybe Billy would find him something to help with at the shop, or maybe he’d find some new job to love without the oppressive fear that the Upside Down would reopen at any moment. They’d both seen each other as they were now, and neither one had run away. They could be happy out here, together.

“Just tell me what you need, pretty boy,” Billy finished, and all at once with complete surety, Steve knew the answer.

“I need you,” Steve answered, holding onto Billy and never wanting to let go. “I want you, please.”

“You already have me, Steve, you’ve always had me,” Billy said, moving them so Steve was the one laying on his back on the bed. “That’s too easy.”

“Take care of me,” Steve continued, feeling a smile work its way onto his face through the tears. How could he not smile, when Billy was looking at him with such adoration even through his own tears? “I want all of you.”

“Are you sure?”

Steve nodded, never more sure of anything else. 

And Billy was careful with him, hands touching all the right places and mouth leaving bruised marks all down Steve’s neck and chest, filling him with equal parts burning arousal and overwhelming, intense love. It may have been years, but both of their bodies knew the way, rocking together at an easy pace, neither one rushing for the moment to end. If either one of them let a few tears slip, no one pointed it out. All Steve could focus on was Billy’s hands holding him steady, the feel of Billy’s warm back under his fingers, and the waves of pleasure that threatened to burn through him as Billy pushed impossibly deeper inside him. 

It was like the rest of the world fell away, leaving only them as they at last came home to one another. The moment he finished, Steve saw stars dance across his vision, lips parted in a loud, trembling moan that sent Billy over the edge as well. He hadn’t even noticed when Billy had gotten up until he was sitting on the bed beside Steve, cleaning him up and wrapping him up in his arms. 

He came to a few minutes later, resting against Billy’s back, those large arms wrapped around him and hands resting on his stomach. “You back with me, Steve?” Billy asked, chin resting gently on Steve’s head.

“Never left,” he answered, giving Billy a cheeky smile. “Never again, I’m staying here.”

“Wouldn’t want you anywhere else.” 

They lay together all night, sometimes talking about what had happened in their lives apart, other times simply enjoying feeling so close to each other again. Eventually, they’d fall asleep, the first restful night either would have in six years. There was still so much to figure out, so much that they hadn’t thought of beyond their dream of escaping together. But that was okay too.

After all, they had a lifetime to figure it out.

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[batztrangem]

How You Met The Candyman

Warnings/notes: Gender neutral reader, cursing, mentioning of canon typical violence

Author’s Note: This is probably the best one shot out of all of my “how you met the slashers” series.

"You know what we should do?"

It was Friday night, and you and a couple of your friends had decided to have a sleepover at your house. You all were laid out in your living room. Blankets and sleeping bags were laid throughout the floor. Almost every pillow in the house was also in the living room, most of which were also on the floor.

You walked out of the kitchen with a large bowl of popcorn, adding to the multitude of snacks and drinks lined up on the coffee table in front of the couch.

You grabbed a pillow off the ground and plopped on the couch beside your friend, Alex.

"What should we do?" you asked.

"Yeah, what should we do besides watching this movie because it suuuucckks," your other friend, Emma, said. She was laying on the ground watching the TV.

"Let's play Bloody Mary," Alex said.

"Boo, no," Emma said from the floor.

"Why not?" Alex said, throwing up their hands.

"Maybe because it's for kids, and it's not real," you said.

"What about Candyman?" Alex suggested.

"What the hell is that?" Emma questioned, turning on her side from her spot on the floor.

"Yeah, I've never heard of that. Only Candyman I know is Willy Wonka," you said with a chuckle.

"Oh my gosh, are we going to summon Willy Wonka? Now that shit sounds scary," Emma said.

"No, man. You guys seriously haven't heard of Candyman?" Alex asked.

Both you and Emma shook your heads. Alex's shocked face quickly formed into a smirk as they reached for their phone.

"Whatcha doing?" Emma asked.

"I'm going to tell you guys the backstory of Candyman," Alex said as they typed away on their phone.

After a couple of minutes, it appeared that Alex had pulled up an article on the phone.

"Let's dim the lights. Make it a little spooky in here," Alex said.

"Yes, sir," you said jokingly as you got up from the couch. You walked over to the light switch and fiddled around with the knob to dim the lights. The switch was old and your family barely used it so turning it was a slow process. You looked up at the lights as you did so. Now the room was filled with more ambient lighting, similar to a movie theater as the lights would go down when a movie began.

"I thought we grew out of ghost stories a long time ago," you said as you sat back down.

"Who said this was a ghost story? This actually happened," Alex said.

