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stevenose · 9 months

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not the name you say (18+)

day 30/31 of the august writing challenge

today’s word: mask

contains: steve x reader; friends to ???; high!steve + high!reader; smoking; pillow humping; mutual masturbation; kissing; perv steve AND perv reader; kinda gross steve

a/n: my favorite one i’ve written methinks <3

“So,” Steve says, thick brows scrunching together, eyes hardly open. “How do you usually get off?”

You laugh. “What?”

“What?”

“Why are you asking me that?”

Steve shrugs, seeming a little confused with why you’re so confused. He makes grabby hands towards the joint between your index finger and middle finger. “Gimme.”

You take another inhale and ash it before handing it off to him. “I think you’ve had enough.”

He frowns and furrows his brows again. “Why?”

“You’re starting to get perverted.”

He scoffs, then takes a deep inhale. You take a moment to soak him in. Wrinkled dark green shirt, a pair of sweatpants. White socks. His hair is messy in his face and yet it still looks like it’s been styled that way. The tip of his broad, straight nose lights up with the ash from the joint as he breathes in. The smoke he exhales acts as a mask, shrouding his features.

“I’m not perverted,” he says. “I’ll tell you how I do it if it’ll make you feel better.”

“I feel like you don’t have many options.” You watch the ash on the joint get longer and the paper become shorter, closing in on Steve’s fingers. You’re careful to watch to make sure he doesn’t get burned, but you forget why you’re staring after a few seconds.

“That’s not true,” he insists, ashing the joint out on his bedroom carpet. “I have tons of options. We could use our hand, or we can use our hand with lotion, or we can use one of those toys that looks like a pussy -“ he giggles, eyes squirting further. “We can hump a pillow, we can hump the bathtub -“

“You’re insane,” you laugh, reaching for the joint. You take one more drag before putting it out on the green ashtray on Steve’s desk. “You ever tried that?”

“Not the bathtub, but I’ve gotten off on my pillow before.”

You blink slow, shocked. “Really?”

“Uh-huh.” He takes out a lighter and starts playing with it, flicking his wrist over the flame quickly to not burn his fingers. You grab it from him and place it beside the ashtray.

“Please don’t tell me I’ve used the pillow in question.”

“Oh, no,” he assures. “I keep it in my closet.”

Then he’s up and stumbling towards the closet, pulling the door open and disappearing for half a second before reappearing with the article in question. You stare. It looks like a normal pillow. White pillowcase, no obvious staining. You scrunch your nose. “Ew, Steve.”

He shrugs. “Have you ever tried it?”

“No!”

“You should!” he says. “Here, let me show you.”

“What?” you laugh, your face heating up. “You can’t -“

“No no no no no,” he waves you off, getting onto his bed. “I’m just gonna show you how, I’m not gonna - like, fuck it.” He folds the goddamn thing in half, then mounts it. “You just kinda do that, and then rub yourself on it. Grind on it, you know? You really should try it.”

Your curiosity gets the better of you. “Is that how you normally get off?”

“Not telling! I asked you first!”

“I don’t know! I - I have a few options, too, okay?”

“Try this,” Steve says, and he grabs another pillow on his bed, a clean one. He beckons you over with his head and hand. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

“That’s fucked up,” you say, and you don’t totally believe it. Or maybe you do and you’re just trying to ignore it. “Isn’t that like fucking?”

Those brows furrow again. “No? I’m not even gonna touch you.”

You’re sore between the legs, anyway, and high, so you get up and stumble onto his bed. You’re wearing black cotton shorts, so you can feel the plushness between your legs rather well. With the pillow folded in half, you climb onto it, bursting into laughter once you do.

“This is so weird.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Don’t knock it til you try it, ‘kay?”

“‘kay.”

“Now grind down on it. Let it catch on you.”

Experimentally, you do so, and it does feel good. It feels just about as good as your palm rubbing against you. It’s dull and not targeted but still enjoyable. And with how sensitive you get while high, it feels pretty alright.

“Like that,” he praises. His hips aren’t moving. He’s simply instructing. “Don’t be afraid of it, you can use it.”

“What do you think about when you do this?” you ask, continuing to grind. Watching Steve is stirring something in you even if he’s just sitting innocently.

“Specifically?”

“Well, like, do you think about fucking someone?”

“I always think about fucking someone.”

“Well, yeah.”

“I think about fucking someone, or their tits,” he clarifies, hands gripping on to the edge of his pillow. “It’s not as wet but if I’m high enough it can work.”

Your breath catches at the idea - of him jerking off, and of him fucking you. You grind down a little harder, not really thinking about it. “Who do you think about?”

He stares at you for a really long time, though it’s probably only a few short seconds. His auburn eyes seem lost in thought, contemplative. “You know,” he finally says. “People that come into work or whatever.”

“Oh,” you say, a little disheartened. “So… what exactly do you think about? How do you make it work?”

You watch Steve’s adam’s apple bob while he swallows. “I guess I usually think of it doggystyle, but sometimes I think of it missionary. And I imagine I’m fucking something soft and wet. Gripping someone’s skin.” His hips start to move now, gentle and slow. His eyes focus in on your own movements. “And I think about what I would say.”

“Do you say it out loud?”

“I hope not,” he says, but his tone isn’t entirely lighthearted. His mouth is agape, pupils blown, staring where you meet the pillow. “But I think about it. Like, I usually tell ‘em how beautiful they are ‘n how good they feel.”

You grind down a little harshly. “You like praise?”

“Mhm,” he hums. “I like being praised, too.”

“Like what?” you ask, voice growing softer. There’s a familiar build up in your lower stomach starting to form. “Do you like being called good boy or -?”

Steve moans, lightly, his hips grinding harsher into his pillow. “Jesus, you can’t just say it -“

“Why does it matter if I say it?” you rush out. “Do you like it when I call you that?”

And now, it seems, like formality is gone. The line between friendship and something else has been erased.

“Yes,” he moans, fucking his hips into the pillow rough and quick. “I think about it sometimes.”

Your face is alight. “Yeah? What else?”

“Fucking you,” he answers. His smooth voice cracks. “How good you’d feel and sound.”

“You’re so fucked up,” you scold, getting off on it. “Do you usually have pants on?”

“N-no-“

“Take them off.”

“Maybe after you answer my question.”

You swallow harshly, stomach twisting tightly. “I think about how m-much your cock would stretch me out.”

He grins wide. “That wasn’t my question.”

“What - what was it, then?”

“How do you get off?” One of his thumbs tucks into the waistband of his sweats. A wet patch forms on the front of them.

“Oh,” you say dumbly.

“Although I think I like this question more.” His thumb pulls down his sweatpants just slightly. You can see his happy trail, how his tan skin turns a little paler behind them. Your mouth waters. It’s only a quick glance, though, because he lets his waistband snap back into place with a smug grin. “Tell me more and I’ll get myself out.”

“Want you to eat me out.” If you were sober you’d be shocked at how easily you let that information go.

“That’s good,” he nods, panting a little. He stops his hips for just a moment to pull his pants down and off. “Get closer.”

You and your - his - pillow slide in so that you’re facing him, noses nearly touching, the edges of your pillows meeting in the middle. “You can’t touch me,” you say, “we’re - we’ll regret that.”

“I know. Just wanna be closer t’you, ‘s all.”

You’d do anything to kiss him right now. You have no brain telling you to not. Only instinct - that this will fuck things up. That you’ll regret it in the morning. And you like Steve way too much to sacrifice that. Instead, your nose presses against his, and you rub them together.

“You’re doin’ so good,” he groans. “Feeling close?”

“Yeah,” you whimper. A particularly well placed thrust makes you keen and you instinctively reach out for Steve to hold you steady. Your nails dig into his biceps but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“There you go,” he praises, “Keep doin’ it like that, baby, gonna cream on my fuckin’ pillow in no time.”

“I wanna kiss you,” you blurt out, overwhelmed by it, your previous inclination fleeing.

Steve leans forward and catches your lips in his, but he keeps his hands strictly to himself. He’s a hell of a kisser, adding teeth only where necessary and using little licks to get you closer to your orgasm. You moan and bite down on his bottom lip and tug it. “Mmm, fuck, Steve….”

“I know, I know,” he shushes, panting, starting to sweat at his hairline. “‘s okay, it feels good, huh?”

Now your eyes wander down to his cock. You’ve never seen it before and at this moment you don’t know why he was hiding it from you. Or how he hid it from you. He’s giant, sure to split you or your mouth open. But so pretty, too. A little bead of clear precum disappears into the cotton of his pillowcase.

“You like it?” he grunts.

You look back up, noses bumping, and nod. “Your cock’s so pretty, Steve.”

He moans and throws his head back slowly, and you take the opportunity to lean forward and kiss his neck. He groans now, his hands gripping his pillow lest he reach out and embrace you.

“So fat and big,” you mumble, “you’d make me gape.”

And then, for reasons unknown, you look down and spit on his cock. Steve gasps, a thousand emotions flicking across his handsome, flushed face at once before he reaches out and pulls you in. He kisses you fiercely, hungrily. “I’m gonna fucking cum,” he moans messily against your lips.

“M-me too,” you whisper, reaching up to grip his hair and tug. His eyes roll back. “Come on, wanna see what it looks like when you cum thinkin’ ‘bout me.”

Steve’s so pretty. Truly. His neck and body stiffen and his eyes clench shut. He lets out a few high pitched gasps and moans before he cums. You’re caught between looking at his face and his cock, his cum shooting onto the pillow below him and onto yours. The sight makes you cum, gripping onto him and kissing him messily as you do.

“There y’go,” he mumbles, holding you. “Told you it’d feel good.”

#stevenose posts #ns/fw #steve x reader #steve harrington smut #august23

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loveinhawkins · 11 months

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Part 1 ao3

When Robin and Eddie return to the trailer, Steve is still unconscious.

“Fuck, should we be worried that—how long can someone…?”

Eddie trails off, goes to check his watch reflexively before remembering that it’s stopped.

Robin shakes her head.

“This kinda thing happened, um. Before. I didn’t see much, but I… I don’t think… Billy Hargrove was completely—well. Steve had to, like, crash a car into him, and I, uh, sorta blacked out? For a bit of it? But he just walked it off, I think. Eventually. Billy, I mean. Like his body wasn’t fully… Like he didn’t really feel it.”

