#girls with a cool bat tattoo

[luveline]

𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡? | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

you finally work up the courage to kiss Eddie for the first time and he can’t cope (even if he claims he can). 2k words. requested here

cw fem!reserved/shy!reader, first kiss, heavy kissing, mutual pining, eddie being a hot dork

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Some people (Steve) call Eddie your loser boyfriend, while other people (the girls at work) call him the rockstar. 

You see both sides of him now. 

“Sweetheart!” he calls, the passenger seat window rolled down, his voice strong where he shouts behind the wheel. The van bumps the curve, leaving a sanguine line of rust in its wake and a creak to make everybody on the sidewalk wince. 

“Hello,” you call back. 

The van hums. You wait for him to be at a definite stop before you approach, hands on the open window, leaning up so as to see him best. It’s not just a usual date night tonight, Eddie’s taking you to Indianapolis for a rock show, and he’s dressed the part. “Woah, you look cool,” you say, bravely, wondering if that’s the right thing to say. It’s undoubtedly true —he’s slicked his curls with mousse to define them and leave them pitch black in accordance with his eyeshadow, dark and tapped into his lash line. The top he wears is incredibly tight, carving the softer lines of his abs for anyone to see, and his black jacket is ripped in places to expose the ink of his tattoos. “Are they multiplying?” 

“What?” he asks, grinning at you. “Are you getting in? It’s freezing!” 

“Your tattoos,” you explain, opening the door and popping up into the van with one shoe on the step. 

“Shit, you wanna see?” 

You’re not scared of Eddie, you just like him. He doesn’t worry you, doesn’t pressure you, nothing nefarious about him. He’s pretty, he’s considerate, and he does stuff like this, peeling out of his jacket to flex his arm at you and show you the Saran wrapping around his bicep. “Like that one?” he asks.

He has nice arms, and they’re all the better for his painful obsession. His newest one is difficult to see well under the wrapping. He notices you squinting and moves it up, tape pulling his skin. 

“Another bat?” you ask. 

“Not cool?” 

“So cool,” you disagree. This bat is unlike the others on his arm, which are small and simple in comparison. This one is heavily detailed and very dark, fangs in small triangles bared. The eyes aglow. The skin around it is red. “Did you get that today?” 

“On a whim. Still wanna date me, or is it getting to be too much?” 

You can’t answer him, and he knows that. You’re not very good at navigating intimate conversation or circumstance, though you like him, and he must know that too. Or he must really like you. Your dates have been chaste. Only last time could you work up the courage to take his hand, but when you had, he rewarded your courage with a drove of tenderness, fingers rubbing your knuckles and squeezing soft patterns for hours at the back of the movie theatre. 

The drive to Indianapolis takes near enough an hour. Eddie puts you on map duty but doesn’t use it, ignoring your offer of directions on the insistence that he knows a shortcut and then rerouting when you get too lost. He tells you there are snacks for you in the centre console and laughs, endeared, when you pop the lid and smile at it all. You talk about the show, a band you’d never heard of but had wanted to see on the grounds of sharing his interests. That’s what couples do, right? They try to do things together. You have to put yourself out of your comfort zone, and you’re happy to try if it means you can do it with him. 

“You nervous?” he asks, pulling into the parking garage outside of the venue, a towering, multi-story fiasco crammed with cars and motorbikes. 

“No,” you say, not quite mumbling as you look down at your hands. 

“Good, don’t be. I’m gonna look after you, we’re gonna have a great time. And then we can get takeout after?” You look up. He stretches his arm out to glance at his watch. “I would’ve taken you before, but good old Indianapolis keeps getting further away.” He smiles apologetically. 

You laugh without meaning to. His smile ramps up a notch. 

“I love when you laugh. You have such a cute laugh,” he says. 

“I know you’re lying,” you say, still laughing anyways. 

“I’m not lying, I love the way you laugh!” He shakes his head, curls falling away from his face as he flicks on the light on the car roof. “We have half an hour till doors open.”

“You don’t wanna line up?” 

“It’s kind of overwhelming and I figured we’d stay near the back of the crowd for your first gig here, it gets pretty rowdy.” He says ‘pretty rowdy’ like a drag, nodding gently, eyes lit with mirth. You love it when he talks like that. 

“We can go now, get further in. I can handle it.” 

“It’s not about handling it, I want you to have a good time. Plus, they could ruin your nice dress.” 

You meet his gaze all smiles like he is, but heat flickers in your chest and in your stomach, and you have to look away. It’s an impulse you’ve always given into. You’re reserved in the feelings department but trying not to be, Eddie deserves reciprocation, but it’s hard. Either way, he seems to understand this about you, and he hasn’t complained. 

Still, a bedraggled silence falls. Nearly awkward, unsure of how to tread, you sit together in your separate seats listening to cars parking and doors opening, closing on either side of you, the headlights of the cars driving past glaringly bright, white flashing over your screwed palms. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

You’re sure Eddie wants to kiss you. Three nights ago at the movies, after an hour of languid hand holding, he’d looked at your lips no less than three times as he said good night. He told you he’d had an amazing time, and that he couldn’t wait to see you again. You’d said the same in earnest, and then he’d just walked away. All those stolen glances and he hadn’t made a move. 

“Eddie… why…” You poke your tongue into your bottom lip momentarily, chewing it over. “Why haven’t we kissed yet?” 

“Um–” He lets out a nervous giggle before roughly clearing his throat. You peek at him, watching intently as he takes his hair away from his face with two hands. “I’m just waiting on you, sweetheart. No pressure.” He laughs as he talks, a picture of panic, “You’re sort of shy about that stuff, you know? I didn’t wanna surprise you.” 

“But you do want to kiss me?” you ask unsurely.

He puts his hand on your knee, the space between you suddenly smaller and warmer, the light like white glaze on his pupils, illuminating his finer details. He has a mole nestled under his eyelashes too small to see until now; it catches your attention. You stare at him too long. 

“Of course I do,” he says, eyebrows pinching together in concern. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since I met you.” 

You nod and snap your head back to your lap. Why does he have to be so nice? You wish you’d listened to Steve, even if he was joking, you shouldn’t have ever said yes to Eddie, because now you’re terrified you can’t kiss him and you’ll ruin everything…

“Hey, it’s fine. I’m not waiting for anything. You can take your time or you could never kiss me, and I won’t care. I swear. I mean, I really want you to kiss me but I’ll find a way to cope, I’m sure.” He takes his hand from your leg softly. “Do you want my jacket? It’s cold out, n’ we should probably start walking.” 

You pull your head up slowly. 

He reads your hesitant expression. “I’m in no rush,” he promises, head ever so slightly ducked to yours. 

Okay, you think. Okay, I can do this. You hold your breath and start to lean in. He falters, a millisecond of misunderstanding, before he recognises what you’re doing and smiles. He reaches for your waist with enough care to give you a chance to change your mind, and when you’re close enough to feel his breath, his lashes shutter. 

You follow suit, blind, with nothing but your intuition as you press your lips to his. 

With a feeling like the hum of the engine under your hands, you bring your fingers to his soft cheek and hold him still. He breathes in harshly, touches you far from it, his palm slipping behind your back to pull you in. You lean into it; it feels natural to give in, to turn your head one way and part your lips, to have him kiss back with heat and surprising sweetness.

You feel unlike yourself in a good way, falling back to kiss forward again, a third time, trying to chase the lulling bliss of his lips. The stomach aching want. Your hand chases across his cheek and into the curls behind his ear, needing him closer but not expecting the sound it elicits. He sighs into your lips and you flinch back, startled by the sensation. 

Eddie rubs your back with his index finger, unjudging as you drop your head to catch your breath. 

“You okay?” he asks quietly. You can hear his affection. It’s palpable. 

You nod, a dizzy weight collected in your forehead, thankful when his free hand catches your cheek and he turns your face gently to the side. “I got too hot,” you confess, only half of the truth. 

“It was pretty hot.” He smiles at you like you’re the only person in the world, like you’ve a secret only he knows. “Want me to turn on the A/C?” 

“No, I–” want to kiss you again, you think. You might even tell him so, but he starts to blow on your face, disrupting any thoughts you’d had earlier. He purses his lips and blows cold breath on your cheek, a tenderness in his gaze and the tip of his thumb where it rests just under your eye. “Oh.” 

This might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for you. Your face feels precious in his careful hand, pretty under his longing look. You’re not scared when he encourages you back to his lips, your eyes quick to close, your hands across the gap of your seats to gather his shirt between tight fingers. 

His kiss is a reflection of him. Loser, rockstar, he’s eager and his hands start to betray that, his kissing melty hot and addictive as the tip of his nose presses hard to yours. You turn your face to accommodate him better and that small action drives him crazy. He’s pulling you in, smiling into your mouth, making breathy sounds that’ll stick around in your head ten times as long as the tingles filling your chest as just kisses and kisses and doesn’t stop. 

“M’sorry,” he says, pulling away, and then stealing another heavy, soft kiss like he couldn’t wait. “Sorry,” he apologises again, stroking the skin beside your eye to encourage you into opening them. “I’m not trying to get carried away. Just can’t believe you just kissed me.” 

“No, it’s okay, I– I really wanted to.” 

He kisses your cheek. You aren’t expecting it and you don’t know how to deal with it. It’s like kissing him has invigorated him, you’re a shot he knocked back, his excitement catching as he begs, “Close your eyes again, sweetheart, just one more–”

You raise your chin and he practically gasps, immediately pressing a last chaste kiss to your burning lips. 

“I’m not always like this,” he promises, leaning away, his fingertips falling from your face to trace down your neck, your shoulder. “You’re just so fucking pretty I lost my mind. I’m on best behaviour from now on, swears.” 

He raises his hand up in a scout’s honour. 

You breathe out happily. “Thank you.” 

“Oh my god. Quick, we better get out of this van before I lose my mind.” He shakes his head. “You’re insane. I have such a crush on you, holy fuck,” —he turns away from you and gets out of the van— “Jesus.” 

You pull down the sun visor to check your reflection in the mirror. You look thoroughly kissed, eyes aglow with it. 

“Fuck!” Eddie swears. You beam at yourself as he wraps on the window. “Come on, sweetheart! I have a concert to pretend to pay attention to.” 

You slink out of your seat, brave enough to try for another kiss so long as it doesn’t kill him dead right here in the parking lot. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed! I love knowing what you think and it means so much to me/ inspires me to write even more!!! <3 but of course I hope you enjoyed reading regardless :D 

[hotluncheddie]

eddie, steve

.🥞✨

‘uh, the pancakes with bacon please, extra syrup? thanks.’

eddie knows that order. he makes it every saturday night, so late it’s almost morning.

but he’s never heard that voice before, never heard it so close, right by the pass window.

he swallows. turning from the sink in the back to face out into the diner, someone’s sat at the counter, right across from him.

the most beautiful boy eddie’s ever seen.

he’s looking right at eddie, cheeks slightly pink, fiddling with a still wrapped straw. he looks perfect and cozy and adorable, hair sleep rumpled and in a hoodie that swallows up his soft lines, making him look even softer.

‘coming right up.’ eddie rasps, his own cheeks colouring.

but the boy, he smiles. ducks his head, looks up at eddie through his lashes.

eddie’s a fucking goner.

-

steve can’t believe it. his eyes are even bigger this close up, big and brown and sparkling with life.

his hands are just as nice this close up too, delicate but capable as they move around where steve can see. he sticks his tongue out a little when he concentrates. it’s adorable.

he’s the prettiest guy steve’s ever seen.

he puts steves finished pancakes in the window with a little smile, rings the bell and seems to blush even harder. almost cringing at the sound. it’s makes steve laugh, he’s cute.

and they’re still the best pancakes the midwest has to offer, at denny’s, at 3am. even sober and nervous and exited like he is.

steve can’t help closing his eyes like always when he takes his first bite. always blown away by their sweet fluffy texture. and he makes his way through them a little quicker than normal, without robin to distract him.

they taste as good as normal but he’s right there. right there watching steve eat them. something about it makes him feel shy, barely daring to look up from his plate. but when he does the line cook has the softest smile on his face and steve relaxes, tucks his hand under his hoodie to rest on his stomach like normal. finished his pancakes.

when steve looks up again, the guy is staring at his empty plate, kind of stuck in space. but then he vanished for a moment and the door to the kitchen opens. and he’s coming over, picking up the syrupy plate and he has freckles, bats tattooed on his arm.

he’s so close. he’s so pretty this close.

the prettiest guy steve’s ever seen.

‘eddie?’ steve blurts, exited, finally able to read his name tag. his names eddie.

his name is eddie.

eddie’s cheeks get pink, the tips of his ears. he looks at steve with wide eyes ‘yeah?’ he asks, voice small and confused.

steve grins at him. ‘your names eddie.’ and he watched eddie’s smile bloom, he has dimples.

‘wha’ eddie clears his throat. ‘what’s yours?’ and steve feels his heart burst, feels like sunshine and crisp leaves.

‘steve.’ he says, a little breathless.

‘steve.’ eddie whispers.

‘when do you go on break?’ steve asks, heart beating in his throat.

eddie just shrugs, eyes still wide. ‘whenever. as long as there’s no customers in.’ and steve realises he’s the only one here. it makes him blush more, for some reason.

‘make us another batch?’ he asks, deciding to be brave, leaning over the counter, just to be a little closer. ‘we can share.’ and it’s so worth it. to see the smile grow on eddie’s face, watch him nod, watch a curl slip out of his bun. watch him work his magic through that little pass window. stealing glances at steve as he goes.

-

watching steve enjoy his food is even better close up. even better than eddie could’ve imagined.

they’re sitting in steve’s usual booth, eddie’s where robin normally sits, he finally has a name for the cool girl steve hangs out with. gets to hear a little about how they met, can tell he loves her, so much. it’s sweet, his eyes shining as he talks.

so is the way steve cuts the pancakes, sweet, pushing perfectly stacked mouthfuls towards eddie to have. pancake, bacon, pancake. all covered in syrup, sticky and delicious.

eddie never really even liked pancakes much, more of a waffle guy. but sitting here, watching steve eat them, laughing and smiling at things eddie says. jaw just a little soft, upper lip smattered with hair. watching steve sigh and stretch when they’re done. that hand coming to rest on his stomach again, the way it always does, every saturday night.

eddie knows he’ll always love pancakes.