"Yeah, I'll be the judge of that. Let's hear it," Emma said as she sat up on the floor.

"In the 1800s there was a tragic death of a man by the name of Daniel Robitaille. He was a painter in Chicago. The legend told that Daniel was the son of a slave who became extremely wealthy after inventing a machine that mass-produced shoes during the American Civil War. Daniel grew up to become a well-known painter, most famous for capturing a person's status in portraits. Sometime around 1890, the young painter had been commissioned by a wealthy landowner to capture the beauty of his daughter, a white virgin," Alex stated.

"This doesn't sound scary at all," you mumbled.

"Shut up and listen," Alex said, bringing the phone closer to their face.

"The painter's only real sin was falling in love with the girl in question with whom they were to have a child out of wedlock. Unfortunately, the girl's father had discovered their relationship and was left so outraged that he hired a lynch mob to find and kill the young painter. As the mob chased him down the streets of Chicago, they eventually overpowered him and sawed off his right hand with a rusty blade."

"What the fuck? That's messed up," Emma said.

Alex nodded and continued to read.

"Daniel's body was then smeared with honey from a local apiary, causing the bees to sting him to death and prompting the future generations of the neighborhood to call him Candyman," Alex said, sitting the phone down.

"Ok? That's seriously fucked up and tragic, but how is that scary to us," you questioned.

"Well, if you let me finish. I'll explain," Alex said.

You pretended to lock your mouth and throw away the key, indicating that you were listening.

"Legend has it that Candyman's vengeful spirit still lurks throughout Chicago. He'll also show up anywhere you summon him. It's a lot like Bloody Mary. Go in the bathroom, say his name five times in the mirror, and he shows up to kill you," Alex explained.

"May I speak now?" you asked.

"Yeah."

"Why would I do that? Why would I willingly summon someone who is going to kill me?" you said while laughing.

"For fun, (Y/N)! Have you ever done something just for the fun of it?" Alex said.

"Since when is willingly summoning ghosts fun?" Emma said from the floor.

"Yeah, what she said. I don't fuck around with that shit. Ninety percent of horror movies could be avoided if people would stop fucking with the supernatural," you said.

Alex couldn't help but laugh.

"Screw you guys," they said.

A few hours passed and your friends were down for the count. Alex and Emma were both fast asleep. You on the other hand was wide awake, scrolling mindlessly through Instagram. You looked at the time.

It was a little past 3 and you weren't even tired. You were just bored. You sighed as you put your phone down and got up to go to the bathroom.

You turned on the light and were instantly met with your reflection in the large bathroom mirror. You may have not felt tired but you certainly looked it. You turned the water on and splashed your face a little. You looked back into the mirror, making eye contact with yourself.

You thought back on what Alex had said earlier. All of that stuff about Candyman.

You didn't believe in ghost stories for the most part, so why not? Nothing could possibly happen, right?

"Screw it," you mumbled, standing up straight.

Your reflection stared back at you.

"Candyman," you said.

You glanced around the bathroom and then back at the mirror.

"Candyman."

You then cracked the bathroom door open, making sure your voice hadn't woken your friends.

"Candyman."

You closed the door with your hand as your eyes stayed glued to the mirror.

"Candyman."

All of a sudden, you had goosebumps. The hair on your arms was standing up. It was such a strange feeling. The air seemed colder, and the bathroom seemed quieter.

"Candyman."

You gulped taking a look around the bathroom.

Nothing.

You looked back in the mirror.

Nothing.

It was just you staring back.

There was no mysterious man from the past without a hand.

"See," you said to yourself, "what did you expect?"

You turned to exit the bathroom but to your shock, the nob wouldn't turn.

"What the hell?"

You tried turning it again. It didn't even feel locked. It felt jammed as if it was glued in place. You tried wiggling it then turning again but it wouldn't budge.

"Hey, someone let me out of here!" you called out, slapping your hand on the door.

The lights began to flicker over the top of your head. You looked up, confused. That lightbulb was basically brand new.

You would admit that you were beginning to become panicked. You banged on the door again, trying to get the attention of your friends.

"Guys! I'm locked in! Please help!" you called out to no avail. They couldn't hear you and you had no idea why.

The flickering of the lights began to get worse and worse and your heart rate had begun to elevate. You could hear it pounding away in your chest, beating in your ears.

And in a blink of an eye, the lights were out.

It was pitch black.

And you were terrified.

"Guys! Let me out! This isn't funny!"

If being locked in wasn't scary enough, the dark was a sure-fire way to terrify you to your core.