Eddie stares at her, reeling. A dozen thoughts scramble to be heard, many not helpful in the slightest—namely that Billy Hargrove stalked the basketball court like there was something seething within him every goddamn school day, so he can’t even imagine what that combined with the uncanny strength of The Mind Flayer would bring.

And the real major concern is—

“But Hargrove died.”

Robin looks up from where she’s been checking Steve’s head. Her fingertips are flecked with blood.

“He didn’t die from—he wasn’t killed by. By a person,” she says jerkily. “So we… we should be fine to…” She eyes the cistern lid, but her face drains of colour again.

Eddie exhales. “One problem at a time.”

He grabs Steve underneath the armpits, Robin holding his legs up.

They take him to the bedroom. Set him down, back leaning against the cabinet.

Eddie finds the handcuffs and gingerly attaches one end to a drawer handle, the other around Steve’s wrist.

Steve doesn’t even stir at the touch. His head lolls down unnaturally.

“They better not be the shitty plastic kind,” Robin says. “I’m not having him escape cause all you had was a Baby’s First Magic Set.”

Eddie’s startled into a weak chuckle.

“Excuse you, Buckley, these are the bona fide, genuine article.”

It had become a joke in the first place, actually keeping them. A year ago, maybe two. A girl from Loch Nora with a college boyfriend had either naively or intentionally thrown an open invite party—Eddie had only gone out of curiosity, wanting to see just how impressive the living space was.

He’d barely lasted an hour there, because a shithead of a ‘concerned’ neighbour called the cops on young people ‘loitering sinisterly’—as if their precious hydrangeas were in danger of being uprooted and sold.

Eddie got grouped in with a select lucky few accused of stealing. He hadn’t been, but he figured he might as well try and get something out of it. It was either Callahan’s wallet or his cuffs; Eddie picked the wrong pocket.

Now he thinks he actually lucked out, in a grim kind of way.

They take stock of everything they’ve got: lighter fluid; a couple space heaters discovered in the RV, another one found next to Wayne’s folding bed. A few bottles of alcohol along with cloths and spears. One walkie. Lighters.

Rope.

Nancy had left with Dustin in the RV. The plan had been for her to drop him off at the Creel House before returning to the Gate at the trailer.

But Eddie caught the steely glint in her eye as she readied herself in the driver’s seat.

Dustin sat by the table. He pinched his bottom lip between his fingers and tugged, harsh enough to draw blood. His hand was shaking.

Eddie couldn’t look at him.

He turned to Nancy.

“You’re not coming back,” he said in an undertone.

It was only once he’d spoken that he realised it didn’t come out as a question.

Nancy grabbed him by the wrist, pulled him close to whisper in his ear.

“Going to another Gate. Where Fred…”

Eddie understood: it was a last-minute change that she alone was in control of. One that Steve didn’t know.

And if Steve didn’t know, then…

The engine rumbled into life.

Eddie got out—had one last look, hand on the door. There were tanks of gasoline wedged behind Nancy’s seat.

Dread chilled him. He wanted to tell her that she shouldn’t be alone. That when she burned it all down, she needed someone to pull her back lest she get caught in the flames, too.

He didn’t say any of that.

Because Nancy just looked at him with something close to sympathy, as if she could tell everything he was thinking; it was already clear that whatever he said, it wouldn’t make a difference.

It didn’t stop him from trying.

“Nancy. Be careful.”

She nodded. “You too.”

Eddie shut the door behind him.

He was halfway back to the porch when he realised that the RV hadn’t pulled away. He heard the door opening again, began to turn, and was almost bowled over by the force of Dustin’s hug.

“Hey,” he said softly, once he’d caught his breath.

He ruffled Dustin’s hair and then stopped near the end of the motion, kept his hand there. Just held him.

He didn’t say it was okay, because it wasn’t.

Dustin sniffed. He pulled back and finally looked Eddie right in the eye.

“We’ll get him back,” Dustin said.

His voice wavered in the middle. But his determination was much stronger than the falter had been.

Eddie put his hands on Dustin’s shoulders. Nodded.

It was obvious that when it came to Steve Harrington, Dustin would go to the ends of the earth for him. And here he was, doing the hardest thing in the world: leaving Steve behind.

Compared to everyone else, Eddie thought, his job was simple, really. All he had to do was prove Dustin’s trust in him.

Steve’s face twitches when Robin shuts the window.

Eddie watches closely, holding his breath.

One eye opens, barely a slit. Moves sluggishly before finding Eddie.

“Hi,” Steve says.

He sounds… normal.

“Hi,” Eddie echoes cautiously. “Are you—um. Are you…?”

He trails off, feeling immensely stupid. What was he even gonna ask? Are you okay? Like he honestly was expecting Steve to say, Oh, could be better, but the malevolent entity inside me is a fucking bummer, man.

“How’re you feeling?” he settles on, because Steve still hasn’t moved, at least seems in control, and Eddie’ll take any semblance of normality he can get.

“M’okay,” Steve says, after a pause.

He lifts his head up slightly, notices the handcuffs. Gives a faint nod of approval. With his free hand, he gestures vaguely to the back of his skull.

“Feels… distant. I dunno.”

“Good, uh, that’s good,” Eddie says conversationally, like that will take away the reality of what he’s currently doing: tying Steve’s legs together with rope.

Both of Steve’s eyes open, his gaze turns sharper, calculating, and Eddie tenses—

“Eddie,” Steve drawls. He sounds supremely unimpressed. He shifts his legs and the knot Eddie made goes slack. “Tighter, dude.” “Oh, I’m sorry, not of all of us got our Scout’s badge.”

“Here,” Robin says. She nudges Eddie out of the way and binds Steve’s legs; the knots don’t budge. She gives a half smile. “At least Starcourt was educational.”

Steve laughs through his nose, but he grimaces a bit, like something Robin’s said is distasteful.

She puts a hand on his knee, peers at him. “Still here,” she says.

It isn’t a question, but Steve answers anyway. “Still here.”

Robin ties his free hand to another drawer handle.

Eddie catches a glimpse while he’s turning on the heaters, and his stomach twists—unbidden, thinks of Christ on the cross.

Steve nods at the heaters. “Put ‘em closer.”

Eddie does. He keeps waiting for a change, ready to leap back, but it doesn’t come. The only difference is that the pulse point in Steve’s neck starts to jump rapidly when the heaters are tilted towards him, but even that’s nothing like before, nothing like the frenzy in the bathroom.

Eddie puts his palm in front of one of the grilles. It’s only just been turned on, sure, but he can’t help thinking that it’s not nearly strong enough.

He stands in front of Steve, Robin by his side.

No-one moves.

Then Robin speaks out the side of her mouth. “Should you still…?”

Her fingers curl, palm up, and Eddie realises that she’s mimicking fret positions.

“Yeah,” Steve says before Eddie can answer, and Robin jumps. “Should still work.” His cuffed hand twitches. “S’in… Vecna. Me. Not enough… can’t control bats, too. Not—not all of ‘em at once.”

His throat clicks as he swallows, like the words are getting stuck.

“Should follow. Like… like, um.” His eyes widen for a split second, as if in panic, before he swallows again and says, a little clearer, “Pied Piper.”

Eddie glances between Steve and Robin. “Okay,” he says eventually. He steps back while Robin remains where she is. “I’ll—”

“No,” Steve says, and this time the panic remains; he shakes his head urgently. “Not alone. Don’t—not alone with—with me.”

“Steve,” Robin says.

“No,” Steve repeats, and there’s a fierceness to the word—Eddie feels it thrum in his chest, and he somehow knows that it’s not from any unnatural force, that the power is being drawn from Steve alone.

“Buckley,” Eddie says reluctantly.

She squares her shoulders. Takes a step back, eyes never leaving Steve.

Something in Steve unwinds, relaxes. His head droops, almost like he’s falling asleep. A stark vein in his neck pulses.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Good.”

Robin pauses at the door. Her eyes dart to the heaters, then Eddie.

“Are they…?”

“Highest they’ll go,” Eddie says.

Robin bites her lip.

Eddie knows what she’s thinking: that Nancy said unbearable, and right now barely one corner of the room is being warmed.

“It just takes time to, uh, kick in,” Eddie says.

It doesn’t sound convincing—sounds like he’s free-falling, desperately searching for something to hang onto.

But Robin accepts it, Eddie thinks, because what choice does she have? What choice do any of them have?

“Eddie,” Steve says, just as Robin’s stepped out of the room.

“Yeah?”

Steve wets his lips. Swallows again. It looks painful.

“It’s gonna… make him mad.”

Fear seeps down Eddie’s spine.

“We’ll come back,” he says, because right now, it’s the only promise he can make. “We’re not leaving you alone.”

“S’okay,” Steve says. He’s starting to slur his words. “Better this way.”

They tumble through the Gate as quickly as they can, then immediately set up the trailer defences.

“We’re lucky this is here,” Eddie says when they’re done, as he picks his electric guitar off the wall, untouched by vines.

“Yeah,” Robin says. “Lucky…”

She abruptly gasps and runs from the room.

Eddie curses, follows her—flinging the guitar across his back.

But there’s nothing in the living room, no bats to fight—just Robin pulling something out from behind Wayne’s bed, laughing with a touch of hysteria.

“Jesus,” Eddie breathes, “you’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

Then he actually processes what he’s looking at. Robin’s brought out a space heater, a bulky kerosene-fuelled one, much larger than what they’d originally rustled up.

“But that—that broke last winter,” Eddie says, bewildered.

Robin doesn’t say anything, just turns it on. The effect is almost immediate compared to what they’ve been working with: the heater glows red-hot, and Eddie already feels the urge to take off his jacket.

“Eddie,” Robin says slowly. “It’s 1983.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie says. He grabs her by the shoulders. “You’re a fucking genius.”

Robin turns the heater off, drags it to a point just underneath the Gate.

There’s a couple more treasures they manage to stash away: a match box found on the counter, thrown into a deep cooking pot Robin snatches from a cupboard.

“Oh, you mean business,” Eddie says. “That’s the good pot.”

Robin grins, and it makes Eddie’s heart ache—he knows what they’re doing, forcing smiles to hide their shaking hands.

“And what goddamn atrocity befalls it in the future?”

“That’s between me and God.”