-

‘how do you get them to be so good?’ steve asks, hand circling eddie’s wrist loosely, stopping him before he goes back to his job, an orders come in, he has to go. but steve needs to ask, wants to know. wants one more moment with him.

eddie smiles, takes steve’s hand and kisses the back of it. and it’s so out of place, at denny’s, at 4 am that steve giggles, almost manic. it’s the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to him.

‘they’re made with love sweetheart.’ eddie says, looking up at him from his bow, kissing his hand again before walking away. the napkin with steve’s number on tucked safely in his back pocket.

steve’s forearm scrawled in the black ink of eddie’s own.

steve goes home and falls straight to sleep. so late its almost morning, like every saturday night.

he dreams of brown eyes, and syrup.

<3

fin.

ty for reading! mwah!

@xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @spectrum-spectre @stevesbipanic @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @acedorerryn @scoops-aboy86

[andersonfilms]

# LETTING IN WHITE HEAT ✶ abby anderson!

❝ vision go black, blood, letting in white heat.❞ ft. brakence

★⠀warning y disclaimers — eighteen+, f!reader, wlw sex, poc!friendly, labeling this as dubcon bc abby is mean but she’s sweet after, mean!abby, top!abby, bottom!reader, sub!ellie, loser coded!ellie, voyerisum, kinda mean rough sex, jealous!abby, slight nipple play, strap use r!recieving, abby has one filthy mouth, mommy kink, aftercare, abby is kinda really mean

her jealousy is soft at first, small ticks easily missed if you weren’t looking. the way her blue eyes would become cold like the atlantic, void of any warmth anytime another girl hugged you for a little too long, lingering touch your smooth arms, or the one time at a frat part this ellie chick your hair wrapped around a slender finger. she wouldn’t really react, besides pulling you closer to her, resting her chin on your shoulder, abby’s long fingers intertwined with yours. she knew you were gorgeous, anyone with eyes could see it, people were going to hit on you and it maybe it was annoying at times when abby just wanted you to herself, but she ignored them and just focused on you. but tonight? god, she couldn’t control it. she was failed miserably to keep her cool. it was happening right in front of her, and you weren’t dismissing ellie’s advances like you normally would. no. not at all. you were encouraging her by batting your long, luscious eyelashes at her emerald eyes. leaning away from abby and into her, letting your fingertips grazing the tattoo on her forearm as you giggle, fucking giggling, at a lame joke ellie was telling you. abby would deck her if you wouldn’t get upset about it. you’d forgive her, eventually, but abby knew some groveling would have to happen on her end. no, she wouldn’t have it this way. still, the situation nagged her in way she despised. apparently abby wasn’t giving you enough attention you had to seek it elsewhere and god, abby was going to make you regret it. baby let’s go somewhere more quiet, yeah? your little friend can even come, quietly she whispered in your ear.

it’s how you ended up in this position, getting fucked within an inch of you life, on all fours and your delicate fingers gripping the railing of the frame at the edge, headboard crashing against the wall the abby’s thrusts. lamely, ellie was fully clothed sitting in a velvet green chair placed next to the mirror, not like she could move. abby made sure of it. her brown leather belt bound ellie’s wrist so they laid flat in her lap, lust building up in her eyes as she took in the scene before her. abby’s pierced nipples on display, burly arms flexing as they gripped onto your ass, slapping every few thrusts, letting her meaty hands smooth over the sensitive area. all ellie wanted was to be in the mix, but abby would not let her. every grunt from abby’s lips made ellie’s dripping pussy clench. it wasn’t fucking fair, her keeping you like this, all to herself. the recoil of your ass and abby’s moans mixed together was enough to make ellie cum just from rubbing her thighs against each other, but the blonde’s filthy mouth only made matters worse, pushing her to the edge quicker than she would have liked. really, even expected.

“what you think she could fuck better than me, baby? is that why you were flirting with her? huh? what? too drunk on my cock you can’t fucking talk?” abby laughed before picking up her pace, a light mumble of mommy slipped past your whimpering lips, but it was loud enough for them both to hear. “that’s right, baby. mommy always has to punish you when you’re being a spoiled brat. what? you think she can fuck you like this? she’s half my size. couldn’t even pick you up even if she tried.”

ellie felt humiliated but she couldn’t stop herself from the pressure building up in the pit of her stomach. “c’mon ellie, i know you’re close. show me what a fucking loser you are and come for me. right now, baby. yeah, just like that. ruin those pretty boxers for me.” it doesn’t take anything else ellie to squirm in the chair, spurts of white, hot cum flooding her boxers, pretty eyes rolling into the back of her head as she slumped in the chair.

abby could fully focus on you now, all the attention she could give fully on you.she slipped her the strap out of your swollen, puffy pussy and made you ride her. intentionally, she wanted to punish ellie. she wanted her to see the pussy she would never have, gush over abby’s cock. your beefy girlfriend watched as you bounced on her cock, the swell of your tits bouncing rapidly as you fully sat on the girth. abby could feel the base nudge against her clit each time, her breaths becoming more erratic, watching her stupidly pretty girl chanting out mommy mommy mommy as her hips jerked sinfully. abby decided to help you, even if you didn’t deserve it.

she met you halfway, bucking her hips, meeting you with her strong thrusts as she bent her head down to suck on the perky bud. “mommy, fuck, please can i come?” but it seemed abby still had a bit of cruelness left in her. she released your nipple with a soft pop! she shoved her middle finger and ring finger into your mouth, before instructing you “suck.” abby chose to ignore you, but you obeyed. continuing to ride her cock as she made you practically gag on her long digits. when she felt like you had enough, she circled them on your clit. “you tell me, baby? do you deserve to cum?”

abby smirked as your eyebrows furrowed, trying to concentrate enough so you wouldn’t come without her permission. she’d only punish it for you later when the two of you were back at home. “i think….” abby slapped your ass with her free hand, letting her blunt fingernails digging into the delicate flesh. “you’ve been a bad girl tonight. haven’t you? what have i told you before? c’mon, let me hear it.”

“mommy only lets good girls cum.” between every word, abby delivers cruel thrusts to your cunt, making your pussy clench around her cock.

then abby was whispering in your ear, “but since we have an audience, i’ll just punish you at home, yeah?” she pauses, before she applies more pressure on your clit. “now, ride my cock like you mean it, baby.”

once your pace quicken, abby could feel the pressure build up, could feel her clit pulsating. she was close, but she needed you to cum first. need more than the air she breathed. god, she knew you were close too. you were slamming on her cock, chasing the high you could only get from abby and she knew exactly what you were craving. she removed her grip on your ass guiding you and wrapped it around your throat, applying just the amount of pressure you craved.

“yeah, is this what you needed? just needed mommy to choke you? i know, babygirl. are you going to cum for me? yeah, you are aren’t you? cum all over my cock. fuuuckkkkk, yes. yes. good girl, such a good girl for me.” you practically screamed out her name as you squirt everywhere, abby finds her release with you. abby’s thighs, yours, the sheets beneath you drenched in your sweet slick. and all ellie could do was watch as you collapse into abby’s body. your entire body shivering as you seeked comfort in your lovers’ arms. she watched as abby soothingly rubbed your back from the tip of you spine to your lower back. whispering sweet nothings in your ear, but ellie couldn’t hear them, intentional by the blonde for her not to. abby nearly crumbled as she watched abby take care of you, cleaning you up and assisting you with putting on your clothes. you sat on the edge of the bed, completely in a daze, waiting for abby.

once abby was dressed, she walked over to ellie, towering over her, sitting or standing didn’t really matter. with a mean grip, abby held ellie’s chin, applying enough pressure to get her almost bruise. “next time you flirt with my girl, it’ll be you getting fucked an inch within your life and unlike my beautiful baby, i’ll leave you alone like the dirty slut you are, unable to fucking walk, talk, move. got it?” abby left with you in her arms, but to ellie it sounded more like music to her ears.

pathetically, ellie watched as the couple walk out of the room, abby whispering in your ear as abby kissed your temple, shutting the door behind them. and then it dawned on her. she was still fucking tied up. fucking anderson.

an: yeah.......so this is a thing. hope you enjoyed it as much as i loved writing it! god do i need a blonde girl to fucking rail me

[sh4wty18]

hi! can you write a Johnnie x fem reader fluff where they get high and confess feelings?

confession.

pairing: johnnie guilbert x reader

summary: same as request.

cw: fluff, mentions of smoking 🍃 & getting high, language

word count: 1.2k + barely edited tbh

---

The low orange glow from the burning end of the joint flickers as Johnnie inhales. You were sitting on the floor in front of your open window, sharing a joint. He didn’t smoke often, but when he did it was usually only with you, Jake, or Carrington. You knew he often felt paranoid while high, so you never pressured him to join your late night smoke sessions, but you were always sure to offer. He usually accepted, just to spend time with you. 

He passes the joint back to you and you take another hit, your eyes lingering on him as he exhales the smoke out your bedroom window. His head rolls back and you admire his neck tattoos, wondering what he’d do if you leaned in and kissed them. 

Tara’s always said his feelings for you were evident from the first night you met him, six months ago. You had been visiting Tara (one of your high school best friends) for a long weekend, and it was that weekend when you met Jake and Johnnie for the first time. Of course you knew who they were, Tara talked about them all the time, and you’d seen the three of them interacting in Tara’s youtube videos. When Tara asked if you wanted to move in with her a couple months ago, you happily agreed. It was only after you’d moved in that Tara had told you about how Johnnie couldn’t stop talking about you. He brought you up in conversation often, since your first visit, wanting to know when you’d be back in town. When he’d found out you were moving to LA, he tried to mask his excitement, but Tara could see right through him.

He brought you flowers when you moved in, with a note in his swirly cursive handwriting that read “I’m glad you’re here” with his phone number. Since then you’d been hanging out often. You must’ve been better at hiding your feelings than Johnnie, because you’d felt the same way about him, only Tara had never brought it up. 

“What?” Johnnie asks, smiling at you, a hazy look in his droopy eyes. 

“Nothing… you’re just pretty.” You say, smiling, taking yet another hit from the joint before passing it back to him. 

He smiles softly and says, “One more and then I’m done,” before taking a long hit and letting out a loud, obnoxious cough. “Holy shit! Oh fuck! That was stupid, why did I do that??” 

You giggle, the wave of calm fully settling over you, “You okay, pretty boy?” You ask, which only causes Johnnie to cough harder, caught off guard at the nickname. 

What was coming over you? You’d gotten high with Johnnie before, but this time you felt a sense of confidence you weren’t used to. Maybe it was Tara’s words ringing out in your mind— He likes you, y/n, it’s so obvious. But he’ll never tell you. Johnnie’s not the kind of guy to open up to a pretty girl— but for some reason you just wanted to tell him everything you’d ever felt for him. 

“You’re staring again,” Johnnie says, after his coughing fit finally ended, “do I have something on my face or what?” 

You giggle again, “No! I just like your tattoos. You’re so cool.” 

He smiles, and his cheeks turn a rosy pink, “Oh yeah? Which ones are your favorite?” 

You scoot closer to him and bring a hand to his chin, tilting his head toward the window, “I love these,” you say, tracing a finger over his moon and bat tattoos on his face, “they bring more attention to your eyes, and your eyes are gorgeous.” 

He swallows hard as you lean in closer to him, your lips only inches away from his. You tilt his head back a bit and run your finger lazily down his neck, “And I love these. They’re just…” you trail off, and suddenly you make a decision without thinking. Before you know it you’re leaning in, kissing his spider tattoo and dragging your lips up closer to meet his jawline. He gasps and you pull away, mentally cursing yourself for doing something so reckless. 

“You… you’re kissing me.” Johnnie states, “You kissed me. Why did you do that?” 

“I don’t know! I-” you shake your head. “No. I do know. I… I like you, Johnnie.” You cringe at the childishness of it all. “Jesus, I sound like a five year old.” You turn away, all of your newfound confidence suddenly dissipating when you see Johnnie’s confused face staring back at you. Embarrassment takes over and you hide your face in your hands, which is arguably more childish than the confession itself, but you weren’t thinking clearly in your current state. 

The corners of his mouth upturn at your words and clear embarrassment, “Hey, look at me,” you look up he rests a hand on your cheek. “I like you too.” He cringes, but then lets out a giggle, “Oh God, we really do sound like children.”

Your laughing slowly stops and you take in the sight of each other. Truly looking at each other, indulging in every tiny detail of each others’ faces. 

He pushes a strand of hair behind your ear, the old movie cliche, before leaning in to kiss you. You kiss him back, scooting forward to straddle his lap where he sits. He wraps his arms around your back, pulling you into a sweet embrace. You drape your arms over his shoulders and bury your face in his neck, kissing him again. He laughs and you break away, giving him a mischievous smile, “What?” You ask him.

“I just… can’t believe this is finally happening, and the only reason we even had the balls to say anything is ‘cause were high.” He lets out another embarrassed giggle.

You smirk and kiss his cheek, “Are you saying you’ve had a crush on me all along, Guilbert?” 

“Maybe,” he blushes. 

“I’ll tell you a secret,” you whisper, leaning in close so your lips brush against his ear, “So have I.” 

You smile at him, and one of his hands moves from your back to your neck, pulling you down to kiss him again. Just as you slip your tongue into his mouth your bedroom door flings open, and Tara comes barging in.

“OMG, you’ll never guess who I saw at—”

“Shit! Tara!!” You scream, flinging yourself off Johnnie’s lap, but it’s too late, she’s seen it all. 

“Fucking finally!! I was getting tired of the constant yearning.” 

“You knew??” You ask, completely in shock that she had any idea of your feelings for him. 

“Duh. You’re not good at hiding your feelings. Neither of you are.” She giggles and backs out of your bedroom, closing the door with a quick “Goodnight.” 