"I am the writing on the wall, the sweet smell of blood. Be my victim," a powerful voice beamed down. It shook you, causing you to back up against the invisible source.

The light flickered again, causing you to see the figure looming over you. You weren't sure who it was but after what you just did, you had a good fucking idea.

He walked closer to you. The bathroom was small and you had nowhere to go.

Cold metal met the side of your face, gently sliding down to your chin. You realized it was a hook.

Despite the flickering lights, the closer he got the more you could see his face. For a supernatural vengeful spirit, he was handsome. In fact, he was so handsome that it calmed your nerves a bit.

"You're mine," he whispered.

And just like that, he was gone. The light had stopped flickering and the door behind gave way, flinging open. You lost your balance and fell down on the ground.

"Damn it, I think I peed myself."

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

[youhavetosmile]

how about one inspired by this

Caught Somewhere in Time byMarv-with-a-v (Marv_aka_Kitten_Writes)

one with Karen x Matt

I am SO SORRY this took me so long! I loosely based this on the story you sent me, so hopefully this is what you were looking for!

Find it on AO3

“So Stark and Banner built this—basically a time machine—and re-collected all the Infinity Stones, and that’s how they got everyone back.”

“That is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“That’s what I said, but Peter swears it’s true.”

It was a nearly perfect Saturday.  The traffic outside was less noisy than it was on the weekdays, and the warmth of the afternoon sun and Karen’s body next to him was making Matt delightfully drowsy.  He first thought that Karen’s silence meant she had fallen asleep—there were several nights this week when he had come home and she was still working—but the speed of her heartbeat and the tension in her shoulders told him she was still awake and alert.  “You okay, babe?”

“Yeah,” Karen replied, nodding her head slightly on Matt’s shoulder.  “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Kevin.”  Matt immediately tightened his arms around her.  “I would love to go back in time and change what happened.  Save him.”  She sniffled, and Matt responded only with a kiss to her forehead.  “What about you?” she asked, not wanting to ruin her contentment with thoughts of her brother, “If you could go back in time, what would you change?”

Matt gave a short, sardonic chuckle.  “A lot.  I’d take a different route on the day of the accident.  Tell Stick to go to Hell.  Save my dad.”

“Guess we both have a lot of regrets.”  He could feel the sadness in Karen’s voice.

“Yeah.  But if I really think about it, if I could only change one thing, I’d change what happened—or, rather, what didn’t happen—between us that first night.”

“The night we met?”

“No, the night we kissed in the rain.  I mean, I wouldn’t change that,” he added, feeling Karen tense again, “but I would tell you about—everything.  Be honest for once.”

Karen lifted her head off his shoulder.  “Matt, that’s ridiculous,” she said, and he was surprised to hear that her voice sounded a little angry.

“Why?”

“You’re telling me that if you had one shot to change anything that happened to you, you’d waste it on me?”

“Well, first of all, that’s not wasting it,” he said tenderly, pulling her head back down and gently grasping the hand she still had on his chest, “and second, yes, I would.  Don’t get me wrong, I would do anything to have my sight back, or to never get involved with Stick, or to have my dad still here, but—all of those things really sucked, yes, and I’m not saying it was worth it, but—some good came out of them.  I wouldn’t be who I am and I couldn’t do what I do without those things.  With you—nothing good came out of me not being honest with you from the start.  I wouldn’t have gotten mixed up in all that bullshit with the Hand—”

“Oh, I think you’d have found a way into the middle of that no matter what.”

“Okay, fair,” he conceded with an eye roll, “but it wouldn’t have gotten so bad.  Maybe I never would’ve ended up at Midland Circle or gone so low afterwards.  At the very least, I’d have had you.  We could’ve had each other all this time.  But instead, I hurt myself and, worse than that, I hurt you.  And that I will never feel like I’ve made up for.”

Karen propped herself on her elbow and looked down at him.  “You’re right.  You did hurt me.  And if that’s true,” she continued, ghosting her fingertips along the side of his face, “I think I should get to decide when you’ve made up for it.  And you have more than made up for it.”

Matt’s adoring smile turned into a mischievous smirk.  “You make a good argument, Page.  You really should consider—”

Karen playfully shoved him.  “Matthew Murdock, I swear to God, if the next two words out of your mouth are ‘law school,’ I’ll—”

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll—” she froze for a moment, then laid her head back down right next to his ear, “I’ll go to sleep with my hair in braids.  French braids.”