They’re up on the roof, Robin crouched by the amp, when Eddie hears the Walkie crackle.

“Max is—bait’s still been taken,” comes Erica’s staticky voice.

“Uh, copy that,” Eddie says. “Sinclair. Henderson with you?”

A click.

“I’m here,” Dustin says quietly.

Eddie breathes out. “Good. Stick together.”

He sets the walkie down and yanks off his guitar pick. He thinks of Chrissy, her body contorting. Of Patrick, dragged from the water.

Steve’s hands clenched around the sink.

“Showtime, Buckley.”

The noise is explosive. It barely takes a few seconds for the bats to start coming; Eddie watches the horizon as his fingers fly over the strings.

Underneath everything, he can hear Robin counting out bars like she’s in band: One, two, three, four. Two, two, three, four.

Prestissimo.

“Eddie, two more bars!”

He nods in acknowledgement. Feels his heart pound as if in time with the music.

“Now!”

They run. The bats circle dumbly round the roof, some clustered onto the still ringing amp, like moths drawn to light.

Pied Piper.

“Go, go, go!” Eddie urges.

It’s tricky getting the heater through, but they manage it between them, an awkward handover across the Gate.

And then Eddie’s falling, landing next to Robin, breathless. They sit up as one, give each other a speechless high five.

Robin moves first. But she stops midway to Eddie’s room—like a reversal of when he was first brought to a standstill, seeing Chrissy’s eyelids fluttering erratically.

“Eddie,” Robin says. “You—you closed the door, right?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, mouth dry.

He knows that for certain because as he shut the door, his last glimpse was of Steve leaning the back of his head against the cabinet drawers, eyes closed.

Now the door’s ajar.

Eddie strains to listen, but he can’t hear anything.

He feels Robin’s hand dart into his. He squeezes tight before letting go. She picks up the heater. He’s got the cooking pot under his arm.

Together, they open the door.

The space heaters they’d left are broken, cracked down the middle. The handcuffs are dangling from the drawer handle, pried open, the ropes frayed apart—and the whole room is littered with…

Shards of wood. Snapped strings.

Eddie’s guitars. They’re shattered beyond repair, the red of the Warlock mixed with the dark wood of the acoustic.

And there, backed into the far corner, is Steve.

He’s cradling his wrist to his chest—it looks badly broken. Even from here, Eddie can see evidence of splinters embedded in both hands.

But above all, what’s drawing Eddie’s attention is that his shirt is off, revealing the state of his stomach, the bandages shoddily ripped away. The wound is oozing slow, thick trickles of black and red.

Steve doesn’t seem aware that anyone’s entered the room, just mutters indecipherably to himself, hair hanging down in front of his eyes.

Eddie manages to set the pot down silently—takes one hesitant step forward, cringes when he jostles a piece of wood.

Steve’s head jerks up at the sound. He stares at Eddie, a crease in his forehead.

“Who’re you?”

Robin lets out a breath like she’s been punched in the stomach.

“It’s…” Eddie clears his throat. Stays as still as he can. “It’s me, man. It’s Eddie.”

Steve doesn’t reply.

More wood scatters across the floor—Robin stepping forward frantically, “Steve, it’s me, it’s—”

Eddie stops her with a touch to the back of her hand.

“Steve,” he says, digs deep to find a calm tone. “Who’s this?”

Steve’s jaw works.

“R… R…”

Robin’s face shatters.

She sets the heater down. Turns it on full blast.

“Robin!” Steve gasps. “Robin, it’s me, I’m still—Robin, Robin, please—”

Robin takes another step—“Careful,” Eddie whispers, heart in his throat—and forcibly shoves the heater across the room.

Steve tries to dodge it, but he’s not quick enough; the grille slams against his arm, and Eddie inhales sharply as the skin blisters an angry, weeping red.

Steve’s cries are piercing.

But they reach a peak than taper off into whimpers; he presses himself against the wall, curls his upper body around his blistered arm.

He starts to sob.

They have to get closer to hear, stepping into the circle of heat radiating from the grille, Eddie just behind Robin; sweat pools in the small of his back.

“No, no…”

It’s a dreadful whisper.

They crouch down. Slow.

It doesn’t look like Steve notices: his eyes are shut tight, lashes damp as he continues to plead, “Don’t make me. Please don’t make me.”

Eddie can’t blame Robin for what she does next.

It’s instinct—he’d seen it in his peripheral vision at the boathouse, her hand reaching out to comfort, like she couldn’t stop herself.

No, he can’t blame her. Because Steve is hurting, sobbing like his heart is going to break from it, and he’s right there.

Robin’s hand moves forward.

Eddie sees the moment Steve’s eyes open, cold and inhuman, and Christ, for a millisecond too long, he’d forgotten that they had stepped into the ring with a cobra.

“Robin,” Eddie warns, too late, as Steve’s hand seizes her wrist.

“Don’t worry,” he says, and it’s almost perfect, almost Steve’s gentle concern, but there’s something off in the inflection, a misplaced note—“I’m not killing you first.”

He twists Robin’s hand.

She doesn’t scream, doesn’t even try to move, like she’s holding her breath just to stay silent.

“I can…” Steve breathes in and out through his nose. Predatory. “I can feel her.”

“Who?” Robin says.

A vague noise rumbles from Steve’s chest, like he’s searching for a name again.

“N… Nancy,” he says eventually. “She’s dying,” he says, off-hand. “She can’t breathe.”

Eddie reaches behind. Feels carpet beneath his palm. Steve doesn’t track the movement, eyes fixed on Robin.

“She will be like… like her friend. She will know how it feels to die alone.”

Steve grunts, and then…

Eddie has to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from making a sound; the skin around Steve’s stomach wound ripples, like there’s something bubbling up underneath, moving, alive, crawling up, up, up—mottled veins spreading, black as tar.

Eddie swallows back bile as his hand finds something solid. Wood.

He feels for the lighter in his pocket.

Steve leans towards Robin, baring his teeth.

“I will—”

Click.

“—consume her.”

The jagged piece of guitar burns in Eddie’s hand.

He throws it.

Sparks fly, land directly in Steve’s eyes, and he yells, lets go of Robin—with such an impact that she’s thrown across the room, landing slumped against the cabinet.

“Robin!”

But Eddie doesn’t have any time to help her, because there’s another click, a crackle, and the walkie comes to life, and it must be on accident because all he can hear is the sound of someone—Dustin and Erica—breathing quickly. Running.

Steve’s eyes narrow.

Eddie thinks of Dustin saying, “He knows where we are, he’ll know—”

“Shit,” Eddie hisses.

He tries, desperately, to turn the walkie off, but it suddenly feels like all the air leaves his lungs, and he’s pinned against the wall, Steve’s hand on his chest.

The walkie’s wedged between them. Steve’s somehow using his broken wrist to still Eddie’s hand, to keep the walkie turned on.

Eddie has no choice but to listen to what comes through the static.

It’s chaos. Heavy, frantic breathing; it’s like he can feel the kids clutching their sides as they run. In the distance, a car, the engine stopping. A door opens.

Jason Carver’s voice. “Did you see them?”

Behind Steve, Eddie spots Robin stirring.

Steve keeps staring down at the walkie.

An abrupt cry of pain, and another voice curses, says, “Shit, Jason, I think it’s broken.”

“El?” Dustin breathes.

Something in Steve’s face flickers, but Eddie’s too terrified to know what it means—tries and fails to turn the walkie off again, but he doesn’t even know what’s the right thing to do anymore. He just wants them to be okay, he just wants—

“Jason, no-one’s fucking there. You—you can’t even stand, I’m taking you to the hosp—”

A car door slamming shut. An engine starting up, fading…

Gone.

Dustin and Erica exhale shakily. Running again, footsteps pounding up the stairs, across floorboards…

The walkie cuts off.

Steve grits his teeth.

“Please,” Eddie whispers.

Robin’s up, moving so quietly—scooping the remnants of his guitars into the pot.

Another crackle.

“Eddie!” Dustin’s voice again, up close. “Max is—the music’s not working! I—I don’t know what to—”

There it is again: that flicker across Steve’s face. A ripple in a lake.

“Max,” he says.

The name cracks with emotion, and although his voice has been used before, an uncanny imitation, Eddie knows this is different, feels it in his gut; it’s him, it’s him, it’s him.

The snick of a match being struck.

Steve’s head tilts ever so slightly, but he doesn’t turn around. Like he already knows Robin is right behind him.

Instead—

Steve pries the walkie out of Eddie’s hand. Presses down on the button. Inhales.

“Run.”

The walkie drops with a clatter. Behind them, the fierce roar of flames; Eddie’s face stings.

He can feel Steve’s grip on him loosening, feels himself sliding down the wall.

Steve’s eyes bore into his—and although dark veins have spread across the whites, like spider webs, Eddie can still see the slightest gleam of something real in them.

Something human.

Steve’s lips move, cracked and bleeding.

Now, he mouths.

“Robin!” Eddie yells.

Steve lets him go, and Eddie sees a flash of Robin throwing the entire contents of the pot over Steve, raining fire upon him; Eddie covers his face from the scorching heat, scrambling to get away, relying on touch alone, and his hand hits something, the crunch of plastic, fuck, the walkie—

He’s by the doorway, gasping for breath.

Awareness comes in stages: the fire’s gone out, charred remains of the guitars on the ground where Steve once stood; Robin’s there, her hands red raw, and she’s looking at something, what’s she…?

Steve.

Steve dragging himself across the floor, his broken wrist pressed against his stomach. Crawling to sit next to the space heater, head tipped back against the wall, eyes closed. Breathing.

Just breathing.

Then, so faintly, Eddie almost thinks he’s imagined it.

“Railroad… Snow Ball… Muppet.”

Steve thumps the back of his head against the wall with each word.

Robin goes to him.

Eddie can only watch. He feels like he’s staring at a puzzle with too many missing pieces.

Despite everything, Robin reaches out with her hand again. She touches Steve’s knee gently, and Steve falls silent, stops hitting his head.

Robin smiles, tearful.

“You’ve—you’ve changed that song for me forever,” she says, choked up, and although Eddie can’t really understand, he senses the heart in it, the echoes of their story, of their love hitting him square in the chest.