You and Johnnie turn to each other, both your jaws hanging open. Then Johnnie bursts out laughing, and you can't help but do the same. His laugh is contagious. You climb back into his lap and replace your hands around his neck. He grips your lower back as your laughs simmer out. 

“Where were we?” You ask. 

“I think I remember,” Johnnie quips, and leans in to press his lips to yours once more.

---

sorry this took forever. i hope u liked it :)

[moonstruckme]

So, I know you don't commonly really write for steddie, and you don't have to write this if you don't wanna. But what about Like, reader graduates hawkins high and goes of to college (eddie is probably still held back for his last year???) And when she left she was more on the quite side, soft color pallet, kinda stariotypical pastel sunshine character. And she comes back for the summer and she's like, more punk-ish??? Like a few more piercings, and same kinda quite personality but kinda different aesthetic?

I think you could do something similar with poly!marauders as well, where same thing happens but it's over the summer between years?

Idk, you dont even have to write it, I just have a stupid soft spot for this weird trope/character arc. Make sure to take care of yourself and have a lovely day!!!!!

I'm happy to write for any characters on my list, thanks for requesting gorgeous! Hope you're having a lovely day and taking care of yourself as well <3

Steddie x fem!reader ♡ 637 words

Steve and Eddie are scanning the crowd for you up until the very moment you come up to them. Even then, it takes Eddie a second to recognize you. 

“Hey,” you say, tentative. 

“Hey,” Steve says, stepping forward. “Shit, honey, come here.” 

You grin, some of the apprehension easing from your features as you hug him. 

“Shit,” Eddie agrees, wrapping his arms around the both of you. “Almost didn’t recognize you, sunshine.” 

Sunshine might not even be the best nickname for you now. When you’d left for college last fall, you’d looked like the rainbow had befriended you personally. All pastels, colorful sweaters and flowy little skirts. Now, it’s like you’ve been plucked from a graphic novel. Your clothes are dark down to the shoes, with ripped black tights under your shorts and lace-up combat boots that, frankly, Eddie thinks might get a little hot in the Indiana summer. He wonders if you’d be amenable to him calling you his little bat. Or witchling, maybe? He’ll have to workshop it. 

“You look so different.” Steve sounds positively flabbergasted, stepping back to take you in more fully. “I mean, not a bad different, I just—wow, it’s really…” Eddie snickers. In his opinion, you look far less like someone Steve Harrington would ordinarily date (the girl next door, preppy style, Nancy Wheeler clone) and more like someone he would (cool as fuck). Luckily for you, they both love you down to your ooey gooey core no matter how you present yourself. 

“It’s a new look, babe, and it’s fucking sick,” Eddie summarizes. “Is this what college does to people? Maybe I should come visit.” 

You roll your eyes at him, flushing faintly. Another pro of your new style: the pink of your face stands out ever-so-much-more brilliantly against your new dark palate. 

“I’m serious, sweetheart,” Eddie goes on, delighting in watching your color change. “I need you to start coming to my shows so we can lure in your crowd. You’re too fucking cool for us now.” 

Your shoulders start to come up around your ears, but Steve saves you, tucking you under his arm with a kiss to the top of your head. “She was always too cool for us,” he says. It’s the truth, and Eddie sends you a wink to make sure you know he knows it. “You look amazing, really. God, we’ve missed you so—is that a tattoo?”

Eddie all but lunges for you. “Where?” 

“Here,” Steve says, stretching the collar of your shirt over your shoulder, where an inky design sits starkly against your skin. “Shit, this is so cool.” Eddie jostles for space, head squishing between yours and Steve’s to get a better look. “It really works for you.” 

You smile bashfully. “Thanks.” 

“Fuck me,” Eddie breathes, and you shiver pleasantly as his breath his your shoulder. “Actually, if I can get us to Steve’s in five minutes, would you top me right now? This is too fucking hot—oh, don’t look at me like that, Stevie boy. You know you like it too.” 

“I do,” Steve says, giving Eddie a look that’s probably aiming for stern but only hitting fond as he tries to coax your face from his chest. “It looks great honey, when did you get this?”

Your voice is characteristically quiet, but a bit proud, when you say, “That one’s from a couple months ago. I got my first last November, though.”

“Your first?” Eddie’s gobsmacked. “How many are there? Wait, no, don’t tell me.” He grabs you by the legs, hoisting you over his shoulder. “I wanna find ‘em.” 

“Eds, put me down!” You hiss in his ear, but your words are undercut by giggles. “Steve!”

“Sorry, but I’m kinda on board with this one,” Steve says with an apologetic shrug in your direction. He tosses Eddie the keys. 

[shadowyhideoutpeace]

Multi-fandom Fic Recs

(updated 09/08/24)

Part 2

ALL OTHER OSCAR ISSAC CHARACTERS ARE NOW HERE

Five Hargreeves

Fluff

We Only See Each Other at Weddings and Funerals | Run Boy Run

Attention

Catch

Illness

Mr. Jackson

I'm Better

Angels and Devils

Five x TEEN!Y/n

I Hate The Taste Of Coffee But I Love It On Your Lips

Stain

Five x reader blurb

Last night of the world

Heal My Heart

A Date at The End of The World

Wedding at the End of the World

Watching

Better

“If you seriously propose that I sit on your lap, I will kill you."

Angst

You're Fucking Pathetic

All versions of you

Forget-Me-Not

Slightly suggestive

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 , 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬

Retired

Series

amnesia, arguments and..attraction?

❝ It All Started With an Apocalypse ❞

Whispers

A Date at The End of The World

Masterlists

Parkersbliss

ch0c0-cake

Eddie Munson

Fluff

Cool As Hell

Eddie Munson x Henderson’s Sister!Reader

Untouchable

She Did More Than Try

Girlfriend

EDDIE MUNSON AS A DAD | Dad Munson part 2

RIBBONS, CHEERLEADERS, EDDIE

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ─ 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝟖𝟕'

𝐒𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ─ 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 '𝟖𝟔

Basketballs and Bat Tattoos

No Bone Zone

𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘎𝘪𝘳𝘭

Out of Touch In Harmony

Ten Things I Like About You

pretty

ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪɴɢᴍᴀɴ ᴅᴜꜱᴛɪɴ

kiss me

Play Pretend | Play Pretend | Part 2

SHE IS ART

HER

EDDIE MUNSON X SINCLAIR!READER (a/n this is a love letter to my fellow black readers <3)

Club Pickup

sailor boy

But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you…

she's stolen my heart

she’s an angel

Eddie Munson wouldn’t call you a hypocrite...

red in the face

late night drive !!

sinclair!reader that’s dating eddie

Angst

"a clueless eddie munson doesn't realize his best friend his jealous and pulling herself away from him."

ᴵ'ᵐ ᴬ ᶠᵃⁿ ᴼᶠ ᶜʰᵉᵉʳˡᵉᵃᵈᵉʳˢ

Eddie Munson x Pregnant!Henderson!reader

“Dumplin?”

Employee of the Month

DID YOU HAVE TO BE THAT HONEST?

It all went wrong in a night

Whiplash

Cherry Blossom Colored Kisses

Smut

“You are such a good girl.”

𝔰𝔢𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔱

The Blackout

Series

“I think I’m in love.”

The Metalhead and the Material Girl

oh, baby.

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲

Masterlist

loveronlineee

Eddie Munson Masterlist

𝗤𝗨𝗘𝗘𝗡𝗜𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗗𝗢𝗟𝗟𝗔

fettuccin-e

George Weasley

Fluff

Cool Off

The Set Up

Don't Make Her Wait

Dreamlike

Exactly my cup of tea.

Angst / fluff

Adrenaline

x of swords

The Rest Will Be History

PLEASE BE CAREFUL

war is over

wish it on your worst enemy

ANGST

𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞

Series/Masterlists

Can’t Stay Away

Seeing Her

[em-harlsnow]

Something I’ve had in my mind for a while, so I did a little speed-write:

When he gets back from his therapist, Mickey’s on the couch with his laptop open in front of him.

He doesn’t make a big deal of anything, just looks up, smiles and asks how it went. Today it wasn’t too taxing, just one of the fortnightly appointments that they can afford now. Ian smiles back.

“It was okay.”

“Just okay?” Mickey looks up from the laptop, paying full attention.

He blows out a breath. “Yeah. It was fine, really. Nothing huge.” He says, because nothing huge was revealed, nothing huge was said. Therapy just takes a lot out of him energy-wise.

“Okay.” Mickey replies, placing a hand on his knee, squeezing, and then returns to the screen.

“What are you looking at?” Ian asks, trying to peak.

“That stupid shit you like. Pin Interest or whatever the fuck.”

Ian rolls his eyes. “You like it, Mick. And I know you know it’s called Pinterest.”

Mickey shrugs.

“So, what are you looking at on Pin Interest?” He smirks and Mickey snorts.

“Tattoo ideas. I was thinkin’ of getting another one.” Mickey’s gaze is laser focused as he scans through images, saving some and scowling at others as if they personally offend him.

Ian’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Where do you want it?” He tries to picture his husband with more tattoos and very much likes the image. He likes his current ones too much to not want him to get more.

“I dunno, man. Some sleeves are cool. But they take ages to build up. Maybe just one on my shoulder to start.”

“That sounds good.” Ian tries to get closer, but he still can’t really see what Mickey’s looking at. “Can I see?” He asks, pointing at the device.

Mickey sighs like he’s the most annoying fucker on the planet, but he tilts the screen towards him anyway.

He can see now that Mickey’s searched up ‘black tattoo shoulder men’ and there are just piles on piles of buff men with shoulder tats.

“I like the snake one.” Mickey tells him, pointing at the picture he means. It’s a serpent winding around the top of the guy’s arm, tangling together and going down to the bottom of his bicep.

“Yeah, that one’s cool.” Ian agrees. “What about that one?” He points at one with a fine lined dragon reaching onto the guy’s peck.

“I guess, but I don’t want it too thin, you know? When they do it too intricate, the lines all blur together.” Ian hums in assent.

“Show me what you already have saved.”

Mickey clicks through the website, and Ian catches a glimpse of his pre-existing boards before he goes to the tattoo one. There’s one called ‘wedding’ and one called ‘apartment’ and one called ‘dope shit’. The cover photo of ‘dope shit’ is an aesthetic image of two beers and two cigarettes clasped in two hands. Ian’s not really surprised that this is what Mickey considers to be ‘dope shit’.

In the folder is a lot of similar things. Snakes, dragons, one cat with bat wings. One looks like a weird cross between a gun and a dagger. They’re all pretty hot, and Ian tells him about his favourites.

“I was thinkin’ of drawing it myself. I don’t wanna just copy what someone else has.”

“What did you do for this one?” Ian asks, grasping Mickey’s forearm.

“Drew it.” He explains simply, eyes not leaving the screen.

“Yeah? It’s good. You should draw the next one, too then.”

Mickey hums in agreement but continues to browse the website, probably looking for ideas.

Ian clicks on the TV, starting up an episode of New Girl while Mickey’s distracted.

They sit in peaceful silence for a while, until Mickey speaks again.

“There’s a tattoo place up the street. The reviews seem good. Don’t wanna go somewhere if they’ll just fuck it up.”

“That’s true.” Ian pauses. “If you’re getting one, I might get one too.”

Mickey raises his eyes brows in that expressive way of his. “You want a new tat? Fuckin’ copy cat.” He grumbles, but with the way he looks Ian up and down he can tell he’s not opposed.

“Yeah, been thinkin about it for a bit.”

“Oh yeah? What you thinkin, tough guy, I’ll look up some ideas.” Mickey suggests, already looking back at ‘Pin Interest’.

“Don’t worry, I already know what I want.”

When he doesn’t say more, Mickey huffs impatiently. “Gonna keep me waiting all night or what?”

Ian smirks and leans forward. “I was thinkin’ of an ‘MM’ tattoo, right here.” He tells him, pointing at a spot on the inside of his wrist.

Mickey looks surprised, and fond, and happy all at once. Even so, he tuts at him. “Tshc, you don’t have to do that just because I got your name.”

Ian rolls his eyes. “I fuckin’ know that, dork. I like the idea of having a more permanent thing than the rings.”

“Yeah, coz you keep fuckin’ losing your rings.”

“Well I’m sorry I don’t want it to fall down a drain or something, Mick.” He laughs, exasperated. “But a tattoo won’t fall down the drain.”

Mickey looks at him, and he’s so happy that Ian can’t help but wind their fingers together.

“You don’t want it to look like Mandy Milkovich, though. Gotta get my middle initial, too.”

“Wouldn’t her initials be ‘AM’? For Amanda?” Ian raises his eyebrows. Mickey scrunches his.

“Oh yeah.”

“You hate your middle name, anyway. And ‘MAM’ looks like I got something for my mum, I want this for you.”

“Yeah, you already got those titties for Monica.” Mickey jokes lightly and Ian pushes his side.

<3333

i might write a next part, where they actually go get them!

[roadkillremi]

Gothic/Punk/Grunge Reader Dating Scream Headcannons

Warnings : language, mentions Ghostface, mentions of bullying, underaged drinking mentioned

MasterList

Billy Loomis

He likes your sense of music and how you like the weird and darkness. Music in the car with him is super fun to listen to. He's more of a rock guy but would listen to goth/metal/grunge. Punk is iffy with him.

You two always watch scary movies together. You remind him of the girls from The Craft (👀 if you know you know).

He doesn't like that it may take you longer to get ready. He huffs and watches you do your hair/makeup. "Do you need that much hairspray?-" he'd ask, cringing at the smell of it. You'd give him a look before using more.

He enjoys that people see you as a threat. He finds it amusing and likes watching others react to you. Especially freshmen in high school, they seem terrified. Sometimes when Billy's behind you as you walk by them he goes "Boo." In a stern voice.

Your fashion. He adores it in an odd way. He watches you layer on a million accessories, sleeves, fishnets, etc. And goes, "you're gonna melt out there-". When he's right he helps de-layer you if you want. He likes dresses and skirts, he's a typical guy and likes it more if it's shorter. If he finds any weird jewelry he might get for you. Or he'll pull you over if you're with him. "look. It has bats." He acts like he doesn't care but he does.