“Oh, that’s cold, Page…”

[preciousbarnes]

Remember Me

Chapter 2: Uncertainties

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: After a mission gone wrong, Bucky is left completely changed from the man you married. A multi-part, on-going series.

Word Count: 2.4k

Tags: Memory Loss, Brief Medical Settings, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurities, Fluffy moments

Read Ch. 1 Here

series masterlist coming soon

Bucky slowly blinked his eyes, squinting at the bright white lights in the sterile looking room. There was an incessant beeping coming from some kind of machine with wires leading to little stickers that were attached to him. His head was pounding, his hand coming to rub his forehead as he groaned. Looking around, he became more and more confused. Everything looked so… advanced. And clean. And… new. Seeing something move out of the corner of his eye, he turned his head. There was a man with a metal looking arm, with shoulder length hair, a scruffy beard, and familiar blue eyes. The man moved when he moved, and that’s when he realized. That man looking back at him was him. What the hell? How. He was only 23. He had two real arms before, now this metal one was here? The man in the mirror was easily in his 30s. What was happening?

He rubbed his eyes, thinking maybe it was all a dream. Nonetheless, it was not. He heard the sound of a door sliding open, prompting him to look away from his reflection, and to the two interring the room. He smiled when he recognized a familiar face, until he sees the body it’s attached to.

“St-steve? Is that you?” He calls to him. it is Steve’s face, but on a tall, muscular body. Easily as tall as he is. What happened to his short and skinny, but strong-willed and determined best friend? He sits there feeling so completely lost, watching you and the man who looked so much like Steve, but also not, trade concerned looks.

“B-Bucky, what do you remember last?” The person asks him, voice soft but concerned. He decides in that moment, he likes the sound of your voice. It's peaceful and effortlessly melodic.

“Hold on a second, doll. First I want to know, are you Steve? My best friend? Guy who was about this tall last I saw him?” He asks, holding a hand to his shoulder to demonstrate how tall he remembered Steve being.

The man with Steve’s face cracks a grin, and that’s when Bucky knows it has to be Steve. That grin is so ingrained in his memory, there is no way it isn’t him.

“Yeah, man. It’s me. We got some catching up to do. What’s the last thing you remember?” Steve asks, as he moves to rest a reassuring and comforting hand on your shoulder. Something stirs inside Bucky seeing this. Why did his stomach feel so funny seeing Steve touch you. Some part of his brain was telling him it was wrong, but he didn’t understand why.

“I went back home to my apartment and went to sleep. I has spent the day with Ma and my sisters,” He says, your heart hurting at the mention of his family, and his once simple life.

You stand there silently as Steve begins to give Bucky a very abridged version of his life; how he joined the army with Steve following after getting the Super Soldier serum, which he explained that was why he was taller and much stronger, what happened to him all those years ago, how he had been forced to do some bad things, but had gotten out and gotten better and worked to save people and keep people safe. You glanced to him noticing how Steve had made the choice of just how much he torture and bad things he had experienced and been forced to do. Steve just ghosted the surface. You were kept silent by his commanding and stern stare, telling you he was doing what he thought was best.

Bucky nods along, looking shocked at parts, especially when Steve referenced the fact that there was a time he was held hostage and made to do back things. Even this version of Bucky hated that idea. Steve had always told you that’s what he had admired most about Bucky growing up; his sense of good and always wanting to help, never hurt.

“Okay, so, I was captured in war by bad guys, given a version of the Super Soldier serum stuff, was given a metal arm, made to do bad stuff, put to sleep on and off for decades, found by you, and now I’m better and do good stuff?” He asks, trying to wrap his head around it all. His life sounds like something from a messy movie franchise, he thinks to himself.

Steve nods, giving a small chuckle realizing how it all must sound.

“So, how old am I?” He asks.

“You’re 106,” You answer softly.

His eyes widen as he does the mental math, realizing that means he is alive in the year 2023.

He is quiet for a moment, lost in thought. You and Steve give each other concerned glances again, hating how hard this is for him.

He looks up to you suddenly, a questioning look on his face.

“So, I know why Steve would be here telling me this news, but that leaves me wondering what you’re doing in here with me. What’s your name, doll?” He asks you, giving you an easy going smile. You quickly understand why Steve referred to young Bucky as a lady’s man.

“Y/n,” you tell him softly.

“So you must be important to me for you to be in here,” he deducts.

“I’d hope so, Buck” Steve mutters, leading you to lightly elbow him in the ribs, glaring at him, signaling now is not a time for jokes.

“I’m your wife, Bucky,” You say to him, holding your hand up to show him the ring nestled on your left ring finger. It was the ring that had belonged to his mother, making him take in a breath suddenly at the sight.