“Do you remember,” Robin goes on, laughing through it, “the first time we were closing, and you—you got that whole bag of chocolate chips? Tore the corner and just, like, scarfed it. You looked like a chipmunk. It was—it was so gross. And you just said let’s see you do better, then. So we just kept eating them, and we had to pretend we had, like, a whole week where every order had chocolate chips just so we could get another shipment. You… you made me feel like I was five years old. That’s—that’s when I knew.” Robin takes a shuddering breath. Keeps smiling. “Right there. I wanted to be your friend.”

Steve just looks at her. He blinks, and a tear falls down his face, and Eddie can see it, like the sun briefly appearing through storm clouds, can see more of him breaking through, and for a moment, just a moment, there could be a chance, please, please…

Steve’s stomach spasms, and he groans, inhales short and sharp, twists away from Robin’s touch; the litany starts again, fever-slurred.

Eddie rediscovers the walkie. There’s cracks all through the plastic—it might not even work.

But Steve keens, pressing, pressing as blood flows through his fingers, as he trips up on the words, almost insensible now, and Eddie knows he has to take the risk.

His thumb pushes the button.

“Dustin,” he murmurs, “don’t tell me where you are. But if you’re—if you’re safe. Christ, please say you’re… Steve, he—he needs you.”

Silence.

Eddie closes his eyes.

“—safe. We’re all safe. I copy.”

Eddie thinks he laughs or something close to it. Maybe something else, too. He presses his forehead against the walkie. A benediction answered.

“Eddie?” Dustin says, and his speech keeps crackling, keeps threatening to cut out, but he’s there, he’s there.

Steve blinks, turns towards the sound of Dustin’s voice.

But Eddie’s not afraid this time.

“Railroad,” Steve repeats. Soft yet intentional, like he means it with everything he has left. “Railroad.”

Eddie passes the word on to Dustin. Waits.

Dustin takes a little while to figure it out—or maybe he solves it almost instantly, but here, time moves slow: just Robin and Eddie holding their breath, Steve only mouthing the words now. Barely there.

Dustin must push his button down mid-gasp, the words rushing out.

“That’s how we—that’s when everything—”

What follows is a garbled speech Eddie can barely make sense of, as static obscures every third word or so: about the junkyard and demodogs, and tunnels, and…

“D-different details, Henderson,” Eddie says with a choked laugh.

Fondness wells up; for a second it had felt like he was listening to Dustin in the middle of a campaign, on a tangent, and Eddie knows he just has to nudge him down the right path and then he’ll work it out, because the kid’s a goddamn genius.

“Stuff he can feel,” Eddie tries.

Steve looks at him, unblinking, and God he’s still in there, Eddie thinks, there’s so many thoughts, so much of him trapped beneath the surface.

So Dustin talks about Queen playing in Steve’s car, of how the fall leaves looked as they walked, of his shoelaces coming loose, and Steve getting down on his knees in exaggerated exasperation, you’re gonna fall flat on your face, dickhead, we’ve got enough going on.

Eddie takes the thread he’s been given, adds embellishments where he can—the crunch of leaves underfoot, the steady clunk of walking on the tracks, Dustin sometimes hurrying a little, just to match Steve’s stride—and as Steve finally blinks slowly, Eddie prays.

Can you feel it? Please go there. Go somewhere safe. Go somewhere it can’t find you. “What—what else did he say?” Robin says, when Steve lips stops moving, and his eyes close; he looks so tired. “Snow Ball?”

“Yeah, that’s—” Eddie pushes the walkie button again, so Dustin can hear. “Didn’t the Middle School have something… Did you do anything for it? Like put up decorations or…?”

Robin shakes her head.

Eddie furiously racks his brains for one detail, anything—curses himself for not paying attention, for shirking the ‘volunteering’ he was forced to do that December in lieu of detention; for viewing it all with a petty indifference, when for others, it must’ve meant so—

He releases the button.

“Did you say Snow Ball?” Dustin asks, before he launches into Steve shielding his eyes from hairspray, of the forest green gift bag his mom had passed into Steve’s hands, of Steve’s surprise, his shy smile—and then it’s Erica who takes over, calling over somewhere, “Lucas, remember when we came to pick you up?”

And the Sinclairs had stayed much longer than expected because Max’s folks were late in collecting her; and when Steve came to pick up Dustin, he’d noticed and stayed, too.

“He didn’t make a big thing of it,” Max says quietly, somewhere distant; Lucas adds that Steve opened up all his car doors so the tape he was playing could be heard: The Carpenters, some Christmas medley.

“He danced with Max,” Lucas says. “We were betting on how many times he could spin her in a row.”

“Ugh, shut up.”

Eddie can hear Max’s eye roll. Her smile.

“And,” Erica says, “he actually enjoyed dad’s small talk. Like, he was fully hooked on mom and Uncle Jack’s gift wrapping contest.”

Eddie smiles, covers his mouth just in case a traitorous noise slips out. The kids sound happy, and he doesn’t want to ruin that for the world.

Steve’s eyes shine, almost like he’s thinking the same thing.

Sorry, he mouths. I’m sorry.

The walkie dies.

Steve groans again, pushing down on his stomach wound. He’s trying to hide it from view, Eddie realises.

Robin keeps reaching for him. “Steve, don’t—let me help. Please.”

Steve shakes his head. “Can’t—can’t hold it back.” His voice is rasping.

“I saw you,” Eddie says, and Robin glances at him. “Last year. At school.”

The memory comes to him all at once, sparked by the kids and the thought of Steve chatting in a parking lot, so at ease.

“I was pissed ‘cause I’d just flunked—doesn’t matter. Was walking it off outside, and you turned into the parking lot, windows down, and you looked so fucking pleased with yourself cause you’d already passed everything. You must’ve had a free period, maybe a double, I dunno. I was,” Eddie huffs self-deprecatingly, “jealous.”

Steve’s head slumps against the wall. His chest rises and falls rapidly, laden with sweat. Eddie tries not to look at the marks—where the burning pieces of wood struck his skin.

Steve’s eyes find his. One long blink.

Keep going.

“You—you were wearing these sunglasses,” Eddie says, and Robin sobs, laughs, like she knows exactly the pair he means. “And you—the radio was on, but I—I can’t remember what was—anyway, you were kinda. Singing. Or, like, humming to yourself. And you were walking to the middle school, you kept throwing your keys in the air. You caught ‘em every damn time.” Eddie chuckles. “Do you know how annoying that was? And I—I just kept watching, ‘till the bell rang, and I just didn’t get it. Didn’t get why you looked so… so happy. But I—” Eddie swallows. “I know now.”

Steve’s mouth tilts, not quite a smile—he’s trying, he’s trying.

“You were gonna go see the kids, huh?” Eddie says. “Surprise them or something, I don’t know. You can tell me later. Promise me? And you—” His voice threatens to go, but he pushes through it, because if there’s one thing Steve needs to hear, it’s this.

Just this.

“You were happy. Because you loved them,” Eddie whispers. “And they loved you.”

Steve breathes in.

And he rises up so suddenly that Robin falls back in alarm. He hits the space heater as he goes, and while it still blisters his skin, he doesn’t cringe away, more deliberately leans into it—

“Quick,” Steve mutters. “He’s mad, he’s mad, we don’t have much—”

And he lies down directly on the bed frame, his stomach still oozing that viscous black and red; Eddie’s stomach drops.

He feels strange, like his body already knows what’s coming before his mind’s caught up.

“Quick, quick—”

The smash of a bottle as Steve fumbles it, spilling alcohol on the floor—he tries again, reaches for lighter fluid and douses the whole bed frame in it.

“Robin,” he says, “Robin, please.”

She’s watching Steve’s every move with wide eyes; Eddie just looks on helplessly.

Fucking move.

“Robin!”

“Steve, I—” She shakes her head, uncomprehending—more like she doesn’t want to understand. “I don’t—”

Steve doubles over, picks something off the floor. Eddie’s distracted—stupid, stupid—watching in horror as more black veins spread up, across Steve’s shoulders, the strained muscles in his neck, and too late, he realises that Steve’s holding a lighter in his hand.

Click.

Steve drops it.

Sets the wooden slats ablaze.

He cries out, back arching—the flames lick higher, higher, and Robin’s screaming Steve’s name, running to him, like she can pull him from the flames…

There’s something else in Steve’s hand.

Robin’s trapped where she’s stood, a broken piece of glass to her neck—and Steve’s struggling against it, but his hand doesn’t move, as beads of blood dot Robin’s skin—

Eddie doesn’t know when it happened. Just knows that he’s holding a spear, and it’s on fire too, flames creeping up…

“Eddie!” Steve says. “Finish it!”

His skin writhes, contorting; Eddie thinks of Chrissy again, of Patrick—and a faint memory of Will Byers, vanishing without a trace.

It was you, Eddie thinks numbly. It was all you.

The glass presses closer still against Robin’s neck. She gasps—

And Steve begs.

“Kill me!”

The stomach wound heaves like a living creature, gaping and monstrous.

“Give him back, you son of a bitch,” Eddie breathes.

He lunges forward.

With all his strength, he digs the spear straight into Steve’s stomach; the flames surge, engulf—

Steve screams.

A black mass pours out of his mouth, and Eddie thinks he’s screaming, too, but he can’t hear anything, can’t hear anything but Steve, the torture in his voice, fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, and the mass hits him; he flies through the air, feels his head smack against something solid.

Then nothing.

He comes to in the living room. Blood dampens the back of his head.

Sits up. Blinks dazedly at the ceiling. The Gate… the Gate’s gone.

Bedroom. Has to… Steve, Robin. Bedroom.

He shoves himself up, wobbles. Forces himself on.

He knows he’s lost time when he nears the room: a chill hits him from the broken window, and the flames have been put out.

Robin. Robin kneeling by the bed, burns all up her arms.

“—open your eyes,” she’s saying. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

Eddie very deliberately doesn’t fully register who she’s talking to. If he does, he’ll freeze, useless. He will never forgive himself.

“Band lungs, Buckley,” he croaks, and then he falls beside her.

Starts compressions.

You’re not going, you’re not going. You’ve got so many people to see again. No. You’re not going.

He tries just to count out loud, but even as he’s doing it, something crumbles, something breaks apart irreparably inside of him, “Don’t you dare leave, don’t you…”

Robin. Two breaths.