When you first met Billy you thought he was some normal guy. He was popular and slept with a lot of girls. You ignored him a lot which made him more determined. Once you got to talk to him you realized he was cool. He said you reminded him of Elvira and that got your attention. You both ran into each other at Bradley's video. You also both fought over movies ; "It's cheesy-", "No. It's not. It's romantic!", "he's a vampire-".

Hair dying/stick and poke tattoos. He'll help you with the hair dye. But puts towels down everywhere and wears gloves. He doesn't want it in his hair or on him. He makes psycho movie jokes as he watches the hair dye go down the drain. Stick and poke tattoos at first he'd watch you. He'd stare so intensely. Then he'd offer to do it, he'd watch your face react to the needle.

Billy's the kind of guy that remembers small details. He knows your favorite movie, snack, album, outfit, blanket. He doesn't open up like ever. Once you do he may drop little snippets of his life.

Him being Ghostface. You were surprised, he seemed like a nice guy that liked weird things. Before you knew he was Ghostface, Ghostface would call you... A lot. "So what's your favorite scary movie?", "I'm not telling you that. You're a stranger.", "Come on.", "The Craft.", "That's not a scary movie.", "I know.". He knew you were intelligent but didn't know how you'd handle Ghostface. "Why? Wanna ask me out on a date?", "Maybe," "Well too bad I have a boyfriend and he's kinda scary so back off , bitch.". Billy smiled to himself when you said that, he was proud and felt loved. During Act 3 when he unmasked himself you simply stared. Billy just smiled, "You find this attractive don't you?"

Stu Macher

Stu is very supportive of your weirdness. He buys you clothes and jewelry and weird trinkets.

He himself isn't a very alt person. Your music tastes clash and it's kinda funny. One second it's Beasty Boys the next it's The Cure. He may like some rock and some punk.

You in fishnets are his weakness. Big thighs, small thighs, thighs with scars, thighs with hair, he doesn't care. Fishnets are sexy to him. He sees them, he goes feral. Especially if you're wearing shorts or a skirt with them. Even tights and thigh high stockings get him excited.

Dying hair is too much fun with him. You two get it everywhere and Stu ends up having some in his hair. You'd bleach it for him if he wants. He'd also pick out wacky hair colors for you. If you want he'd gel your hair into weird shapes. He laughs and giggles telling you not to look. Let's just say his dad runs out of hair gel.

He jokingly paints his nails black with you. If Billy makes a remark he'd go, "It's the new style. Get with it man!". He's also the man that'd blow on your nails to dry them.

He'd watch scary movies with you. But he talks a lot. He makes remarks during the whole thing. Sometimes you have to shut him up by handing him a beer.

He lets you decorate his house for Halloween. He's definitely more of a Christmas person but he makes a big deal out of Halloween for you. When he throws his Halloween party he gives you all the credit.

If people at school or wherever make remarks he laughs. Not because he agrees but because it's funny they'd think that. If someone calls you a devil worshiper he'd stick his tongue out and say, "Yeah and I'm the devil.". When he's drunk he asks you if you're a Satanist.

He has a morbid and dark humor. Some of you may enjoy that about him.

When Stu started liking you, you were a bit taken back. Like Billy, Stu is a popular guy. But he finds you attractive and genuine unlike Casey, his ex. He'd ask you stupid questions at first ; "Who's funeral?", "Are you depressed or something?". When he realized that only pushed you away he stopped.

If your parents don't like the fact you're goth/alt. Stu would quite literally tell them to shut up. He kinda hates it when other people tell you how to dress. It reminds him of his stuck up family telling him how to dress.

He thinks it's fun to see you do your makeup. He makes shape-shifting jokes, "Oh here they go. Turning into their true form.". Sometimes he'd make jokes about you doing his makeup. Then one day you do, he just mumbles "Please don't tell Billy.". He then poses in the mirror going "I'm so sexy.".

Stu is a Saturday morning cartoon kinda guy. But when you two are together Saturday mornings it's different stuff. The Munsters, Addams Family (Series), Beetlejuice (Series). Beetlejuice is his favorite though.

Him as Ghostface. He'd prank call you. Unlike Billy above who tested you. He'd go, "Nice PJs." While watching you in your house. He'd see it more as a game of hide and seek. He wouldn't actually hurt you, just scare you. During Act 3 when he unmasks himself, it's a bit shocking. I mean Stu is a caring goofy guy. He smiles widely at you and looks a bit crazed.

Tatum Riley

Her music genre is totally different. She won't bash your music taste but she doesn't like it. You two are total opposites and everyone thinks it's adorable.

She's definitely the person to go, "I dress you up and you dress me up!". You both have fun styling each other.

Movie nights would be difficult to agree on. You both like different types of movies but Tatum would definitely love Elvira. She'd be down for a drama thriller. She makes popcorn and gets blankets and is all cozy.

She's the type of girl to give you a bracelet of hers to wear. It's the only pop of bright color. It's her way of claiming you.

She'd definitely paint your nails black for you. Dying hair, totally! She wouldn't be as messy as Stu though. You both do your makeup at the exact same time. Sometimes the mirror gets crowded, but she claims she enjoys doing it with you.

She'd get you weird yet cute gifts. Like those stuffed animals but is a skeleton.

She loves to show off your sense of style. She isn't embarrassed by you at all. If anything she's your guard dog. If anyone made a remark ; "What'd you say? That's what I thought keep it to yourself. Maybe it'll make your dick grow bigger.".

Mall trips are a must with her, she even goes into a hot topic for you. And you go into stores she wants to. She tries to help find your style of clothes. You two also style each other's jewelry.

It wasn't exactly obvious she liked you but there were hints. She used Stu as her man on the inside. She makes him ask you about your crush and stuff like that. He soon gets fed up and reveals her secret. She yells that she was gonna tell you but wasn't sure. (Especially if you're a Fem reader. She doesn't want to make you uncomfortable if you don't date girls.).

You go costume shopping for Halloween together. She's more in the sexy side of the spectrum of costumes.

Sydney Prescott

Sydney found you interesting. You expressed yourself and she enjoyed that. Like Tatum, both of your styles clash. Her room is pink, white, and soft, while yours isn't.

She doesn't really care what people say about you. she rolls her eyes at people and sends Tatum after them She wants to know you for herself. When Sydney's mom died you stood up for her. When all those girls or whatever thought it was her. You two bonded over feeling like a misfit.

Sydney's not a scary movie girl. She would watch the Addams family, Munsters, Elvira, Vampira, stuff like that.

After Ghostface, assuming you'd survive. You two stuck together. She was more protective and aware.

Scream 2 - (If Fem) You two would dorm together. Not for naughty reasons. For safety. She's also the type of girl to get you pepper spray. (If Masc) she'd check on you and call you. She wants to make sure you got back safe.

Scream 3 - she knew you were into scary and weird movies. So it was a bit exciting to be in Hollywood for you. But not under the circumstances.

Randy Meeks

You definitely were on his suspect list. He couldn't explain why you just were.

He was a bit scared of you at first. You never did anything to frighten him. But Randy looks like he's scared of anyone he's attracted to.

You weren't very surprised when he told you he liked you. It was obvious.

He definitely took note of your video rentals at work. Then he'd ask for your opinion, it was the only reason why he had the courage to talk to you.

He likes your sense of style. I mean he's a fashionista himself with his matching green shirt and shoes. He finds it cool and reminds him of his horror movies. Like Stu, he would go feral for any skin showing. Fishnets too. I feel like leather and chains also. It may or may not be kinky but he likes them on you.

When you ask him for help to dye your hair. He asks Tatum for help. She tells him to read the instructions ; "I did. They're stupid. So I just soak their hair with it and wait. Okay got it." Then a couple minutes later ; "Will it stain my skin..? I may have got some on my face.".

Randy doesn't mind being with you in public. If anyone said anything to you he'd mock them. Or do a stupid voice or impression of a character. There's no telling with him.

He watches you do your makeup sometimes. When he does he seems impressed. Like Stu, he thinks you're a shape shifter.

You two love your weird scary movies. You watch them all the time. Randy is just happy to be with someone who enjoys it. He's a cuddler too! He'd cuddle you while you watch your movies.

At Halloween you two thrive. It's you guy's favorite time of the year. Couple costumes are a must. He also still goes trick or treating.

When Ghostface starts killing you two stick together. While he's at work you're chilling with him. If anything strange happens he tells you to call him. At Stus party he warns you ahead of time.

Scream 2 : (if Masc) oh you two definitely formed together. And he took advantage of it. Though your room decor doesn't match his. It was perfect. (If Fem)he practically lived in your dorm. Sydney would have to tell him to leave sometimes.

He's the boyfriend to give you a taser. Not a small one. A police grade taser.

He still shows you off. Now that he's more confident hes more of a guard dog like. He also says he wants to make a movie with a main character like you.

[jqmalikhsgib]

midnight sky

one

what you were doing was absolutely insane! you just met the man not even twenty four hours ago. but the connection the two of you had was incredible, almost like you were made for each other. maybe you were.

the day started off like every other morning. you groaned as your alarm clock went off, got out of bed, took a quick shower, brushed your teeth, and finally made it down town to your favorite local coffee shop.

you ordered a basic coffee and a pastry before sitting in your normal spot, far in the back. you took your laptop out of your bag and began grading papers, groaning and rolling your eyes at the students who didn’t turn in a paper yet.

after about thirty minutes you heard commotion outside. normally you’d ignore it. it’s new york city after all, it was always filled with nosy people. today was different! flashes came from the window, almost blinding you more than the sun.

you heard people screaming as if someone fell and died. you looked up and saw the paparazzi outside. frowning, you grabbed your things and headed for the door.

“shit! im sorry, love!”

groaning at your coffee spilling on the ground, you were ready to yell at whoever this pretentious actor or whatever he was! not caring if the media and his fans tore you a new one.

“watch where you—”

you couldn’t even finish your sentence. he was the most beautiful man you had ever seen. from his buzzed hair cut, beautiful brown eyes, tattooed neck, and his attire. he was the most attractive man you’ve ever seen.

“are you alright, babe?” even his accent was perfect.

“uh—yeah—yeah! im sorry.”

he chuckles, “it’s my fault, really.”

you were frozen. completely mesmerized by this beautiful man in front of you. your heart skipped a beat.

“it’s fine—um, i should get going.” you began walking away, pushing through the loads of paps. you needed to get far away so you could get that man out of your mind.

unfortunately the moment you got home you looked him up. you needed to know who he was and where he was from. you searched the location of the coffee shop and found tmz reporting the images.

“zayn malik. fuck, even his name is perfect!” you dived into everything zayn malik and began to sigh. soon you find his instagram, noticing he only had a few post. you assumed he deleted his old post due to him starting a new era for his next album.

biting your lip you sigh as you close your eyes processing. god, where you an idiot for even thinking about messaging him. maybe? you knew he probably got thousands of messages everyday, but it was something about him. you click on his profile, clicked on message, and began typing.

‘hi..god, you probably won’t see this, most likely won’t even open it, won’t bat an eye, but i thought i should text you. i guess im intrigued you could say.’

you wait patiently until you heard your phone vibrate. you had never picked up your phone so quickly. you smiled hugely when you saw it was him that sent you a message.

‘hey! normally i don’t open this app unless im posting something about me music or a selfie. coffee shop girl, right?’

smiling, you typed,

‘yeah! sorry about spilling that coffee by the way. im normally not that clumsy.’

‘haha!’

‘it’s cool, babe. got a three year old! use to clumsy.’

‘oh? didn’t noticed you had a kid. gonna be honest, i kinda went on a bit of a stalker session finding you.’

‘really? that’s cute!’

‘yeah! got a daughter. she’s the sweetest thing ever!’

‘i love kids! i always wanted to teach kids instead of middle schoolers. kids love to color and draw. middle schoolers love to gossip and fight.’

‘ha! not ready for that at all!’

‘you’re a teacher, huh? that was my career path before i became a musician.’

‘i enjoy teaching! wanted to since i could remember!’

‘you guys are doing great work! deserve a pay raise!!’

‘tell that to the us government. 😩’

‘fuck them all!!!’

‘agreed!’

‘how bout i meet you up for a coffee? promise, no paps this time?’

‘right now?’

‘yeah…is that okay, babe?’

‘yeah—yeah! ill be there in twenty.’

‘cool! see you soon ;)’

you never got ready so fast in your life. heading downstairs from your building and walking a few blocks to the coffee shop, you spot zero paps and zayn sitting inside your booth. you smile before walking into the building. when he spots you, he smiles at you, stands up, and gives you a hug.

“hey.”

“hi.” you sit in the seat right across from him.

“never got your name. your instagram account doesn’t give it away.”

you blush. you created your instagram when you were in middle school. being overly obsessed with harry potter as a kid and extremely dorky, you had to go with ‘voldedork_hp,’

you never got around to changing it. now you regret that decision one hundred percent. “im sorry about that. a little embarrassed.”

“don’t be! it’s cute. im a huge harry potter fan myself. i went as voldemort last halloween as a mater-of-fact.”

“my names yn.”

“it’s nice to meet you yn. you have a lovely name by the way.”

you snort. feeling like your name was completely bland compared to his!

“may i ask where you’re from? your accent, it’s pretty thick, even for someone born in the uk.”

zayn chuckles. “yeah! m’from bradford england. my pops is pakistani so my accent comes out a little bit stronger i guess. what about you? you don’t sound like a new yorker.” he takes a sip of his coffee.

“im not! born and raised in texas actually.”

“texas, huh? you’re a little way from home, yeah?”

“i got a full scholarship for new york university! i couldn’t pass on that opportunity.”

“brains and beauty, huh?”

you blush. he was definitely a flirt! the two of you got to know one another for the next four hours. you both lost track of time. zayn phone blows up and he continues to ignore it. enjoying his time getting to know the pretty woman across from him. you were loving the company and conversation. it felt like you knew each other for the longest time. you were both laughing and listening to each other tell some crazy story. it felt right.