“Whoa,” he utters, eyes wide.

You stand there awkwardly, nervous about his reaction.

“How?” He asks, wide eyed.

You smile softly, walking over to his bedside. As you walk over, Steve leaves the room in efforts to give you both some privacy.

“May I?” You ask, gesturing to his hand. He nods and you reach down and grab it in yours, your thumb rubbing his knuckles softly.

“We met in Wakanda, a place you went and recovered. I was there working on new technologies and was someone who helped design your arm.” You tell him.

“Wow. Beautiful and smarter than me,” He says, in the same soft tone, making you laugh. He smiles seeing you laugh, deciding that that is now his favorite view.

Before he can tell you that, Tony and Dr. Banner are walking into the room, an intrigued expression overtaking their faces when they see you both holding hands. Seeing them looking, you pull your hands away from Bucky’s, much to his dismay. He frowns a bit, missing your little cold fingers already.

After an awkward pause, Dr. Banner breaks the silence.

“Hi Mr. Barnes, I first want to say I’m sorry; I’m sure this is all quite overwhelming at the moment,” The soft spoken doctor tells him, looking genuinely sorry for what Bucky was going through. Dr. Banner was always kind to Bucky. While they weren’t close by any means, Dr. Banner understood Bucky in a way others could only empathize with. Dr. Banner was personally familiar with having a part of yourself that was out of your own control, much like the Winter Soldier was for Bucky.

“Please, call me Bucky, doc, as I understand you literally know me better than I know myself now,” he jokes, making Tony and Bruce smile slightly but sadly.

“Okay, Bucky. As you know, your memory has been negatively affected from a mission you were on. We have the machine with us in our possession, and were conducting research on it as well as studying methods to potentially reverse the damage. We have reason to believe your memories are not permanently gone, but rather locked away in your subconscious. You may find yourself experiencing feelings or instincts you don’t remember having, but older Bucky has so you will feel them,” Dr. Banner explains, as Bucky nods along.

“Would that explain why I felt a bit grumpy when Steve touched her?” He asks.

At this, Tony laughs.

“What’s wrong, Bucky? Afraid good ole stars and stripes is going to steal your girl?” He chuckles, making you and Bucky laugh and even Dr. Banner cracks a grin.

“No, I just knew there was some part of me, some reason that did not like it. The being married thing kind of explains that. Is that a good sign? Does that mean you’re right about the sub-whatever thing you said?” He asks, making you smile.

“Subconscious, honey,” you correct gently.

“Yeah, that,” He says, before softly thanking you.

Bruce gives a genuine smile and nods, taking note of what Bucky told him.

The doctor and Tony run through a few more diagnostic questions and assessments with Bucky. You stand to the side as Bucky answers all their questions thoroughly, telling them both that he wants to help them help him. He looks to you when he tells them both that he wants his memories back. You give him a smile that is tinged with a bit of sadness, hating what Bucky is going through but determined to support him.

When Tony asks, uncharacteristically softly, if Bucky remembers any of his time when he was captured and tortured and forced to do things against his will, you automatically reach for Bucky’s hand. You hate this, not so much that he’s forgotten that horrible time in his life; what you hate is the fact that at some point he might remember it all and have to process it all once again. He’s done so much work in therapy to get through those memories and make amends with those that he could, including Tony, and you worry this will inevitably set him back to square one.

Bucky gives your hand a gentle squeeze as he shakes his head, telling Tony he doesn’t remember anything like that.

After taking a few more notes, they leave, letting you know that Bucky is free to leave for now, as there's nothing they can currently do until they conduct more research. You and Bucky walk out of the room and down the hall, you smiling at Bucky’s child like wonder as he takes in all the technology he can see as you exit the compound and get in the car to be driven back to your shared apartment.

“What do you think of all of this?” you ask, as you both get situated in the back seat of the car, the agent driving giving you both privacy and not interacting.

“It’s so different. Everything looks like it's out of a made-up movie,” He tells you, even in awe of the fancy car you both were in.

The car ride is short and sweet, getting you back to the apartment in record time.

You take some time to show Bucky around, feeling soft as you see Bucky stop in the living room and excitedly point at a collage of your wedding pictures that you had framed hanging up. He lets out a low whistle as he looks at them all.

“Gosh, look at ya, doll. You’re so stunning,” He whispers. You thank him, a blush rising up your neck to your cheeks.

You grasp his hand once again, leading him to the bedroom where you both silently change. Bucky, uncharacteristically shyly stripping down to his boxers. There’s a tint of pink to his cheeks, almost making you coo at him.