“I wanna talk to you, Steve Harrington, and you’re gonna fucking be there to listen, do you understand, do you…”

He loses track of what he’s saying completely, lost to wilder and wilder promises, but it doesn’t matter, nothing matters except this, except the desperate push of his hands, the crack of Steve’s ribs, Robin’s long breaths; and God, Eddie would give anything, anything at all, would tear his fucking heart out if it would help, if it meant that Steve would—

“—just breathe!”

Something jolts underneath his fingers; for a moment, it destroys him: it’s back, it’s—

“That’s it,” Robin’s saying, “there, there, that’s—”

Eddie’s head sinks down to his knees.

Wretched coughs. Gasping.

“He can’t—Eddie, he can’t breathe.”

Eddie staggers over to the window. Makes the hole bigger, again and again. Glass slices through his palms.

“That’s better, huh?” Robin’s murmuring, and Eddie can’t look at her, can’t look at who’s in her arms; if he does, the proof will shatter, and that can’t… he has to…

The phone rings.

Eddie goes to it. His arm lifts, heavy and delayed. Like he’s in a dream.

On the other end, a terrified voice.

Mike. Mike Wheeler crying.

“Did it work?”

“I—” There’s a high-pitched ringing in Eddie’s ears; he shakes his head. “I don’t—”

“I-is Nancy there? Where’s Nancy?”

And there’s that gut feeling again, the one that pulled Eddie out of the RV in the first place; “Hang on,” he says to Mike, and he lets the phone fall, pushes the front door open to stand on the porch, breathing in shallow, frigid breaths.

There’s something coming out from behind the trees.

Closer and closer, and Eddie almost assumes the worst.

But it’s Nancy. There’s ash in her hair, and she’s drenched, coated in black sludge; her teeth flash as she smiles, a pocket knife gleaming in her hand.

“I made my own Gate,” she says.

Barely missing a beat, she tilts her head to the side to throw up. She wipes her mouth with the back of her sleeve, spreads more thick tar across her face.

Underneath everything, there’s a scarlet ring around her throat.

“Your brother,” is all Eddie can get out.

Her eyes blaze white-hot.

“Mike,” she says, clutching the phone so tightly, like she would do the very same if she could hold his hand. “It’s gone, it’s all gone.” And then, louder, louder, trembling, “And whoever’s fucking listening on here, get us help. I know you’re there. I won’t stop. I won’t—”

Eddie knows she says more. She must do.

But he can’t stop staring down at his hands. At the blood.

He steps forward—almost sways, and Nancy catches his wrist.

“Don’t go outside without me. Don’t talk to anyone apart from us, Eddie. Okay? They won’t touch you. I won’t let them.”

Eddie thinks he manages a nod. He believes her. Her jaw quivers, but her head’s held up high: if a gun was pressed to her head, he knows the bullet wouldn’t take.

The phone call continues, but the sound is muffled, underwater.

Eddie comes back to himself in the bedroom doorway.

Robin’s still by the bed.

Steve’s lying there, eyes closed. His stomach’s still bleeding, slow, slow, but the veins have gone, they’ve…

“Eddie.” Robin reaches out a hand to him. “Come on. You… you can feel him breathing from here.”

Why don’t you hate me?

He should leave. He should leave.

He doesn’t deserve…

But Robin keeps reaching, and Eddie’s on his knees next to her, a coward, you’re a fucking coward.

“Here,” Robin says.

She guides Eddie’s hand. Places it on Steve’s sternum, above the awful wound, above all the pain Eddie caused—

There. A rise and fall.

Just breathing.

Eddie’s breath catches.

“I thought—” He shudders. “I thought I’d—”

Robin must sense it before he does, before he even really knows it’s happening.

“You’re okay,” she says, and she pulls him into her embrace—keeps one hand on Steve as she does.

Good, Eddie thinks. He needs to know you’re there. He shouldn’t be alone.

He turns his face into Robin’s shoulder, and weeps.

#flayed steve harrington #body horror cw #pre steddie #steddie #steddie fic #steve and robin #eddie and robin #steve and the party #steve and dustin #eddie and dustin #eddie and nancy #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #dustin henderson

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fintan-pyren · 2 months

Text

Sometimes, life is busy. You shouldn't let that stop you from enjoying a good book, but who has the time to read the same words over and over again?

For your enjoyment and convenience, I have removed all duplicate words from the first Keeper of the Lost Cities book.

blurry fractured memories swam through sophie’s mind but she couldn’t piece them together tried opening her eyes and found only darkness something rough pressed against wrists ankles refusing to let move a wave of cold rushed as the horrifying realization dawned was hostage cloth across lips stifled cry for help sedative’s sweet aroma stung nose when inhaled making head spin were they going kill would black swan really destroy their own creation what point project moonlark then everblaze drug lulled toward dreamless oblivion fought back clinging one memory that could shine tiny spot light in thick inky haze pair beautiful aquamarine fitz’s first friend new life ever maybe if hadn’t noticed him day museum none this have happened no knew it’d been too late even white fires already burning curving city filling sky with sticky smoke spark before blaze miss foster mr sweeney’s nasal voice cut blaring music he yanked earbuds out by cords you decided you’re smart pay attention information sophie forced open not wince bright fluorescents reflected off vivid blue walls amplifying throbbing headache hiding sweeney mumbled shrinking under glares now staring classmates pulled shoulder-length blond hair around face wishing hide behind it exactly kind went way avoid why wore dull colors lurked blocked other kids who at least foot taller than survive twelve-year-old high school senior perhaps can explain listening your ipod instead following along held up like evidence crime though probably he’d dragged class natural history balboa park assuming his students be excited about all-day field trip didn’t seem realize unless giant dinosaur replicas came started eating people cared tugged loose eyelash nervous habit stared feet there make understand needed cancel noise hear chatter from dozens tourists echoed fossil-lined splashed cavernous room mental voices real problem scattered disconnected pieces thoughts broadcast straight into brain being hundreds tvs different shows same time sliced consciousness leaving sharp pains wake freak secret burden since fell hit five years old she’d blocking ignoring nothing helped never tell anyone wouldn’t you’ve above lecture don’t give asked pointed enormous orange duckbill center how lambeosaurus differs dinosaurs we’ve studied repressed sigh flashed an image card front display glanced entered photographic recorded every detail recited facts twisted scowl classmates’ grow increasingly sour weren’t fans resident child prodigy called curvebuster finished answer grumbled sounded know-it-all stalked exhibit next over follow thin separating two rooms block muffled grabbed little relief nice job superfreak garwin chang boy wearing t-shirt said i’m gonna fart sneered shoved past join they’ll write another article child teaches lame-o-saurus still bitter yale had offered full scholarship rejection letter arrived few weeks allowed go parents much pressure young end discussion so attending closer smaller san diego college year fact some annoying reporter newsworthy enough post local paper chooses ivy league complete photo freaked wasn’t strong word more half rules unnecessary front-page articles pretty worst nightmare they’d newspaper complain editor seemed unhappy story run place on arsonist terrorizing trying figure mistake bizarre white-hot flames smelled burnt sugar took priority everything especially unimportant girl most ignore or used caught sight tall dark-haired reading yesterday’s embarrassing black-and-white looked seen particular shade teal smooth sea glass beach glittered flickered expression gaze disappointment decide shrugged leaning closed distance between smile belonged movie screen heart did weird fluttery thing is pointing picture nodded feeling tongue-tied fifteen far cutest talking i thought squinted brown uh yeah sure say reason felt conversation accent british somehow crisper which bothered know are suck words soon left mouth course boys cute made mushy perfect returned told hulking greenish standing albertosaurus all its lizardesque glory me do think that’s it’s absurd

isn’t see saw small t rex: big teeth ridiculously short arms fine laughed i’ll get meet turned leave just classes kindergartners barreled fossil crushing screaming knock step whole realm pain kids’ stinging high-pitched needles many once angry porcupine attacking hands darted rubbing temples ease stabbings skull remembered alone reaction locked forehead pained imagined seconds hushed blood drain mean created plenty racket shrieks squeals giggles plus sixty individual chattering away gasped solved earlier everyone boy’s distinct accented speaking totally completely silent possible whispered widened moved whisper telepath flinched skin itch gave can’t believe backed exit reveal total stranger okay holding sort wild animal calm afraid froze my name’s fitz added stepping name searching sign part joke joking thinking wobbled spent seven find someone else world tilted sideways steady here looking twelve we better question: want air jerked bolted door stumbling shaky legs rhythm sucked breaths ran down stairs burned lungs bits ash flew ignored wanted space strange come shouted picked pace raced courtyard base steps wide fountain grassy knolls sidewalk got inside because poor quality footsteps gaining wait pouring energy sprint fighting urge glance shoulder halfway crosswalk sound screeching tires reminded both ways terrified driver struggling stop car plowed right die second blur swerved missing inches jumped curb sideswiped streetlight heavy steel lantern cracked plummeted instincts hand shot pulling strength somewhere deep gut pushing fingertips force collide falling gripping extension arm dust settled floated feel weighed ton put familiar warned bringing trance shrieked dropped without hurtled watch yanking split crashed ground impact knocked tumbled body broke fall landed chest stretched flurry questions swirling coherent idea sat replaying sense need witnessed miracle tighten panic let’s overwhelmed plan resist street reached intersection north zoo where crowd during firestorm running missed hearing changed terrifying scenarios involved government agents throwing dark vans experiments watched road ready bolt anything suspicious zoo’s massive parking lot relaxed outside milling cars happen witnesses slowed walk breath promise sincere easier opened hesitated supposed am trust won’t considered father sent specific age observe report always talk frowned disappointed himself does means expected threw what’s wrong touched eyelids suddenly selfconscious figured again awe us stopped whoa hang ‘one us’ frowning spotted fanny-pack-wearing within earshot deserted corner ducking green minivan there’s easy we’re human stunned speak hysterical laugh escaped repeated shaking riiiiiight insane trusting kicked stomped telling truth minute last listen plea humans vanished gone reeling leaned argued taking clear set pole minutes ago almost three managed finally saying alien erupted laugher cheeks grew hot also relieved compose elf hung foreign object belong visions tights pointy ears danced giggling expect guess stick wavy spikes rock star good crazy agreed refused serious frodo ring save middle-earth toys hid corners showed oh ought folded slender silver wand intricate carvings etched sides tip round crystal sparkled sunlight magic asking rolled actually pathfinder spun latch top dangerous you’ll faded depends take concentrate matter happens proof prove whisk land curious harm someone’s willed palms sweat fingers laced stupid tingled everywhere scanning warning look scowled bit tongue concentrated racing seriously become those silly girls counted raising facet beam refracted tightened grip forward warm tingling million feathers swelling underneath tickling giggle melted goo keeping oozing blanket warmth wrapped faster blink eye might squeaked stood edge glassy river lined impossibly trees fanning emerald leaves among puffy clouds row castles walt disney throw rocks kingdom golden path led sprawling elaborate domed buildings built brick-size jewels each structure color snowcapped mountains surrounded lush valley crisp cool