“how about we get out of this coffee shop, yeah? maybe walk around new york? i promise, no paps. i know places they’ll never go.” he winks at you. you nod before getting out of the booth. zayn grabs your hand and interlocks your fingers.

you were surprised but you didn’t object or pull away. zayn paid for his coffee, leaving a generous tip before leaving. you walk hand and hand around new york, enjoying each other’s company. you continued to talk about everything. the two of you got along so well, you felt crazy for already falling for him. you just met the man! how could you already have such strong feelings for the musician? were you seriously losing your mind? you just couldn’t help how you felt though.

zayn felt the same way. it’s why, standing in front of a courthouse, holding your hand as the moonlight shines, he got the craziest idea. he stops, looks you in the eye, and caresses your cheek. “may i kiss you, babe?”

you blushed, nodding nonetheless. when his lips touched yours, you felt the whole world stopped. god, how could such a beautiful man be this perfect? when he pulls away he grabs your hand and runs across the street. it was like faith, standing in front of a kay jewelers and a bridal shop. you laugh as he looks at you with the biggest grin on his face.

“what?”

“this is gonna be the craziest thing ive ever done or said but, i just—i feel like ive known you for the longest time. you’re beautiful, funny, smart, and amazing. i—i feel like we’re meant to be, meant to meet each other. and you, god maybe this is insane! you can totally say no, kick my ass, slap me, whatever you want, but this is just perfect. it’s almost like faith,”

“what is it?” you asked nervously.

“a jeweler, a bridal shop, and a courthouse right across the street. maybe this is the universe telling us to just go for it. let’s get married.”

normally if a man had asked you this you’d laugh in his face. you’d think he was absolutely insane for even suggesting this idea. but seeing all the key details, it’s like a story from a fairytale! who were you to pass up a fairytale story?

“okay!”

“yeah?”

you nod your head. zayn kisses you passionately before calling up taryn to be a witness! once he convinced her, he grabs your hand, head into the jewelry parlor, the two of you pick your rings before going to the bridal shop and grabbing the most gorgeous dress and a suit, before heading across the street to officially get married.

“are we doing this, forreal?”

“yeah, yeah we are! let’s get married, baby!”

and before you know it, you become misses malik. a true fairytale.

i really hope you all like this fic! it’s not enough zayn fics out there and i need people to make some!

what do you think?

if you wanna be added to taglist please don’t hesitate to ask!!!

[stevesbipanic]

I heard Punk! Steve and came running to your ask box 😂😅

Anyways tell me more please

Ofc Ally ❤️ I give you the origin of Punk!Steve.

After the events of 1985, The Harringtons never returned. They left a voicemail for Steve, something along the lines of bad investments, disappointments and don't call. Steve didn't hear it til he got out of the hospital. He broke down, went on a bender for a week that only Robin managed to pull him out of once she found his house.

They talked a lot, about childhoods and being misunderstood. Steve felt he could tell Robin anything after their time in the mall bathroom and so he did. Robin had brlught a book about the library about overcoming trauma. It probably hadn't been the books intention, but they burnt a lot of stuff that night. A big bonfire by the pool, chatting the precious lawn, Steve didn't care.

They burnt the couch, the pool chairs, his parents mattress, bits of his rooms wallpaper, shirts, that stupid car picture. Anything that his parents had given him that was meant to build him in their image.

Next was the bathroom. Clippers in hand Steve shaved the side of Robin's hair and she did both of his sides in return. Robin cracked a joke that no matter what they did to Steve's hair it still looked perfect. Steve wanted more. A trip the the drugstore provided an answer. A quick bleach and dye later and Robin and Steve giggled at the red tipped hair.

They weren't done, Steve never wanted them to be done, with every hour he felt more free.

"You sure this is safe?"

"No but I saw a girl do it in the bathroom at school and your room is probably more sanitary."

"OW WHAT HAPPENED TO 1 2 3!"

Steve thought the safety pins through his ears were cool.

"When you turn 18, were getting matching tattoos."

"Soulmates for life, dingus."

The following weekend they took a trip to Indianapolis. They checked out thrift shops and spray painted storefronts. Steve traded his converse for docs, his polo's for ripped and mesh shirts. Splashes of solid colour were added to his look. They ripped his jeans in the car. Steve hoarded pins upon pins.

Back home, Robin carefully lined his eyes in dark kohl. His eyes becoming sharp and calculated. He smiled at himself in the mirror, staring back he finally saw Steve, just Steve made completely by him.

"Honestly, looking like this I could carry around my bat."

"Would certainly be convenient next time we're captured by Russians."

Steve rolled his eyes looking back at her lounging on his bed.

"What're you reading?"

"Oh? Um it's a zine I picked up at the last store, you know...the one with the pink triangle?"

"Oh that one." Robin had been educating him about queer history as much as she could for a small town girl. "What's it about?"

Robin bit her lip, "Um well, it's about people like me, and people not quite like me, ya know? Like there's a whole bunch of labels out there, I just wanted to make sure mine fit."

Steve smiled, "And what did you learn?"

"Definitely a lesbian, sorry babes." Steve laughed in return, his feelings for Robin had shifted firmly to platonic and she knew that. "Here, you should take a look, will help broaden ya education."

Steve took the zine and started to flip through it. Inside it detailed genders and sexualities. Steve was intrigued to find out there were more than just boys and girls, but that wasn't what caught his attention the most.

Bisexuality

Steve's eyes seemed to linger on the page, almost for too long.

"Steve? You ok? If you're getting a migraine again we can read it later, no rush."

Steve pulled his eyes away, "No, um, no migraine, it's just, um..." Robin could easily pick up the hesitation in his voice, there was a slight tremor in his hands. She slowly leant over, taking back the zine.

"Oh, Steve."

"Just didn't know a person could be that."

"How does it make you feel?"

"Honestly, I feel more like me than I have my whole life. Thank you, Robs, for all of thos you know."

"Course, dingus, you're my schmuck for life, and... I'm always here if you need to talk about things."

Steve nodded, no words were needed now between them, there would be more days, more discoveries. But now, for now they could sit together, two broken kids feeling a little more whole.

Just Robin.

Just Steve.

Just Them.

[harrywavycurly]

OMG , Eddie eating chicken Nugs and Mac and Cheese with a toddler and trying to answer all of the ‘But why Daddy?’ Questions melts my ❤️. I can picture him sitting at a tiny table in a tiny chair and having a tea party, or having a little girl playing with his hair❤️

Hiii my lovey!! So you’re just like out for blood huh? Trying to come straight for my heart on this Sunday night? That’s fine…everything is fine and honestly I hope this turns you to mush like it did me🥹💖

*Eddie normally has all the answers but tonight..he’s struggling*

Eddie is at a loss for words as his four year old daughter stares at him from across the table with a face covered in Mac and cheese. She had been firing off questions left and right as soon as he had picked her up from pre k and for the first ten minutes they’d been the usual “why is the sky blue?” and “why are my eyes brown but Dillon’s are green?” type of questions but just as Eddie sat down to eat she had thrown him a curve ball.

“Well daddy?” Eddie just shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair as his little girl picks up another spoonful of macaroni. “Why do you have bats on your arm?” She asks for the second time and Eddie is quick to notice a slight annoyance in her voice clearly wanting him to answer her now rather than later.

“Firstly honey don’t talk with your mouth full.” Eddie watches as the little girl tries her best to roll her eyes at him, something he swears makes her look exactly like her mother. “Secondly I have them because uh…I thought they looked cool.” He instantly knows she’s not going to accept that answer by the way she places her spoon on the side of her bowl and let’s out a huff.

“Uncle Steve said you got them because you were young and silly.” Eddie rolls his eyes at the mention of good ole uncle Steve. “I’m young so can I get some bats too?” Eddie feels his eyes go wide at the mere thought of his little girl getting a tattoo.

“Absolutely not.” His daughter pokes out her bottom lip in a sad attempt to make Eddie change his answer but luckily for him he is growing immune to her sneaky tricks. “Ask me again when you’re thirty.” He adds making his daughter groan as she hops down from her chair and heads for her room.

“Thirty? I’ll be so old by then.” She mumbles making Eddie laugh as he finally begins to eat his dinner.

[hlizr50]

Sooo remember yesterday when I reblogged that amazing art by elenana.art on Instagram?

Well, I couldn't stop myself from writing a drabble for my Gwynriel headcanon that it inspired... So here it is!

And there's no angst!!

Read on AO3

Nesta rolled her eyes, unwilling to give her sister the satisfaction of, well, being right.

“The drummer was kinda hot, I guess,” she muttered. ‘Kinda hot’ was a gross understatement for the colossal man who had manned the drums during the trio’s set. The Bat Boys, they called themselves. And that drummer had been nothing less than drool-worthy.

“What do you mean ‘I guess’?! Have you seen his biceps?” Feyre sputtered.

Oh yes. Yes, she definitely had.

“Okay, but what’s with all the tattoos?” Nesta demanded, lifting a brow. “They’re a band, Feyre, not the yakuza.” Her sister’s answering expression was unimpressed, to say the very least.

“I should’ve just brought Elain.”

The Hell she should have.

With another eyeroll, Nesta snapped, “Don’t be silly. Those tattoos would give Elain a heart attack. Besides, she’s—“

Her sentence was cut off when she ran face first into a wall of black.

“Hey!” She seethed. “Watch where you’re…” Nesta looked up, ready to give the offending obstacle her famed I-will-slay-my-enemies expression. Her gaze drifted up… and up and up. Over the collar of the tight fitting black tee and the tendrils of ink that peeked out over it. Over the jaw that was sharp as a knife. Over the beautiful lips, straight nose, and high cheekbones. Until her eyes were met with churning hazel — nearly gold. The bassist.

Holy fuck, was he pretty.

Nesta gaped at him, all lean muscle and height. Not as ruggedly handsome as the drummer, but unfairly gorgeous, nonetheless. Beautiful enough to make the two women gape as he stared back down at them, his face a mask of cool disinterest.

Absolute, awkward silence.

“Um… could you let me through, please?” His voice was as deep and rich as the instrument he played, even if it was soft as a whisper.

What planet of perfection had this guy come from?

“Oh, yeah,” Feyre stammered, pushing Nesta to the side. “Sorry.” The towering, tattooed god of a man passed between them as they stared, slack-jawed.

Forget the drummer. An angel had just appeared before them. Nesta dramatically sucked in a breath as her sister began giggling like a fan girl.

Typical.

But there was still a chance to shoot her shot—

“Az!” Someone called from behind them. And then, passing between them as the bassist had, a blur of cobalt blue topped with a curtain of copper bounded up to the tall, dark, handsome man.

And his whole demeanor… changed.

He’d turned just in time for the woman to barrel into him, and his whole face lit up. If Nesta had thought him attractive before, that bright white smile — complete with a little dimple on one side — sent him straight into drop-dead gorgeous territory.

“Bird. You made it,” the bassist — Az, apparently — murmured into the woman’s hair, his arms wrapping around her shoulders. Her arms were pale against his bronzed skin, and Nesta couldn’t help but notice how much she looked like…

“Gwyn?”

Her pin straight mane flew as the woman’s head jerked, meeting Nesta’s stare with wide, teal eyes.

“Nesta? What are you—“

“Wait, this is the guy you’ve been seeing?” Nesta didn’t need to wait for an answer. Not when Gwyn’s cheeks turned the most incriminating shade of pink.

With a nervous laugh, she replied, “Nesta, this is Azriel.” Icy eyes narrowed on the couple, keenly aware that Azriel’s hand had not moved from Gwyn’s hip and Gwyn’s arm had remained around the musician’s waist. “Azriel, Nesta.”

“I’m Feyre,” Nesta’s sister chimed in, earning a scathing side-eye.

The towering bassist chuckled, pulling Gwyn into his side and dipping his chin toward her. “Have you been keeping me a secret from your friends, Gwyneth?” He teased, only fanning her blush into a roaring red.

Turning to him with beseeching eyes, she exclaimed, “No!” Then she dragged her lower lip between her teeth and looked away from him. “I just… haven’t dated much and I wanted it to be… all mine. For a bit.”

Well, much to Nesta’s displeasure, that was incredibly sweet. It wasn’t that she was unhappy with Gwyn — the redhead she’d met at work was more like a sister to her than a friend, and she deserved only the most wonderful things.

It was the musician that was the focal point of her skepticism now. She’d been drooling over him only moments before, but a man would have to be nearly perfect to even get close to being deserving of Gwyneth Berdara.

Azriel leaned in and pressed his lips tenderly against Gwyn’s temple. “Of course, bird. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Well, he sure was smooth, wasn’t he?

“It’s nice to meet you both,” he added with a warm smile and a nod. “You can come back to the green room with us if you want. We have some food and a bar. And I’m sure Rhys and Cass would love the company.”

And with that, Azriel returned his focus to the freckle-faced woman at his side, guiding her gently down the hall. After a moment of stunned silence, Nesta shook her head and began to follow, dragging her sister along.

Perhaps the drummer would do, after all.

Tag List... I don't have my Gwynriel list handy, so sorry in advance...

@headcanonheadcase @daevastanner @beaumaismortel @vikingmagic33 @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @sunshinebingo @shadowsxgwynriel @freyjas-musings @foreverinelysian @mystical-blaise @positivewitch @thecrispypotatochip @sv0430 @almosttenaciousmoon @aldbooks

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

North To The Future [Chapter 8: Crash And Burn]

The year is 1999. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, discussions of sex, actual sex (18+ readers only), near-death experiences, health crises, hospitals, questionable tattoos, trout with Trent.

Word count: 6.7k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: ​​​​@elsolario​ @ladylannisterxo​ @doingfondue​ @tclegane​ @quartzs-posts​ @liathelioness​ @aemcndtargaryen​ @thelittleswanao3​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @b1gb3anz​ @hinata7346​ @poohxlove​ @borikenlove​ @myspotofcraziness​ @travelingmypassion​ @graykageyama​ @skythighs​ @lauraneedstochill​ @darlingimafangirl​ @charenlie​ @thewew​ @eddies-bat-tattoos​ @minttea07​ @joliettes​ @trifoliumviridi​ @bornbetter​ @flowerpotmage​ @thewitch-lives​ @courtenbae​ @tempt-ress​ @padfooteyes​ @teenagecriminalmastermind​ 

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

“He broke up with me.” Kimmie hasn’t taken a single sip of her Miller Lite. She’s staring right past you and Heather, her eyes glassy puddles shimmering with reflections of multicolored Christmas lights. It’s Monday, December 13th, and Dale’s stereo is playing Queen’s Thank God It’s Christmas. You’re in the usual booth and waiting for the boys to get off work. Outside the frosted windows is an ocean of darkness punctuated by narrow aisles of murky streetlight luminescence. “He actually broke up with me.”