“It’s alright, Jamie, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” you tell him, winking. His cheeks get even pinker, and for a moment you worry you may have overstepped, remembering how new and different everything is for him.

“I’m sorry, Buck. I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. If you want, I can sleep in our guest room?” You offer, getting ready to grab your pillow off the bed.

He walks over to you, stopping you from picking up the pillow.

“No, it’s okay doll. I’m just a little nervous. You’re used to sleeping next to me, while I can't say I’ve ever really… stayed the whole entire night with someone before,” He explains.

Your eyebrows raise nearly to your hairline.

“So you were quite the ladies man, huh?” You chuckle, making him laugh as well.

“Yeah, I was at one time, doll. Not anymore,” He declares.

You look down, once again playing with the ring on your hand anxiously. Bucky quickly picks up on your nervousness, asking you what’s wrong. You sigh, before explaining.

“For you, that time as a playboy was just yesterday, and now you’re a married man. It’s a big change,” You explain, voice faint and showing your insecurity.

“Hey now, doll. Please don’t look so sad. Pretty face like yours should never frown. Yes, it’s a change, but a welcomed one. Did, I guess I’d call him future me, ever tell you my biggest desire in life?” He asks you smoothly.

“To help people?” You suggest, making him smile. He gently tucks a piece of unruly hair behind your ear, before cupping your face in both his hands. The motion is painfully similar to something your Bucky did often, making your heart clench in your chest a bit. Yes, Bucky was here with you, alive. But it was a different than your Bucky, who remembered the last 4 years you had been together through so much.

“Okay, after helping people. But even before that, I wanted a family. A life with a lovely gal. A little family of my own. And for me that starts with a marriage. I’ve got that, and somehow future me got lucky enough to have you,” he expresses to you.

“How are you so sure you’re lucky? You don’t even know me, Buck,” You ask hesitantly.

“I just know. You’ve got this glow about you. The kind of glow my momma has. Any person I’ve met with that glow has always been good,” He reveals, instantly choking you up. He had never said that to you before, but you felt honored. You knew his mother was quite a woman, and to be compared to her so reverently made your heart swell.

You smile as you feel tears building in your eyes, reaching out and giving the man in front of you tight hug. He wraps you in his arms tenderly, resting his head on top of yours as he soothingly rocks you. After a few moments pass, you both find yourselves climbing into bed. You reach over and turn off the light, nestling yourself under the covers. Sleep finds you both quickly, before you can worry about what the next day will bring.

[lsd-astronaut]

Say My Name Louder (NSFW)

Pairing: Roger Waters x F!Reader

Request: okay uhm- angry studio sex with roger but not in the super dominant aggressive kinda way more just very passionate and all that bc stress :D (...there may or may not also "accidentally" be a leftover voice-recording of the happenings that rog keeps bc why not??)

Lately, life has not gone pretty easy on you. However, your fiancé Roger has taken the worst of it. According to him, nothing is going as planned: the melodies are not good enough, the timing is fucked up and the volume is all wrong!

The rest of the band soon enough get tired of him and ask beg you to come to the studio to see if Roger calms even the tiniest bit down. You mentally disagree but anything is better than staying home alone with absolutely no entertainment other than books or the TV showing the same movies over and over again even though it’s considered the “premiere of the week”.

So that’s how you find yourself sitting in the worn out couch looking boredly at the studio window and at the four men trying to make some music. You sigh and decide to stand up to get a glass of water from the studio cafeteria. Sipping the cold water, you look at your empty surroundings trying to spend enough time until you force yourself to go back to the recording room.

As you throw the paper cup in the trash can, the cafeteria door opens and a really disgruntled David appears, walking straight at the vending machine. You look at him a bit surprised as he pushes some buttons and a chocolate bar clatters down and he bends down to grab it. When he straightens up and turns around, a string of curse words leave his lips at your sight.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N! Don’t stand in silence like that. You almost gave me a heart attack!”

You look apologetically at him. “Sorry.” Suddenly, you furrow your eyebrows. “Are you guys already done?”

“Yep, seems like today was not a great day for inspiration. Rick and Nick left like 5 minutes ago but I was a bit hungry. Roger is still in the recording room I think, he’s probably tidying up his stuff.”

You nod with a smile and after wishing a good evening to David, you make your way to the recording studio.

When you arrive, you notice that the room is pretty dark. For a moment, you think that Roger has left without you but that soon is disproven when you notice his hunched figure. As you get closer, you notice that he’s writing some notes on his notebook.