cinnamon chocolate sunshine places exist less appear forgotten released realized hard squeezing unable castle towers oddly our capital call eternalia heard shangri-la lost cities you’d stories rarely ridiculous things elves burst quiet gentle breeze brushing soft murmur traffic hammering unspoken very silence rising tiptoes view streets ghost town building towered others stones emeralds banner flying tribunal progress everyone’s watching proceedings council basically royalty holds broken law they’re deal laws well shook wrap cringing question funniest glared funny regained control try cling remaining strands sanity sun casting ray onto leaping hitched ride headed impossible infinite travel haven’t theory relativity stumped dumbest i’ve albert einstein huh dumb argue confident unnerving harder waited feather sensation dryer scattering directions until rubber band later shivering ocean whipping glowed carved moonlight failed passed bring herself true science book read confused observed ‘hey learned smug grin best minds begin comprehend complexities reality elves’ ahead slowest trump proper education shoulders sagged sank four scenery blurred whether tears entire lie nudged hey fault believed taught i’d done works bells chimed large gateway floor-length velvet capes draped tunics emerged followed creatures marching military formation rocky pants muscles prominently flat noses coarse gray pleated folds armadillo goblins signed treaty hating trembling dressed forbidden lumenaria worlds gnomes dwarves ogres trolls mentioning focused motioned farther squatting betrayed ancient councillors intelligent rule planning war ancients violence disappeared forbid any contact devices working defend race famine problems chilled frigid wind licking who’d known must’ve after eventually evolved myths simple yes peeked glowing crucial identity clicked spinning thousand loud clang gate stepped shadows sleek cobalt home jolted mom bus bland boring stole incredible blinding swept smoky fresh surprised recognized plain square houses narrow tree-lined house ask lived coughed handle putting pollutes planet these aren’t normal chemical smells usually wildfires smell barbecue melting cotton candy burn rain arsonists admitted pocket hoping notice dad wants knows neither important meant mystery he’s happy careful please shown today thank act family doesn’t suspect squared courage telepaths special ability rarer ones thirteen six months corrected liking youngest manifest start reverberated scanned positive waking hospital moment forget hooked kinds machines hovering shouting barely separate hold happening group adults haunted worry brows narrowed doing extra private keep wall weak hated bossed answering concerned action worked imagining stretching shadow mine blurted pale process hardest worries live fumbled answers long trouble knees link amazing will tomorrow panicked battered cluttered living phone she’s receiver having reeled daggers calling wandering worried police sorry stammered convincing horrible liar scared mom’s anger concern nervously curly guy realizing lies based freaking walked trolley train teacher guard ugh complained closing adult rubbed wrinkle appeared stressed upset safe stand weirdo understood dangers teased tormented bullied deflate wish trailed close rest sister slipped pin painful tight hug welcome honey dinner ten amy upstairs kitchen unease twist stomach worn linoleum pastel tacky knickknacks ordinary glittering kissed cheek shabby briefcase table how’s soybean wink baby apparently pronouncing thousands times lid simmering pots garlic cream filled handed silverware turn crackin’ scooted plopped usual chair nine role mastered opposite lower average grades popularity sisters wondered definitely powers lowered breathing: inhale exhale repeat care nickname dizzy must lay should eat skipping acting fettuccine night favorite rich sauce sudden nausea tug eyelashes chewed bite swallow fork official thanks great homework sprinted bed hiss shattered marty pounding fluffy cat sitting tail slunk settling lap marty’s purring

confront downstairs settle explained blonde chubby brunette screamed throbbed deeper ripped apart blinked related change lots adopted poked brought e l fudges plate cookies milk getting sick palm fever tired cookie stumbled routine crawled blankets wrapping pillow dreams kissing tucked tradition breathe ella yep elephant stuffed sleep tonight um guys hugged tighter hours labor endured switched birth daughter doubt wondering anymore dreamed keebler perfected recipes liked oreos drown vat fudge woke overrated morning quick shower jeans shirt buttery yellow stripes item closet self-conscious wear gold flecks admit clipped toyed lip gloss snuck check crept yard blinking stuck contained next-door neighbor perch middle lawn forkle rearranging garden tableaux nosy checking effect beady bored hers loved sentences complaining 911 obligated gnome fraction inch gives headaches yapping interrupted ball fur streaked barking spandex jogging shorts chased grabbing dog leash clumsy lunge kneeled stroking wild-eyed panting creature drew growled strained mad sister’s hates displaying several halfmoon wounds bleeding scar suppose willing carry blocks seems winked piercing certainly yelled jogger guy’s louder chaos wonder grab drag should’ve trick react stopping tracks side man straightened height quite intimidating ordered glowered promised snorted grumbling moving explaining whenever appearance waiting incident eyewitnesses frustrating confusing bell rang lurking scream demanded loudly heads bad flashing cocky rush blush unanswered tries creepy snatch slow replayed scene remember growling forkle’s quietly quieter we’ll we’d eyeing suspected impending mischief leap english ditch yesterday strangle pull disappearing fail willingly use telepathy brushed whispering pushed further test tested permission assignment frustrated matters invading offense scrunch nod movement nearby oak drowned could’ve sworn jogger’s campus gestured tree either imagine adjusted shouldn’t anyway who’s committee sidelong heat breaking automatically furious enjoyed caused determines grinned future shield surveyed surroundings metal nearly everglen leading doors absorbs directly likes privacy stressful doubted king kong faint click swung inward striking clearing growing midnight cape fastened clasp diamond-encrusted wings lean vibrant resemblance alden introduced bow curtsy shake greet shy pleasure prominent kidding unusual flush smiled embarrassed fire alden’s injury muttered son shared kidnapping considering such might’ve paranoid has touch rude assure love kidnapper searched reassure kindness agree placed gently jacket ticked indeed fascinating sounding triumphant perfectly specifically nexus forgot covered dug cuff coat clamped bracelet wrist twisting fit snug comfortable accessory single jewel rectangle symbols letters spelled gibberish odd decorate finality safety precaution break particles carried concentration circumstances bare early fools overestimate skills fade cautious answered lose yourself able fully reform pulls forever goose bumps dimple cleared throat prefer reproving send mission collect long-lost guests wiped blooming red pink purple rainbow perfume flowers dizzying testing qualify foxfire paused fungus insulted prestigious academy named represents glow darkened comes ‘fungus’ strongest talent kiss goodbye excuse proud attend accomplishment earliest levels develops abilities continue studies elvin sneak work knowingly chills mixed night’s troubling revelation sickening councillor bronte difficult impress feels upbringing lack disqualify surprises existed miffed votes squat brown-skinned huge tended fairy tale plants slantways shuffled carrying basket twinkling fruit guessing pictured men hats statues servants stare choose safer gardens enjoy privileged taste gnomish produce lunch treat dig slimy tubers slugs hoped menu peeled meadow elegant manor entirely intricately numerous turrets gables rose tower resembled lighthouse braided foyer prism widest hallway fountains spouted streams colored water hall dead-ended encrusted jeweled mosaic

diamond unicorns amethyst spoke wealth squeezed formal dining sheer silk curtains drawing chandelier waterfall shimmering crystals platters fancy goblets figures jewel-encrusted circlets plush thronelike chairs surrounding curtsied necks clasps keys horribly underdressed fabrics except disguise kenric oralie football player toothy princess rosy ringlets met smallest cropped features finger pairs floor laughter squirmed joined pleased shape it’ll transformed noticing autorepeat: scooting oralie’s one’s died yet hurt immortal trace sorrow bodies aging reach adulthood wrinkles belongs yourselves guest uncovered grimace strips glop goop tasted juiciest cheeseburger stuff mashed carnissa root umber leaf tastes chicken animals tone ate toxic waste squirming grimaced vegetarians horror vegetables cheeseburgers tells swallowed mouthful thud discussing openly respond kenric’s jaws dry remembering warnings stay begun eight pass mentioned learn relax bronte’s icy gust common announced jaw flushing chagrined incredulous impenetrable key sentence ‘almost breached guilt conscience sounds infallible thinks likely exceptionally lift weight telekinesis recovering embarrassment shrank goblet accident raised lifting invisible scoffed unimpressed limitations unlike physical confidence clue giving blew pretending imaginary extend sharper worth saucers applauded excellent praise couple glasses determined stronger ounce core empty collective gasp including breathed celebrate cramped strain knocking thunderous collision open-mouthed shock hollered sealed clapped language guys’ enlightened leaped instinctive interesting babbling teasing noisy gripped ‘soybean’ mispronouncing blushed chuckled beside dusting waved insisted sighed suldreen stretch line rare species bird puzzle solve uncomfortable coincidence convince decision barked shoving moonlarks vote otherwise fight favor final fragile lovely empath emotions extended grasped delicate fear confusion sincerity describe azure settles revisited till adjust invoke demand probe planned arranged quinlin busy decipher fun training looks iffy ‘bothered’ dad’s reluctant emptiness exploded choked saving colder implications ditched stall punishment atlantis nowhere patch white-capped waves signs seagulls screech poop hardly continent tide pool triangular slip slick shoes match gown begged status noble members nobility offices empire waist beaded neckline dress costume seeing clothes: tunic embroidery edges pockets sewn sleeves exact size sit boots completed thankfully knowing biana comparison changing subject ledge engineered catastrophe compartment revealing bottles label bottle whirlpool uncorked flung blast whipped faces roar churning ladies suggested worse gulped maelstrom beneath salty sprayed jump push count dignity drowning flailing idiot formed tunnel dipping weaving craziest waterslide starting launched vortex sponge licked toe pack kittens minus kitten sprang cushion smoothed wet incoming rocketed slightly squishy packed sand gleaming metropolis dome beyond soared skyline bathing radiating spires network canals interconnected arched bridges pictures venice modern clean despite bottom underwater muted hum background seashell ear build stores power precisely amount changes plated reflect firelight illuminate sink wandered shops renaissance fair women’s gowns shifted advertised two-for-one specials bottled lightning fast approval spyball applications strolled hybrid chicken-lizard invented main canal hailed carriages floating almond-shaped boat rows high-backed benches elbow-length steered bench reins skimming surface eight-foot-long scorpion deadly pincers reared curled sting eurypterid stroked shiny shell eurypterid’s slice emitting low hissing petted harmless carriage quinlin’s yours fiber mutant insect doom probed gritted pressing hideous sonden’s office thrashed heebie-jeebies commute while secure needs protection file highly classified business district windows tracing bearing names treasury registry interspeciesial services unreadable random strings runes nonsense writing