Heather snaps her fingers in front of Kimmie’s face. “Uh, Kimmie, Earth to Kimmie, yeah, can you give us a little more exposition, please? When exactly did this happen?”

“Yesterday,” Kimmie says, slightly more present now. “He’d been weird since the hike, super depressed, super boring…he wasn’t even interested in doggie style, and he loves doggie style!”

“Boundaries, Kimmie,” Heather pleads.

“So he called me to come over last night and I went to see him and he was…like…sitting on his couch with his hands folded in his lap like it was a freaking job interview. And he explained that he thought I was totally great and that we’d had a lot of fun together but now he had to break things off for personal reasons.”

“Wow, personal reasons, wow,” Heather muses. She doesn’t turn to look at you, but she does kick your boot under the table. You pretend not to notice.

“Wow,” Joyce echoes wryly, flipping a page in her current fantasy novel. There’s some stately prince on the front cover: crown, sword, shield, long flowing hair like a river of white gold.

“I don’t even care that much,” Kimmie realizes as she’s saying it. “I mean, it was nearing its expiration date anyway. I’m going to get back together with Brad, Aegon’s going to presumably resume sleeping his way through Juneau…or maybe try out taking a vow of celibacy, who knows, he’s been very monkish the past few days. He can be fun sometimes, and I like him, and I wish him all the best, but there’s no future for us. I just realized that he’s the first guy who ever broke up with me instead of the other way around. It feels…not great!”

“Congratulations, you’re a mortal,” Joyce says, not looking up from her book.

“So you wouldn’t care if Aegon got with someone else?” Heather asks Kimmie innocently. This time, you kick Heather. She winces but bites back a hiss of pain.

Kimmie considers this, finally taking a swig of her I’m-a-cool-girl-who-likes-hockey-and-trucks beer. “No, probably not.”

I won’t do it, you vow to yourself with false stoicism, imagined iron you wish you were really made of. I won’t date him, I won’t sleep with him, I won’t fall in love with him. And yet part of you already knows it’s too late. Part of you knows this as if it’s been inked to your skin like the scrawled, secret entries of a journal.

Ursa Minor’s front door bangs open, and what you see when you turn to look doesn’t make any sense. Rob and Trent—both dripping wet, their hair plastered flat to their heads, their boots squeaking on the hardwood floor—rush inside. There are shouts and gasps and people leaping up out of their seats to get a better look. Trent is carrying something over one of his lumberjack-broad shoulders. He kneels to throw it down onto the floor. It’s Aegon: limp, bluish, unconscious.

“Someone call somebody!” Trent bellows. He’s staring down at Aegon in panic, in terror, not knowing what to do. Beads of water run down his face. “An ambulance or 911 or a helicopter…or…or somebody!”

“Got it!” Dale says, darting for the phone behind the bar. Kimmie is shrieking. Joyce is trying to calm her down. And by then, you’re on the floor beside Aegon feeling for a pulse on his carotid. He doesn’t have one. He’s cold and he’s silent and he’s medically dead.

“He fell,” Trent says franticly, helplessly. “We were bringing the boat into the harbor and he got tangled in a net and fell overboard. I pulled him out, but he was underwater for a while and we couldn’t…we couldn’t wake him up…”

“Aegon?!” you scream, shaking him, slapping him across his icy, vacant face. “Aegon, wake up, wake up, please wake up!”

Heather is next to you. “What can I do?”

“Help me get his wet clothes off. Hypothermia.”

She yanks at his boots, his socks, his jeans. “You know how to do CPR, right?”

“Yeah, on a dog!” Still, you have to try. How long can he go without a pulse until he’s braindead? Four minutes? Five? The cold might buy him extra time, but not much. Minutes. You rip off his red flannel shirt; buttons go careening across the wet floor. As you place your palms over his heart, you notice—fleetingly, dazedly, like sloshing through a dream—that he has a scattering of scars on his chest, gashes and punctures and knicks…and two tattoos. There is a dragon spiraled around his right collarbone. Just below his left, there are three words written in light, graceful cursive: I’m a killer.

You start chest compressions. How many am I supposed to do on a human? Ten? Twenty? You can’t remember. You’re sobbing; you aren’t sure when that started, but it’s in full force now. Heather mops the tears from your face with her sleeve so you can see.

He’s going to die, you think. He’s going to die lying on the floor of this bar in his boxers, and he will never tell me anything again, and he will never see his family again, and he will never get better. The channel killed Jesse and now it’s killed Aegon too.

“Is he dead?!” Kimmie yelps from across the room. “Please tell me he’s not dead!”

Heather hurls back: “You’re going to be dead if you don’t shut up! Let her work on him!”

You tilt Aegon’s head back, lift his chin, pinch his nose shut. Then you exhale into him. You can taste the dark ancient salt of the sea on his cold lips…but beneath that there is rum as well. He shouldn’t have been drinking that much at work. He doesn’t usually. What’s different? What’s been bothering him? But you think you know the answer to that.

There’s nothing, nothing, nothing…and then Aegon’s chest rises and he rolls onto his side, choking out torrents of seawater and gasping for air. People are cheering and chattering, but you barely hear them.

“Oh my god!” you cry out, and if you were sobbing before now you’re properly bawling, breathless and hysterical. It’s uncontrollable, you can’t seem to stop. You cling to Aegon as he shivers violently and peers around with half-open, profoundly confused blue eyes, warming him with your own body heat, turning his flesh from blue to white to pink.

“Go get coats and stuff to warm him up,” Heather says to Trent, shoving him away. And you do actually need coats…but also, you think, Heather is trying to get rid of her brother. Because it should be obvious to anyone what’s going on here; it should be obvious to anyone that you’re in love with this white-blond man on the floor who not so very long ago was a stranger.

“Hey, hey,” Aegon rasps, pawing clumsily at your face as if to comfort you, almost poking your eyes out in the process. And then he asks, with genuine confusion: “What the hell are you crying about?”

You start laughing, tears still streaming down your cheeks. “You, idiot. I’m crying about you.”

“I’m fine, Appletini,” he croaks. “Shh. Shh. Stop. No crying.”

“I thought you were dead, I thought…I thought…”

“I’m not that easy to kill,” Aegon says, his eyes dipping shut. Outside in the blackness somewhere, there are sirens whirling. Trent returns with an armful of coats and together you pile them on top of Aegon, burying him in a tomb of L.L.Bean and Patagonia and The North Face. “Trust me. I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Obviously, the hospital won’t let Aegon have rum and Cokes. He pushes his morphine button almost constantly, even though the doctors and nurses tell him he’s already maxed out. They began by keeping Aegon overnight for observation, and then he developed pneumonia, and then the first type of antibiotics didn’t work and they had to play roulette until they found one that did. Now it’s a full week later—December 20th—and Aegon is finally feeling like himself again and is due to be released tomorrow. Sunfyre has been staying with you and your parents. He loves it, he gets constant attention and enjoys gazing out the window to see if his new best friend the cow moose will show up. Meanwhile, Trent has convinced his boss Rusty—another high school classmate of your parents, another hulking bearded specimen of the enmeshed Juneau ecosystem—to let Aegon keep his job despite the extended leave; Trent even managed to get Aegon paid time off for the first five days. This is all rather heroic of him. It makes you feel bad for thinking he might be a serial killer. If Trent knows that Aegon was drunk on the job, he hasn’t mentioned it to anybody.

“I got you something,” Aegon tells you when you get off work. It’s just after sunset, the last whisps of pink and lilac dusk vanishing from the sky. Things have been slow at the vet clinic as Christmas draws near, which is good in that you can leave early and visit Aegon more often. It’s bad because you’re less busy, less preoccupied; you have all the time in the world to think about him. Aegon is propped up in bed on pillows—his hair slicked back from his face, his eyes sleepy and racoonish—and wearing a hospital gown that’s too big for him. You can see his collarbones and his tattoos, though you’re trying very hard not to stare, to wonder. He points to the table beside his bed. There’s a bouquet of blue roses lying there.

“For me?!”

“For the person who literally brought me back from the dead? Yeah, I don’t think it’s too extravagant.”

You give him one of the hot chocolates you bought from the hospital cafeteria. It’s not as good as his, obviously, but it’s better than nothing. He clutches the Styrofoam cup with both hands, steam rolling up into his face. He inhales the scent, closes his eyes, sighs deeply with a smile. “I hope they aren’t stolen,” you say about the roses, only half-kidding.

“They’re from the gift shop. I dragged myself down there after lunch. They really weren’t that expensive, I think the cashier gave me a still-attached-to-an-IV discount.”

“Was she cute?”

“She was eighty years old.”

You laugh and sit down in the chair beside his bed, sipping your own hot chocolate: thin, watery, weak. You admire the roses, threading velvety cerulean petals through your fingers. “I love them, really, but I wish you wouldn’t buy things for me. I know you’re chronically short on money. And I am somehow skeptical that you have health insurance. Do you have health insurance?”

He grins toothily. “Nope.”

“Aegon,” you lament.

“It doesn’t matter. They’ll bill me, I’ll never pay, it’s all made up.”

“You might need a halfway decent credit score one day.”

He shakes his head. “I’m never going to try to get a mortgage. I’m never going to apply for a job at a bank or a law firm. I’ll be fine. I’ll live in a tree if that’s what it takes.”

You rest your palm against his cheek and then his forehead, checking for fever. His skin is warm but not hot, pale but not bloodless. You can feel his eyes on you, trying to catch your gaze like a hook through a fish. You avoid them.

“How do I look, vet lady?”

“I’m not really qualified to evaluate humans.”

“I don’t want to get better.”

Now you do stare at him, direct and mystified. “Why?”

“I’m worried you won’t be nice to me anymore.”

You chuckle, relieved. “I’ll still be nice to you, Aegon.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

A nurse pops into the room, young and springy and jovial like a kitten. She must be new; you don’t recognize her, and you’ve been here a lot. “Good afternoon, I’m just swinging by to take your vitals. I see you’re scheduled to go home tomorrow, how exciting!” The nurse squints down at the chart she has pinned to a clipboard. “Aegon…?”

He smirks long-sufferingly. “It’s Greek.”

“It’s lovely!” the nurse recovers. She measures his temperature and heartrate and blood pressure, his reflexes and his oxygenation. He passes all inquiries with flying colors. She congratulates Aegon on his recovery and flits off to tend to more needy patients. You think of the nights you’ve spent curled up in this chair, listening to Aegon’s labored, rattling breathing and watching blooms of flare-hot crimson fever creep across his face. You think of how much it’s going to kill you to lose him someday. You find yourself staring at his tattoos, ink that someone else put there in some other city, remnants of the life he had before.

“You can ask,” Aegon says. “I’m sure you’re wondering.”

You set your hot chocolate on the table and move closer to him, ghosting your fingertips over the words: I’m a killer. He jolts a little, although not in a bad way, not in an unwelcome way. He doesn’t lean away from you. In fact, he leans in. “What’s up with that?”

“Would this be an awkward moment for me to confess that I’m the Ice Fisher?”

You smile. “You have to admit that it’s a little weird. There’s a killer on the loose, you have a tattoo that says you’re a killer, I think any reasonable observer would have questions.”

“Kimmie didn’t.”

“Reasonable observer, I said. Reasonable.”

“It’s not a confession. It’s a Johnny Cash lyric.”

“Really? Which song?” You know a fair amount of Johnny Cash thanks to your dad’s extensive vinyl collection. You skim through his discography in your head: Walk The Line, Ring Of Fire, Get Rhythm, Folsom Prison Blues, I Got Stripes. You can’t remember any of them having that line. It circles around in your skull, only sounding like Aegon’s voice: I’m a killer, I’m a killer.

“I’ve Been Everywhere,” he says. “It’s a cover, actually. Some other guy did it first. But I didn’t know that when I got inked. And I loved Johnny Cash’s version when I heard it. It was like my theme song.”

“Ohhh, right, that’s the one where he lists all the cities he’s been to, like Reno, uh, and Chicago, and, uhhh…”

Aegon sings, deep but hoarse: “Fargo, Minnesota, Buffalo, Toronto, Winslow, Sarasota, Wichita, Tulsa, Ottawa, Oklahoma, Tampa, Panama, Mattawa, La Paloma—” He breaks off with a coughing fit.

“Stop,” you beg, laughing. “Stop, you’re going to hurt yourself.” You trace the cursive letters lightly. I’m a killer. I’m a killer. “Kimmie never had questions about that?”

“I don’t think Kimmie really sees me. She just sees adjectives in the shape of my silhouette. But you…” He puts his hand over yours, pinning it to his chest. You can feel his heart under there somewhere, beneath muscles and bones and a pitch-black sea crawling with monsters that have evolved to live in the extreme gravity, in the depths: ghosts of the past and sirens of the future. He smiles. “You see a lot.”

“20/20, baby.” You study his scars. They’re random like a scatterplot, none large enough to appear life-threatening. “How did you get these?”

“Car accident. A long time ago.”

“Before you left Miami?”

He gazes absently out the window, where snow is falling. You can see it drifting down to the earth in the gloomy beams of streetlights. “Yeah.”

Now there are new lyrics bubbling up in your mind, not anything by Johnny Cash but Cake’s The Distance. No trophy, no flowers, no flashbulbs, no wine, he’s haunted by something he cannot define. And perhaps you know something about what that feels like. “Do you really think I’m a coward?” you ask softly. “I know you’re trying not to lie to me. So I’m hoping you’ll tell me the truth. You might be the only person who will.”