Your hand reaches for his shoulder and you whisper his name. “Roger, what are you writing in the dark? You’re gonna hurt your eyesight like that.”

He grunts and tries to ignore you, returning to scribbling furiously against the paper. However, you sigh and take his pen from his hand. Before he can say any word, you harden your face.

“It’s not going to become a better song just because you exhaust and stress yourself. You know that, Roger.”

Roger snorts and looks at you with his green eyes. “How could you even understand?” He’s actively trying to hurt you but you know him too well. This is his defense mechanism; it doesn’t affect you anymore.

“I do.” You reach your hands to hold his face and he doesn’t pull away, something you take as a good sign to continue. “You always come back home pale like a ghost and you don’t even eat or sleep. Inspiration only comes to us when we less expect it but your mind and body have to be well rested. Okay?”

Roger nods and looks at you with a really tired expression in his face. “Can I kiss you?” His voice is tiny but you smile gently. “Of course you can.”

He leans down and captures your lips in a beautiful kiss. It will never fail to surprise you just how every kiss from Roger will be a completely new experience. This one is an outpour of love and passion, and something more.

You tangle your hands in his dark locks and tug them softly, making him moan softly in your mouth. It makes you smile and he taps your lips with his tongue, you gladly giving him permission. He takes the lead and as he keeps kissing you, he effortlessly lifts you and sits you on top of a table.

When you pull away for a much needed breath of air, he starts to kiss and nibble along your jaw, sucking and biting your skin. He then lifts his head and leans to your ear. “I’d eat you out in any other occasion but I’m impatient to fill you up. Is that okay?”

You squirm as heat pools between your thighs when you hear his dirty words.

“Please, Roger…” you stutter.

Roger smirks with a knowing smile and starts stroking your left thigh with a ringed finger. “Please, what? Use your words, sweetheart. Let me know what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

You swallow hard and look away, embarrassed. “I want…”

Fingers are wrapped around your chin and your head is lifted to look at your dark haired fiancé. “What was that? I’m afraid I didn’t hear you.”

Your cheeks warm, you manage to sputter out “I want you so badly, Roger. Please, fill me up.”

Roger pecks your lips and smiles. “Well then, why didn’t you say so earlier?”

With his skilled hands, he lifts your skirt and hooks his fingers on the hem of your laced panties, sliding them down your legs until they disappear on the studio floor. You look down and see the tent in his jeans. You try to reach and touch it but Roger grabs your wrist. “No touching, love.”

“But I want you to destress.” You whine.

“There is nothing that destresses me more than knowing I’m making you happy.”

“Softie.” You giggle and lean forward to kiss him again.

Roger pulls away after some seconds and unbuckles his belt letting his pants and his boxers slide down. He looks at you quietly waiting for your permission. You immediately nod and he slowly slides in, hitting your sweet spot in the first try. You arch your back and moan his name.

“Say my name louder.” He hoarsely says as he keeps thrusting into you, his pace even. When you look at him, you notice his eyes have darkened considerably.

“Roger, please go faster.” You moan as tears start brimming in your eyes from all the pleasure.

“As you wish, darling.” His pace quickens and you grab onto the edge of the table, your knuckles whitening from all the effort.

“I’m close, Rog…” you mutter after some minutes.

“Let go, Y/N.” He orders you. You do as he said and cum with a scream and your toes curling in all the utter pleasure you’re feeling.

As Roger feels your core tightening around him, he can’t control himself anymore and cums as a white haze washes all over him.

After some moments in which you two are panting and trying to recover, he pulls out and puts on his pants again. He hands you your panties and strokes your cheek. “Are you alright? I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

You shake your head and smile at him. “I hope you’re feeling better than before.”

Roger smiles and nods. “Like a new man.” He suddenly yawns. “And ready to sleep for 12 hours straight.”

You laugh and try to stand up, your legs feeling a bit wobbly but nothing too bad. “Let me go to the bathroom and then we can go home, eat dinner and sleep.”

As Roger walks to open the door, you furrow your eyebrows. “Roger?”

“Hm?” He turns around questioning.

“Is a red light supposed to show there?”

“What do you mean-” Roger walks over to the machine you’re pointing and he widens his eyes suddenly. “Oh, fuck.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Someone left the tapes running and it recorded everything that has happened in this room.”

Your face immediately pales down. “Are you kidding?!”

“We have to bring this home so no one can ever know this happened. Wouldn’t want to traumatise them.”

You nod but you look at Roger confused. “What are you planning to do with these?”