alphabet clueless chin jumble nah affected gap kid option country tests dropping member broad kelp ornamentation precise read: sonden: chief mentalist cube swiped elbow ping assurances humiliating bypassed receptionist dim damp stone desk dark-skinned chin-length seat ceremony unique understatement squirm handing lick dna unsanitary tiniest hologram center: rotating unearthly breathing prentice sacrificed double helixes sacrifice reasons fears hundred seventy-eight murmured began pacing invaded she’ll greatest keeper older midstep record share trained charge protecting currently hidden karaoke game sing off-key notes clearly eavesdropping strip slid winding stairway climbed oval footage brush projected chill aerial southern california lines circle area images deepened valleys ruled reflections note interrupting communicate waving warn turning overreacting glancing shuddered desperate kidnapper’s threatened easily implied nameless faceless entity quickly threatening authorities would’ve shivered accelerant chemicals leads lighting spilling oil blowing investigate council’s position here: takes visit babysitter decent equally spying steam secrecy existence discovered hoax search updated slight bypassing distracted evillooking matches keepers lagoon glint shimmery dunes lake west shore statue topped hollow iridescent film shimmered loop apparatus resemble bubble lifted clung shrieking levitate forming touching bubble’s rumble coming geyser shoot eleven crash below bobbed where’s scary pure joy popped whisked glaring gates flash strode olive contrast youth shone nerve summoning personal shorter intimidated difference sooner exiled clench fists backward tiergan aware opinion summoned convinced tiergan’s fierce crumbled crossing expert inventory widening whatever foxfire’s newest mentor puppy officially weirding becomes provide retired given persuaded return resentment mixture surprise hone assistance reasonable restrictions pretend opportunity silencing bet terrible mood mumbling mostly irresponsible manage choice benefit stares notify dame alina returning kept bruise meantime session listed remedial schedule lessons dummies correct assumption warmed tuesday brilliant panel everglen’s grounds sessions study student subjects one-on-one nerves one-onone succeed mention level grade relearning self-doubt heavier fragmented disappear explanation aside pleasant dis arguing overstuffed armchairs woman squealed snickered wife della pinched gesturing dear vanishers smiling musical hint della’s beauty tossed pursed heart-shaped parents’ combined gangly troll interceded borrow errands frumpy files requested denied request approve grady edaline case torn radiant parcels strobe unwrapped packages clasped cord neck choker pendant elf-y anytime fund’s activated fund register money standard dollars lusters laughing luster dollar crinkled ew insult afford differently limited seventy eighty makes sad curved window overlooking silvery floor-to-ceiling aquarium wingback facing piled books scrolls anxiety remind stacks newspapers circled crossed news removed drawer theories irritation super stuttered discuss faced solution allow ours they’ve effective immediately too-simple accept kick constant discovery longer unbearable loneliness friends grasping overwhelm areas access severely restricted dead deciding gravestones became vivid: grave tearstained draw suffer struck complicated relocated jobs erase tear obvious believing shutting function erased armchair scrubbed forbade sob occurred risking twenty alert plans clothes sees wiping focus bent unshed horrors cringed buried trembled bouncing busted eavesdrop grounded hugging worrying pouted pettiness bratty obnoxious pain-in-the-butt embrace struggles play daughters mouths senses hook hurry daze rememorize room: dusty available quilt mother tripped furry crouching releasing pathetic meow disk sleeping gas release drugging physically ill backpack slung giggled elizabeth clutching anywhere couch fingered ordering thirty crumpled burying recognize crouched smearing drool snot drugged sobs

overcame jerk washers bags regret bear slept finish hawaiian family’s limp determination taken fourteen cried assured stranglehold haunting gets hope personally oversee relocation flared wrung guardians title selected enthusiasm strangers elwin’s blue-crystaled temptation shiver raked bones orphan conservatory lead backyard security choosing saved ache suffering gift raise ended abandoned wipe elwin physician medical hate doctors brave regular nightmares brief stays struggled dragging direction drop free implying biana’s glare escape punch bathed gigantic glued cushioned cot syringe goes fidget spectacles scientist snapped painless orb flasher manipulate skilled orem vacker show eclipse biggest celebrations traditions damage permanent tensed food chance innocent cells dashing depending orbs squinting lenses stunningly lit dramatic expecting toxins research rifled satchel vials liquids major detox braced medicine syrups nectar unknown fruits tingly drink youth legends enzymes essential health refreshing downed contents gulp drank medicines list follow-up checkup whistled sometimes heated lame stinky stegosaurus shame horrified production wimp doctor phobia jumping needle strap bunch shots allergic how’d concrete nine-one-one unconscious genes kicking trigger bedroom canopied chandeliers room’s gotten deserve ruined chanting mantra shut pajamas tuck asleep belonging alive twenty-five catch breakfast clock shop furniture detoxes materializing clutched ghostly exotic heartbreaker fitted glamorous shopping explosion behold wardrobe outfits extras pick beat-up sparkly casual packing leaked days unpack hungry knotted sadly dampened preserve havenfield exciting jolie deny loss wonderful booming fenced-in pastures spread scrambled versions rehabilitation centers sanctuary protected trap nessie artist endangered gorillas lions mammoths extinct thriving herd woolly colonies saber-toothed tigers slack exists rob qualities provides thrive feeding hunt diet steep cliffs caves flower-lined using ropes lasso lizard neon beast protest drama queen husky male commanded beast’s heave feat twice snaarrll bucked guardian lunged tangled writhed losing balance verdi tyrannosaurus comments meeting jaculus winged serpent feeds support contain bloodsucking snake claws snout tremble lowering fangs glinted slobber motioning glimpse dinosaur-riding chiseled feather-covered james bond robin hood balding relate handsome feathery banged pet rub rex’s stayed docile unblinking separated verdi’s wound plugged slime death rot tuna fish combination kelpie dung bites jar swear edaline’s grady’s wary compared palatial estate mansion standards columns cupola roof entryway central upper floors cascaded ceiling wispy fabric turquoise amber curls similar circles fluff presentable rex picking playing rodeo cowboy nope wash staircase sadness lingered tea mallowmelt insist gooey cake fresh-baked chip soaked ice frosting butterscotch dripping hasty slices served nook grazing linens painted china homesick woken lushberry juice pop possessed conjurer form teleporting objects coolest unfortunately scraggly slurps burps letting friend’s ached grieve fished imparter simply strangled pounded reassuring deafening third star-shaped dangled glittery weaved carpet scent canopy occupied dressing bookshelves brightly volumes bathroom bathtub swimming biting awesome assumed jolie’s tour awkward delicious soupy pizza unpacking wrinkled scrapbook wherever welled remnants dried sixteen sunrise streaks blending mirror darken awake finishing hovered doorway interrupt riser shades clap bruises conjured bowl spoon banana bread tempted impose sloppy handwriting upside symbol corner: bird’s beak tickled babble scare extremely documents cipher moisture particularly believable prescribed drawn eager fidgeting ruffles simplest bought hi kesler groaned island mysterium identical mold vendors spices sweets buzzed crowded sidewalks working-class social rank ‘talent simpler correspondingly unfair born lesser lives type designed village avoiding whispers ruewen pretended different

store crooked nursery rhyme burps: merry apothecary belched maze shelves pills laboratory beakers bubbling burners rainbow-colored lab skinny tousled strawberry periwinkle blob tubes add amarallitine dex tongs vial experiment poured beaker sparked plume dirty gag concoction exclaimed hello ‘hello impersonation sludge eda scrap sheet kesler’s brother-in-law nephew practically monday al freaks dimples burped beanpole hooded cloak vika annoyance handiwork written girl’s bald scalp meanwhile stina ’cause twitched battling sell solutions sasquatch dent bony appendages children throttle hairoids stock week wailed ogre wicked misses responsible friendly rage here’s spat helping customers potent hat flinch useless buy countered retort stina’s oooh slammed fist timkin heks helps situation traditional absolutely brings stuffy nobles happier grinning mess tweak supplies armful worktable sneaky beard dex’s evil mortar pestle teach tingle attempt fifty-seven solo property collapse practiced checked displayed sliver percent chose he’ll hawk mentors monitor weakness expelled pushes transferred exillium swallowing bile mounting attack messy juline riveted gossip interruption interest hilarious bookshelf mounted cover camera summer flipping pages naked mouse suit disneyland dizznee photos honestly movies outlets flipped technology solar powered rifling sir conley’s luck lady galvin highest rate rig calming flooded seventeen gadgets chimes arrive uniform skirt leggings shirt-vest-cape combo laceup jerkin long-sleeved slacks waist-length superhero captain blueberry rescue meaning order demonstrate rid wimpy halcyon mastodons mascot birds storm mastodon ceremonies costumes glad idiots appealing crest triangle heart: scarlet eagle soaring talons chemistry equipment theirs adopting adoption adopt temporary enrollment manticore themselves parties dies span cope calmed orphans wylie whose recover connection blames wylie’s hanging leapmaster 500 lucky authorized 250 tons rotated five-story pyramid sharply angled u stained seventh amphitheater extensive fields grass hopelessly prodigies uniforms building’s finding ducked starts orientation principal reads announcements attendance collar track peal close-up stunning porcelain caramel-colored foremost whoever reekrod weekend mark punished fullest extent threat dangle continued detect ah spotlight hissed viper’s nest ssssssophie hole crawl concludes today’s nearest exception divided wing banners bore midflight halls quad throughout sparkling sapphire chatted doorways lining atrium spectacle creating marked rune locker mirrored lock uses gross faculty picks flavors pepper sneeze croak yelped stench rotten eggs dash diaper muskog wheezy snicker whirled towering mass frizzy cackling hags stalking hairs shave earth serum friday retorted raven swishing behavior phasers ashamed apologize obviously spend detention alexine stinks beet minions kinda frog fumes catching jensi rapid-fire speech talked buckets redder instructed honest ‘human girl’ ‘sophie’ whim elementalism pride backtracked twists turns drops warped wooden session’s zapped ‘zapped’ thunderclap eighteen tray electrocuted quiver conley hitting fluted botched sending tornado tornadoes mastering elements entering foods series stalls court mall recognizable eaten tables cafeteria whom discourage joining verge perceptible message clear: focusing bigger jensi’s acne braces fairly slicked greasy ponytails drooled setting bang c’mon dude unison ‘e’ duh drooly volunteered singed universe daunting exaggerated messing ‘dude’ killing explode cough pixielike rescuing tossing petite balled braids suicide overeager marella mare nicknames obeyed enemies honored pucker licorice lemon fan prettypants rather grumpy brat brother’s dreamy willpower copying sip looped defending dizznees triplets says ‘bad match’ genetically incompatible inferior aunt uncle superstrange celebrities famous vackers superimportant marella’s sympathy grandma heartbroken helpless veins hopeless cases guarantee scooping mammoth shudder awful afternoon feared astronomical