Aegon pauses before he answers. “I think a lot of people are cowards in one way or another,” he says diplomatically. “And I think that if that’s your greatest flaw as a human—that you don’t want to disappoint your parents, that you don’t want to hurt them, that you want to repay them for being so wonderful when there are people out there who beat and murder their kids—you turned out alright.”

You think of how easy it would be to rest your head on his bare, scarred chest and let him hold you. You think of how much you want that, want it in a sudden and ravenous and unbearable sort of way. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“No problem, Appletini.”

There is a knock on the door, and you jerk away from Aegon. You pick up your hot chocolate and slurp it as you sink into the chair. Aegon laces his hands together and wrings them. Trent walks in. “Sup, bro?!” he pipes cheerfully.

“Bro,” Aegon offers in return. They bump fists.

“You look like you’re feeling better.”

“I definitely am.”

“Still getting let out tomorrow?”

“Yup. Like a prisoner who made parole. Kimmie already offered to drive me home.” Then he adds: “Platonically.” Kimmie’s the only one in the friend group without a real job. Her parents are both university professors—you aren’t sure how none of the genius chromosomes made their way down the genetic Plinko board to her, but they didn’t—and she gets paid to be their ‘research assistant’…which means she works rarely and with no accountability whatsoever.

Trent’s eyes dart to you, to the blue roses, to you again, finally back to Aegon. He’s beaming, but there’s something hollow about it, like if you struck him across the face it would crack like porcelain. “Flowers, huh? That’s dope.”

“Yeah, I figured it was the least I could do since she saved my life and all.”

“She’s fantastic,” Trent agrees proudly, like he owns you. “In fact, that’s kind of why I’m here.” He turns to you. “I called the house and your parents told me I should check the hospital. I wanted to…you know, now that Aegon’s basically better and we all know he’s not gonna die…I wanted to take you to dinner tomorrow.”

“Dinner?” you repeat, stupidly, like you’re unfamiliar with the concept. “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, someplace nice. Candlelight and fancy dessert, the whole deal.”

A date. That’s definitely a date. You stare at Trent. He stares at you. Aegon frowns at you both, pressing his knuckles to his lips. “Dinner,” you say awkwardly, but with more conviction. “Totally. Dinner would be nice.”

“Awesome!” Trent thunders. “I’ll pick you up at 8?”

“Sounds good!” you say with overcompensating enthusiasm. Trent swoops in for an unexpected hug—nearly spilling your hot chocolate—and gives Aegon a parting fist bump. Then he’s gone.

“I owe him,” you explain to Aegon, speaking quickly, nervously. “He saved your life, he fished you out of the channel like a goddamn salmon. He’s responsible for you keeping your job. He’s getting you paid time off. He’s been around the hospital a lot this week, he’s been so helpful, selflessly helpful…I can’t just tell him to fuck off after all that.” And then you say: “But it’s only dinner! Only one dinner!”

“Need some condoms?” Aegon teases, trying to make you smile. It works. “I have a box I’m not currently using.”

“I’m on the pill.”

“Good to know.”

“I doubt your condoms are horse-sized anyway.”

“Hey hey hey, it’s not about the number of inches, it’s about how you use them.”

“I’ve heard some very interesting things. About your inches, I mean.”

“Oh no,” he groans, covering his blushing face with his hands.

“I didn’t say bad things. I said interesting things.”

“I wouldn’t mind you knowing from firsthand experience,” he says with a sly little grin you can’t quite read. It’s playful, it’s sharp, it’s baiting, it’s sad.

“About what?”

“About my inches.”

You both burst out laughing, so hard Aegon launches into another coughing fit. You reach for him instinctively, pressing your hand to his chest again as if you can cure him, not a palm reader but a faith healer. A miracle worker. A professional fixer.

“You think it’s safe?” he asks, seriously now. “Dinner, I mean. With Trent.”

“I think he’d have a hard time strangling me in the middle of a crowded restaurant. And everyone’s going to know we’re hanging out together tomorrow night, he’d have to be more than stupid to kill me. He’d have to be all brainstem, like an alligator or a shark. Besides, he doesn’t want me dead.”

“I know. He wants you to be his wife.” There’s nothing to fill the uneasy lull but the pounding of your own heartbeat. “Call me,” Aegon says abruptly. “When you get home tomorrow night. So I know you’re okay.” So I know you didn’t get murdered. So I know you’re not at the bottom of a lake somewhere.

“What if it’s not until really late? I don’t want to disturb you while you’re recovering.”

He looks out the window: into the frigid void, into nothing. “Still call me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Trent takes you to the Red Dog Saloon, Juneau’s idea of fine dining. You intentionally dress to look not-sexy: dark blue flannel (you’ve warmed to the fabric since Aegon wears it so much) with a T-shirt underneath, jeans, boots, minimal makeup, hair in an I-really-don’t-care messy loose braid. Trent doesn’t seem to notice that this isn’t supposed to be a date. He’s wearing a button-up maroon shirt and khakis. He chats away blithely as you survey the menu. He’s had the servers bring out candles to put on the table. He’s ordered craft beers for you both. You wrinkle your nose and shudder after each thick bitter sip, chasing the beer with desperate gulps of water. Whoever owns the Red Dog Saloon does not share Dale’s devotion to Shania Twain and Christmas music; the stereo is playing Savage Garden’s Crash And Burn.

“Ready to order?” the waitress asks, casting former-football-star Trent a flirtatious smile just in case he’s single. He is! you mentally shout, hoping for telepathy. He just doesn’t know it!

“Yeah,” you begin. “I think I’d like to try your brisket—”

“Oh no, no no no,” Trent says with a chuckle. He flips his hair; in your head, you hear a neigh. “They have a great special. Trout with risotto. How fancy is that?! I don’t even know what risotto is! We gotta try that. We gotta make tonight special.”

“Okay. Yeah. Sure.” You give the waitress a tight smirk as you hand her the menu. “The trout special. Two of them, I guess.”

“You’ll love it,” the waitress promises, tossing Trent another smile like a penny into a fountain. She takes both menus and disappears into the kitchen.

“So,” Trent says, drinking his beer. “I didn’t know you liked Aegon so much. I thought you kind of hated him, actually.”

You shrug, peering into the foam of your unwanted beer. “I don’t like to see anyone suffering. It doesn’t matter who.”

“That makes sense, I guess.”

“And you encouraged me to get along with him because you want him to stay in Juneau so he can be in your band.”

“Oh yeah, right. Okay, never mind. I was just…curious.” Another hair flip.

“Look, Trent…” You gather your courage like raking up autumn leaves. “We’re friends, right?”

He chortles. “Well, I’d like to think we’re a lot more than that.”

I bet you would. “But we never…like…we never put a label on it, you know?”

“Do you need a label?” he says. You had worried he might be mad; instead, he’s amused. You aren’t sure why that makes you feel worse. “Is that what makes it official, us using the words boyfriend, girlfriend, relationship, whatever?”

“Maybe those words don’t really apply to us, and that’s why we haven’t used them yet,” you try hopefully. “Like, if we were supposed to date, it would feel more natural for us to date. But maybe it doesn’t feel so natural, so we’re better off staying friends.”

Now he puts his beer down and stares at you. The glass thumps against the glossy wood. He’s bending towards you, though you don’t think he’s even aware of it; he props his elbows on the table, his brow crinkling in bewilderment. And there’s something else in the lines of his face too. Anger. Indignation. Betrayal. “You want to be friends?”

“I didn’t say that,” you amend swiftly. “I just said maybe we’re better off as friends.”

He slaps his palm against the table—you flinch, hating that he has that power over you—and laughs in amazement. “I’m just…well, I’m shocked! You’re fine with kissing me, and watching movies in your bedroom, and hanging out all the time, and getting drinks together and playing pool and showing me off to your parents, but you’re horrified by the thought of calling it dating?! You’re too much, ladybug. You’re really too much.”

He's going to pretend he doesn’t see that I want out. And he’s going to keep pretending until he’s on his knees with a fucking ring from Zales. “I don’t think I’m looking for a relationship right now, Trent. With anyone.” Oh, and that’s such a goddamn lie.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

He studies you; but that’s too kind a word for it. His eyes flay you down to the bone. “I’m a good guy, you know.”

“I know,” you lie, nodding agreeably.

“You’re not eighteen anymore,” he says. “It’s not like you have forever to find someone to settle down with. I go to work, I’m popular, I’m presentable, I care about you, I take you on dates, I move your furniture around whenever you fucking ask me to, I’m a good guy. I get that maybe this is progressing a little fast for you, and we can slow down if that’s what you want. But I think it would be pretty stupid to give something like this up. Don’t you?”

It doesn’t sound like a question. It sounds like a threat. Don’t you? Don’t you? “You’re right, Trent,” you hear yourself say, like it’s someone else’s voice. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

The waitress arrives with your dinner and—not so subtly—slips Trent her number. He makes a great show of ripping it up in front of you. The trout and risotto thing is great, actually. It’s not what you walked in wanting, but it turned out just fine. And maybe that’s what the rest of your life will be like too: other people making choices, you hoping you’ll like the taste.

After dinner and dessert—a Baked Alaska, another of Trent’s suggestions that are more like nonnegotiables—he drives you home in his massive rumbling truck. You talk innocuously about your vet clinic clients, dogs and cats and hamsters and reindeer, until you roll to a stop in front of your parents’ house. You begin your goodbye, opening the truck door. Cold December air floods in.

“Okay Trent, thank you for a lovely night—” He cuts you off with a kiss he didn’t ask for, a hand on your face that feels hot and smothering. You’re so stunned it takes you a few seconds to try to push him away. He ignores you until you shove him so hard he can’t pretend not to notice.

“What are you so worried about?” he demands, he implores, like he’ll fix anything if you just name it, like he’ll strike the nails with his bare hands. But he can’t fix what’s wrong. What’s wrong is that I’m in love with Aegon Targaryen. “Are you scared I’ll be bored of you once you give it all up? Are you worried about getting pregnant? Aren’t you on the pill? I saw the pack in your bedroom.”

You’re nauseated that he noticed, that he’s imagined you like that: naked, compliant, vulnerable. “Yes, Trent, but that’s for me, not for you.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

You tell him the truth. Not the whole truth—not enough to enrage him—but the crux of it: the spine, the heart. “I always thought I knew exactly what my life was going to look like, but now I’m…I’m…”

“Well this is what comes next, right?” Trent says. “You check the boxes for school and work, and then it’s time to settle down. Get married, buy a house, have kids. I’m ready to give you that. I want to give you that. Don’t you want it too?”

Aegon is going to leave, you think with steel-cold dread. Sooner or later, he’ll disappear to start over again in some anonymous new city. And what will my life look like then? What will I have when he’s gone? “I guess I just need some more time to figure things out.”

Trent nods, his jaw clenched tight, looking out into the darkness through his windshield. “I’m not criticizing you for waiting. I’m just wondering what the hell you’re waiting for.”

Inside the house is hushed and empty; your parents are enjoying a night out with your dad’s bowling league. They even took Sunfyre with them. You drag yourself upstairs, each step a mile. You brush your teeth—twice—to get the taste of Trent and craft beer out of your mouth. And then you stand in your bedroom surrounded by posters and magazines, surrounded by fantasies that you will never wrap your hands around. You glance at the box full of Jesse’s journals; you can see the cardboard edge of it poking out from beneath your bed. He’s gone, and he wasn’t perfect, in fact in many ways he was a curse, was a plague, was a monster. But I think my mom would give anything for one more day with him. After all these years, I still think she would.

The blue roses Aegon gave you are in a vase on your nightstand, right next to the phone. They’re already dying. And now your throat is burning, and your eyes are wet with tears, and when defenseless sobs rip from your chest there is no one here to hear them. I don’t want to protect myself from what it would have been like with him. I want to know.

You snatch up the phone, find the Post-it note with Aegon’s number written on it, call him before you have time to change your mind. When he answers, it’s clear you woke him up. His voice is slow and groggy. “Hello?”

“Can I come over?”

“Huh…?”

“Can I please come over? I need to come over. I need to come over right now.”

Now he’s awake. “Yeah, yeah, of course. Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m at home, I’m fine, I’m safe, I just…I just…” You swipe the tears from your eyes and take a long, trembling breath. “I just need to come over.”

“No problem,” Aegon says. He is puzzled, he is concerned…but you think a part of him is glad too. “I’ll see you in ten minutes.”

You drive your Jeep to his apartment building and park it—badly, crookedly, like he would—under a streetlight. The night is fiercely, brutally cold when you dive out into it. The full moon is an island; the indigo, star-flecked sky is an ocean deep with secrets and bones and wreckage, splinters of swallowed lives dissolving into the blue. Upstairs, Aegon’s door is already unlocked. He’s wearing a black Nirvana T-shirt and green flannel pajama pants, his hair disheveled. He’s also making hot chocolate.

“Hi,” he says casually, filling the mugs. He adds splashes of French vanilla coffee creamer—plus some 99 Whipped for his green mug—and swirls of whipped cream, then shaves on a generous dusting of Hershey’s chocolate. He gives you the blue mug. You take it in quivering hands. “You alright?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. I’m amazing.”

“Okay.” He waits, patient and watchful, sipping his hot chocolate.

You feel better after a few minutes tick by. Aegon’s apartment is serene and still. The tv is dark; there’s no music, no voices, no distractions. You can barely hear the screech of the Arctic wind outside. The only light turned on is the one in the kitchen; the rest of the apartment is shadows. The hot chocolate is warm, rich, comforting, safe. “How are you feeling?”

“Pretty great,” Aegon replies. “Normal.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.” He gazes at you, still waiting.

You finish your hot chocolate and put the mug in the kitchen sink. You take your hair out of your braid and shake it loose, surveying his apartment with aimless steps: his couch, his guitar, his litany of refrigerator magnets, his unmade bed. Aegon sets his mug down on the counter and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Appletini,” he says. “Why are you here?”

You turn back to him, but you can’t find your words. It’s on your face, it has to be; it’s in a language Aegon can speak fluently. You see the understanding flicker in his eyes like firelight: sudden, bright, exhilarated.