At that, Roger smiles. “I’ll keep it for myself. Special purposes, y’know?”

I wrote this while listening to Tchaikovsky lmao so let’s hope you like it

[the-starry-seas]

decided to assign Florence + The Machine songs to my clones

Aces

Racer: June (In those heavy days in June when love became an act of defiance / You were broken-hearted and the world was too, and I was beginning to lose my grip / Choirs sing in the street and I would come to you / I'm always down to hide with you)

Fury: Seven Devils (Holy water cannot help you now, a thousand armies couldn't keep me out / And it's an evensong, it's a litany, it's a battle cry, it's a symphony)

Blue: Shake It Out (Regrets collect like old friends, here to relive your darkest moments / I am done with my graceless heart so tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart)

Whisper: Morning Elvis (If I make it to the mornin' I should've come with a warnin' / And after every tour, I swear I'll quit It's over, boys, now this is it, but the call it always comes / Oh, you know I'm still afraid, I'm still crazy and I'm still scared)

Ember: Free (Is this how it's always been? To exist in the face of suffering and death, and somehow still keep singing? / There is nothing else that I know how to do, but to open up my arms and give it all to you / And for a moment, when I'm dancing, I am free)

Ghost Squad

Harlow: St Jude (Another battle never won, and each side is a loser, so who cares who fired the gun? / I'm learning, so I'm leaving, and even though I'm grieving, I'm trying to find the meaning)

Karla: Cassandra (I used to move into the future, bring it all back, let it bleed through my fingers, a treasure in my hands / Well, can you see me? I cannot see you. Everything I thought I knew has fallen out of view.)

Cavalry: Are You Hurting the One You Love? (Bite your tongue until it tastes like blood / Are you hurting the one you love? You'd like to stay in heaven but the rules are too tough)

Boom: Leave My Body (I'm gonna be released from behind these lines and I don''t care whether I live or die / I'm gonna leave my body [moving up to higher ground], I'm gonna lose my mind [your history keeps pulling me down])

Ray: Hardest of Hearts (And the kindest of kisses break the hardest of hearts / There is love in your body but you can't get it out, it gets stuck in your head, won't come out of your mouth)

Tally: Breaking Down (Even when I was a child, I've always known there was something to be frightened of / I think I'm breaking down, all alone, on the edge of sleep)

Nox: Spectrum (We are shining and we will never be afraid again / WIth metal on our tongues and silver in our lungs / Say my name as every colour illuminates)

Shay: No Light, No Light (I was disappearing in plain sight, Heaven help me, I need to make it right / You want a revelation, some kind of resolution / And I'd do anything to make you stay)

Clone Force M

Winter: I'm Not Calling You a Liar (I'm not calling you a ghost, just stop haunting me, and I love you so much I'm going to let you kill me)

Bee: Delilah (These chains never leave me, I keep dragging them around / 'Cause I'm gonna be free and I'm gonna be fine, but maybe not tonight / A different kind of danger in the daylight, can't you let me know?)

Indigo: You've Got the Love (Sometimes, it seems the goin' is just too rough and things go wrong, no matter what I do / Sooner or later in life, the things you love, you lose, but you've got the love I need to see me through)

Jewel: Remain Nameless (I wish to remain nameless and live without shame, 'cause what's in a name, boy? I still remain the same / Tell me what you're running from, I know everybody lets you down and I'll do the same)

Nebula: All This and Heaven Too (And all my stumbling phrases never amounted to anything worth this feeling, all this heaven never could describe such a feeling as I'm hearing)

Zenith: Falling (Falling is not the problem, when I'm falling I'm at peace. It's only when I hit the ground, it causes all the grief)

Sunny: Third Eye (You don't have to be a ghost here amongst the living, you are flesh and blood and you deserve to be loved / I'm the same, I'm the same, I'm trying to change)

Star: Howl (If you could only see the beast you've made of me, I held it in, but now it seems you've set it running free / Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins, I want to find you, tear out all your tenderness and howl, howl) [+ bonus: Long & Lost (Without your love I'll be so long and lost, are you missing me? is it too late to come on home? / It's been so long between the words we spoke, will you be there up on the shore? I hope)]

Sky: Sky Full of Song (Be careful, oh, my darling, oh be careful what it takes. From what I've seen so far, the good ones always seem to break / I feel like I'm about to fall, the room begins to sway, and I can hear the sirens but I cannot walk away)

Silver: Stand By Me (I won't be afraid, oh I won't be afraid, just as long as you stand, stand by me / Whenever you're in trouble, won't you stand by me? Oh stand by me)

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!