“Say it,” he prompts. “You have to say it, or I’m not going to believe you.”

You try, you really do try. But you can’t get the words to leave your lips. You don’t know how to put what you want from him into words at all. Anything, everything.

He smiles, softly like a whisper. “Me first, huh?” Then he begins undressing. He yanks his Nirvana T-shirt over his head—further tangling his hair—and tosses it across the room. He slips off his pajama pants, and then his boxers too. He’s standing there in the florescent kitchen light, flesh and ink and track marks and scars. “Okay, your turn. If you’re still interested.”

“I want you to do that part.”

He crosses the scuffed hardwood floor, his footsteps quiet. His fingers find the top button of your flannel shirt. His eyes are fixed on yours as he unhooks the first button, another, another after that. He leans in to press his lips to your throat, just beneath your jaw. Slowly, exquisitely slowly, he kisses his way down to your collarbone as he unfastens the rest of the buttons and gently pulls off your shirt, letting it fall to the floor. He slips his hands below the hem of the T-shirt you’re wearing underneath and lifts it away, his knuckles grazing your belly, your waist, your ribs, the lace of your bra. And then he cradles your face in his hands and kisses you with exceptional, reverent slowness, like you’re something that could shatter. You can’t reconcile this man with the sort of wild acrobatics that Kimmie had described. And then you’re not thinking about Kimmie at all. The past is a black hole, the future is an empty sky. There’s no room in this lightning-brief sliver of eternity for anyone else.

You breathe him in: sweetness, warmth, the bite of alcohol, fire and shadows and light. He unbuttons your jeans, unzips them, kneels down to peel them off of you. He touches his lips to your thigh—first the outside, then the downy-soft inside—and hesitates for a moment before he stands to kiss your lips again. His hands skim across your bare back towards the clasp of your bra, raising goosebumps like twilight stars. And then again, he hesitates. His hands come back to your face, his fingertips calloused but lithe.

“You’re nervous,” you murmur, smiling. You tuck his escaped lock of hair behind his ear, pressing yourself against him: hips, chest, soul. The sapphire blue lace of your bra and panties rustles across his skin. You can’t get close enough to him; it’s not possible, it’s not fathomable. He’s holding himself back, you can tell. He’s panting with the effort. In the midnight silence, you can hear every sound he makes with crystalline clarity. The moonlight pours in, painting you both in ghostly silver light.

Aegon chuckles shakily. “I am,” he admits.

“I think you’ve done this once or twice before.”

“Yeah, but not with you.”

“I want this,” you say, your lips to the curl of his ear. His skin is hot with eager, rushing blood. “And I want you to be the one to set me free.”

Something snaps in him, something breaks like a wave. Your bra tumbles to the floor, your panties are whisked away, you and Aegon are on the bed together tangled up like arteries flush with life. There is a breathless sort of desperation in it: in the way your fingers intertwine, in his gasps and your moans, in the sustained pleasure—so intense it borders on pain—that causes euphoric tears to spring up in your eyes, in his deep, startlingly powerful thrusts that begin slowly and then build to a furious rhythm. And you know then that he agrees, it’s not possible to ever get close enough to each other; but still, you resolve to try.

“Look at me, baby,” Aegon whispers as you arch into him and you beg him not to stop, his palm turning your face towards his. “Look at me, look at me, look at me…”

You unravel like thread torn from a spool until its empty, like a mystery, like stitches clipped from a healed wound. There’s an insurmountable sort of peace that follows it. Nothing is okay, and yet everything is, and you can conjure up no words but only colors: the white of snow, the indigo of the night sky, the gold of the rare unclouded midday sun, the ethereal green-violet glow of the Northern Lights. Aegon empties himself inside you, crying out and kissing the side of your face over and over again, tasting heat and salt and your unnamed love for him. You can feel the serenity settling over him as if it’s your own pulse slowing, your own mind cleared like the horizon after a storm. You are irredeemably etched into each other. You are two sides of the same coin: too weightless, too rooted, unable to leave, unable to stay.

As you lay side by side in the moonlight, your fingers tangled in his hair, Aegon says: “You are the only thing that’s ever made me want to stop running.”

“You could stay. I want you to stay.”

“For a while.” He pulls you against him. You rest your head on his chest: ink, scars, slow thudding heartbeat. His fingertips draw invisible paths up the length of your spine. “Not forever. But for a while.”

She’s hoping in time that her memories will fade.

“I don’t want to have to forget you,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

“Not yet,” Aegon vows. It’s the only promise he can make. He kisses your forehead, sweeping the tears from your cheeks with his hands. “Not yet.”

[bibibusinessman]

What tattoos would the batfam have?

Small or large

thanks for the ask!

What Tattoos would the Bats have?

Bruce: doesn’t believe in tattoos 😭

Dick: something to remember his parents by like a small acrobat design across his back

Jason: gets quotes from fav books and small tattoos to cover his scars. Definitely has a spine design on his back. This guy is a tattoo fiend.

Tim: small tattoos on wrist and hands usually have meanings like he will get a lilly because it’s Bernard’s fav flower. Also this is my personal hc but when Tim was a teen he cut himself so he got tattoos to cover those scars.

Damian: Bruce won’t let him get tattoos but frankly he doesn’t really want them anyways

Cass: big floral sleeve on leg, definitely has hearing aid tattoos behind her ears (she has an undercut so you can see them.)

Stephanie: small tattoo of what she would’ve named her daughter on her collarbone. (DC WHYYY) and some smaller tattoos on her wrists. She is also trying to get the rest of the fam to get matching bat signal tattoos.

Duke: tattoo of his parents names, small smattering of stars on his shoulders:

Barbara: sleeve on left arm (hc her dominant hand) it has various astronomical features and symbols of her family. Wants to get a back tattoo but can’t decide on design

Kate: this girl is absolutely covered. Mainly things she thinks looks cool but a few have meaning. She definitely has a pride tattoo, a tattoo to represent her time at West Point, and a small bat tattoo that no one knows about. She is also has a nose piercing.

[shieldofiron]

Meals on Wheels

(Harringrove, just a flirty little drabble for @disabledbillyandsteveweek day 2 prompt-Family)

Steve thought it was maybe the stupidest thing he’d ever thought of. He and Robin had been having a sleepover and somehow the subject got around to tattoos.

“I would get a pin up girl but that might be tacky,” Robin sighed.

“As far as I’m concerned, the tackier the better,” Steve rolled up to his countertop and poured another glass of wine.

“Oh yeah, what are you getting? A nail bat?”

“Only if it says ‘who wants to get nailed,’” Steve snarled.

“What about a tramp stamp?” Robin took the glass of wine and sipped it. “Eat me.”

Steve thew a saucy look over his shoulder, dripping with king Steve charm, “Please. Look at me. It would say meals on wheels.”

Robin giggled, “Yeah, as long as we’re getting tattoos of wishful thinking I should get one on my hand that says, ‘Pussy destroyer.’”

“‘M just in a dry spell.”

“Yeah, okay,” Robin rolled her eyes, “Would you actually get ‘Meals on Wheels?’”

“Eat fast, eat fresh,” Steve quipped. “I’ll do it if you do, Madam Pussy Destroyer.”

Robin giggled loopily, “You know I did see an article about a tattoo parlor that specializes in sensory safe tattoos.”

“What’cha mean?” Steve wasn’t drunk, but he was a little tipsy on their good fortune in securing a wheelchair accessible apartment this close to the city center. Sure, a lot of rent had to come from their was Starcourt hush money, after Steve been paralyzed and a flayed Jonathan Byers has saved the world, but they he still found it and so Steve was happy to fork over the cash. The location was ideal, even if the city noise sometimes wrecked havoc on Robin’s sensory issues so they’d installed some extra sound proofing. But he wasn’t sure how a tattoo parlor was a part of that.

“It’s super cool, the owner has OCD so he made it so each room is private and soundproofed. They don’t play loud music, and offer headphones if the buzzing is too much, though you can bring your own movies. I’ve always wanted a tattoo, but some of those places are just too loud and busy,” Robin sighed.

“So you’ve always wanted to be a pussy destroyer?”

“No, shut up,” she blushed. “A Lilly, for my grandma.”

“Well maybe tomorrow we can go check it out.

“I wouldn’t want to do it alone.” She bit her lip. “I wouldn’t have the guts.”

Steve shrugged, “ok, you convinced me. It’s tramp stamp time.”

“No, you’re not serious,” Robin giggled.

“You’re my family. If you bleed, I bleed. You tramp stamp, I tramp stamp,” Steve said, only laughing when Robin did.

But then the next morning, his head pounding, he didn’t have too many defenses when Robin had looked at him with those puppy dog eyes and said she’d called and made them an appointment. She’d even brought in his motorized wheelchair and said that she’d buy bagels on the way.

But he was regretting it when they were finally there, and Steve was contemplating actually getting something permanently inked into his skin.

He wasn't sure if he was cool enough for this. He definitely wasn't cool enough for the artist that came in and introduced themselves to Robin. Their name was Eddie and they were practically covered in tattoos, wearing some cool unpronounceable band name t-shirt that they'd sewn to a mini tutu skirt to make a dress. They took Robin back to her room after they went over her sketch, a lilly painted with pale watercolor shades.

Robin squeezed his hand, "You're not gonna chicken out on me, right? I booked the only two person room they have so if you don't show up, I will know."

"I'm not chickening out," Steve laughed, "Though I hope your grandma isn't watching from heaven, because she'll probably see my ass."

Robin snorts, "She definitely saw your ass this morning when I helped you out of the shower. She was a tough old bird, a little of your pale ass won't scare her."

Steve snorted, "I'll see you in a moment."

Steve was starting to feel a little nervous. Honestly after Starcourt, he hadn't been interested in hiding his sexuality at all. Life seemed too short, he might as well unapologetically be himself, bi and disabled and ADHD and slutty and everything that was himself. But maybe the double entendre tramp stamp was a little too out there.

And then... he'd come in.

"Hi, Steve, right?" The guy was stunning, with long blonde curls streaked with blue piled up into a big bun on the top of his head. He offered a large, warm hand and Steve almost melted when they shook.

"Yeah, hi."

"I'm Billy, I'm the owner," Billy smiled, and Steve swore that he could see a cartoon smile, like Billy was an anime prince. An anime prince that had a giant seratonin tattoo that was splattered with that looked like watercolor. "I hope you don't mind that I use some hand sanitizer. I'm working on my handshake thing, but..."

"It's fine, ah... do you mind if I have some too?" Steve held out his hand.

Billy squirted Steve out a little of their fancy hand sanitizer.

"So I have to be honest, I wasn't sure what to expect when we got the call for a wheelchair themed tramp stamp that said meals on wheels," Billy licked along his lower lip, "But now that I'm seeing you it makes more sense."

Steve could feel himself turning red, "It was kind of a joke-"

"I mean," Billy leaned in, "You do look good enough to eat."

Steve shivered, blush spreading up to his hairline.

Billy straightened, "God, sorry. Sorry, that was so inappropriate-"

"It's fine."

"No, really, I can see if Heather is free to take over the appointment, except that-" Billy bit his lip, "I think I'll still have to be the one to help you onto the table. Maybe if Eddie and Heather work together... God, not that you're like... too big or... shit... I'm sorry."

Steve laughed, "Really, it's fine."

"You're not too big, you're like... perfect," Billy ran a hand down his face, "Sorry. I'm sorry. Chrissy should know she can't give me the pretty guys, I clearly can't handle it."

Steve glanced up, giving him that King Steve sparkle right back, and seeing the way it made Billy's eyes go wide and nervous.

Steve pressed on the joystick to his chair with one finger, running a hand along the tip flirtatiously.

Billy's eyes darted to his hand, and then back to his face.

"I think you can handle me," Steve said smugly, "Don't you wanna try?”

Steve left that day with a bit of a sore ass, though the sensation was soothed a lot by the business card that had Billy's personal number scrawled on the back.

"I can't believe the meals on wheels tattoo got you a date," Robin rolled her eyes as she attached Steve's chair to the floor of his van, tightening the straps down with a shake of her head.

"What can I say," Steve shrugged, "Billy looks like a hungry boy to me."

Robin gagged, "You are my family. But never, ever, say that again."

@intothedysphoria thanks for answering my question on this one.

[where-are-the-spooky-gays-2]

Parental Dukexiety who stick to their aesthetics.

For simplicity's sake, I'm gonna say they adopted a little girl and her name is Olivia.

The little nicknames. "Little rockstar" "lil ass kicker" "baby bat" all those sweet things. Bonus points if you can guess what lil ass kicker references.

Parent teacher conferences. Teachers expect "normal" parents and in walk an emo and punk fully dedicated to their aesthetics, each other, and their daughter. And they're very nice and Olivia is so so so excited about her parents.

Family outings to the zoo. Nothing really alt about that but I think they'd really like seeing the bats.

The first song Olivia learns fully is Dragula by Rob Zombie because that is a core memory for so many people and therefore must be carried on.

She learns way too many cuss words too early — cough Remus cough — but she's also sassy (*looks directly at Virgil*) so they just have a fantastic little combo there.

She grows up to be a teen and decides her own aesthetic. They stick to theirs. It's fantastic. Imagine she is drawn to cottage core and so their family outings are just two stormy nights and a ray of sunshine. Them buying her sunflower earrings. Or she follows in her parents footsteps and goes to an alt subculture they get to help teach her out.

Them helping her pick a prom dress and she goes for whatever style she likes but Remus and Virgil definitely don't cry a little bit because omg their little girl is all grown up she's going to prom.

She gets piercings and Virgil goes with her for support because he has more experience with that, or she gets tattoos and Remus goes along because that's his jam. Or both. Definitely both.

Dads :3

— 👑

Dadmus and Dadgil my fucking beloveds oml I L O V E this <3!!! Olivia sounds like such a sweet and cool kid and it's S O fucking heartwarming how much she loves her spooky dads and how much they love her <3 Bonus: They go all out every year on Halloween either throwing kickass spooky themed parties or taking her to houses that give the best candies (Always the haunted ones) and she absolutely L O V E S it <3