learning astin whispery complex maps planetarium effortless excelled hour survived approaching dragon hateful invited feelings letters: extinguished stuffing fill animosity deck ‘nice uncanny royal highness bothers remembers talented ‘deck beaming nineteen thursday disaster goal sandwiched colosseum pe vanity near door: sneakers ponytail owned ship slap reply lasted compare redek squish may fool stops idle threats grouped twos tromps manifested fifty-fifty manifesting mysterious remark required variable reign terror ‘everyone’ impressive jolt supervise caton titan god informed channeling supereasy channel parts body: heights speeds normally unimpressive attempts threes bumped defense appetite startled spaceship unremarkable studying superintently snapping scraping probing concept unsettling establish forcing eighty-seven puckered brow assume cheerful scraped intended drained steadying suggest ethics attached meganeura exercise annoy fidgeted cocked wanna buzzing dived vulture-size dragonflies patted freaky-looking bug blown gargantuan proportions creepiest disco balls grown monster enclosure phys ed intense emergency weirdest part: proven trustworthy receive assignments lectured responsibility detecting discover elite avoided mesmer nauseated wow sheesh inflicting curiosity won causes dara lecture: pyramids tidal army hairy hollowing himalayas strangest mumble creeped exile interested dying supertalented fundamental guilty underground eternity ruin fluke churned abandoning illegal washer alter dump brother secluded sorted reminding effort flavored flumes spritzed shove disturbing failing smirked alchemy pupil encouraging cracking melody ominous ingredients trophies gilded items pointy-toed suspiciously midas milky liquid dancing rushing rustle red-brown updo hunter silky decorated patterns swished slightest alkahest universal solvent stored itself dissolves wood flesh taxes substance alchemist wise teaching masters tincture poultice basic serums yellowed box flask jars iron transmuting metals recipe formula labeled instructions fiddled rechecked mistakes plunged whip fizzed rumbled jelly galvin’s exquisite dissolved luxurious damaged salvage welt healing ma’am murder retrieve afterward muttering incompetence flunk sprawled hallways stark ditching keefe gulon disheveled untucked popular belva crush blame 90 certain paid accidentally cue epic alina’s ugly crying treated whiter phobia consisted rooms: treatment beds brewing physician’s paperwork slinky scurried bullhorn demented ferret banshee adorable fellow dramatically wanting seize mmm-hmm acid mimed effects destroyed salve measured whap wash present laughs clarification confirming twenty-one embellished version destruction joked bottling anwen multispeciesial 324 faxon metaphysics complimented requests brown-eye create overnight granted incredibly challenging explosions occurrence unlearn lifetime knowledge levitating rainbows constantly messed highlight skill effortlessly amazed unwanted transmit else’s psychic photograph needing patient plague suspicion snotty maruca i-hate-sophiefoster club reaching growl jealous prettiest bedlam subdue chasing rabbits antlers swinging trunk lump verminion pen boosted mammoth’s trumpeted earthshaking squeal ringing mound timid twig hiiiissssssssssss uncurled rodent bulging hamsters rottweiler-size hamsterzilla trample japanese hamster cooed snaarrrlll impressed chase steer dashed catches fifty stupidest clod mud nailed grooowwwwllll fatal flaw pinned grunted press snarling squeeze verminion’s unlocked assortment spewed whined pile gloves shed trade trudged oversize squirrels rats identify burlap sack quivering snarl steeled shriek batlike heaved wool scratches leg outbuildings carefully organized veterinarian’s laid sterile spreading limbs smeared eyedropper dripped creature’s rewarded squeaky rumbling crackly purr smiles cage barrel soapy chain-sawesque snores vibrating brattail tuber sausage imp guessed six-inch venomous stings snoring vicious describing tame yetis outnumbered conked chipper iggy strand swell

generous hugs touches gestures glistened dubious trails twenty-two sharing congested warthog roommate snuggly sleepless spoil caring ultimate splotching championship sacks cheered sympathetic secretly celebrating partnered naturally teamed splotcher splattered loses winners person wins marks smugly win splotch splat deserved colorful prize contest pardon hopes wonderboy gagging rounds beat opponent knots backing aim ow raw telekinetic flushed compliment disqualifies pumped victory hotter cheering opponents experience duel beginner’s talents mighty competition grumblings battle odds experienced evidently four: sixes trella dempsey paired hopeful muster bested winner fluttered appears competitors betraying butt preference keefe’s chant ladies’ float clenched adrenaline surged audience back-up splotches rebound phenomenon weightless collided simultaneous fate collapsed twenty-three placing compress wincing muscle injured whermiwhahapped worse: laying banshees mortal danger stirred lucid winced stiff glands zinged collected rebounded bounce specialized hammered controls actual mix matched draining practice evenly awfully sidelines wobbling auditorium applause teensy annoyed copied blushing elbowing ribs tie protested declared excused lesson rejoin splotchers acted delivered p congratulations confirm bath lathering bathers soggy instinctively besides creased drive twenty-four meter one-third younger that’d wonderboy’s precious midterms score seventy-five recommend nissa tutoring consider tutor projection gagged flavor yell daily tore prattle chewy caramel peanut butter pouch cracker jack horse mane prattles’ unicorn pins collection examined digital 122 185 number eighty-five super-rare bitterness vaguely compute unexpected development century too-little-too-late branch other’s replaced beeline simultaneously sniff aw stuck-up snob wasted invite humiliate walking ambush capable teeniest details clanged cricket chirped embroidered satin sash wringing exhaled seeming makeovers wrestling polite fortunately braid flutter dirt pitter-patter eh sayin’ shooting quest grateful team jealousy guarded raid questers tagged sentry tabs isolate general nail targets listened softer instantly presence tremendous connected forest thundered vision racked credible crashing bushes partner deceive insists hasn’t secrets toes staying chain apologizing visitors sulking funk snipe wagged there’ve weekly jokes havenfield’s defied exams panicking passing guide narrowing shipped exam brass copper transmutations ideas challenges thwarted spilled gashrooms reek pored frozen cause shattering cheated accomplished cheat ideal dreading twenty-six tri-angular apex streamed pane angle reflection examining confessed forgave neutral violated ethical regulations expulsion suggesting argument ruling obey flourish bother violating reporting stifle closely icily respect authority advises wedding flapped nor pointless cheating tolerated huffed regrets confess serve minimum assigning becoming theme slipping unnoticed what’d gloomy atmosphere desks thumbs-up siren song appreciation art nature clapping earsplittingly shrill whine whale nails chalkboard toddler uncover broadening horizons claiming repentant company brand torture ballroom belva’s sirens dances edwardian claimed valin ponytailed promenade dancers valin’s sweaty chime stars shined brighter spit wickedly slobbery octaves fanned hmm irritated flattered scored points empathy forked smirk ironing holes stack detained increased practicing leaps eyebrow empaths powerful mundane purification vein easiest transmutation lockers traded twenty-seven banging annoyingly caps disqualified chorus groans nonstop cap smurf amalgam telepathic integrity wrote essay betrayal over debate automatic 100 last-minute mentally repeating tips negative vibes stress ethic claim fame skipped skip supportive doubting brag mercifully stalled magenta berries rusty discipline chosen purify ruckleberries fifty-five nasty impurities elderly human’s alchemists methods dive knife pierced berry dribbled pinky haggard glacial quarters

deducted mediocre performance forth whirlwind crack exhausted brutal slamming slumped that’ll public hooks presents spine cards schools hassle babysitters edged obstacle tugging stressing rigid suitable gifts jewelry charms charm twenty-eight unrecognizable streamers shrub toilet-papered tinsel confetti bubbles prizes popping appointment teal-wrapped package uglier hurrying plowing regain literally prying trademark smirks spoken sapphire-encrusted navy-blue intently hairstyle contrasted pristine infamous deflated wilted father’s oily insincerity resigned flame cassius lord performing unremarkably radiated apologies fos er disappointing scores fake critical said: creeps prize-filled prattles dwarf lollipop topple snappy comeback comment loser fails organize overflowing half-empty month misunderstanding shushed slim parcel chiming signaled parent-mentor conferences celebration feast unwrap snatching self ‘dear dance sometime vice president boyfriend rattled reader tease ribbon tapped gadget fingernail speaker thingies coloring dunno disbelief variety edible glosses speckled spider snapper plant fed spiders riddler writes riddle miniature violet thanked showing misty seventy-nine improvement range sensing tomato congratulated comfort sobbing partying included sneer party note: f snap k sugarplums boy-craziness necklace cuffs wristbands vanisher platter customs gelled perfection gym ornate immaculate alvar talks often rumpling fizzleberry wine juggling girlfriends hero beamed piddly quicksnuff emissaries tend conspiracy possibility myself pieced undivided swan’s curve pattern term replied active recently unauthorized investigation frustration twenty-nine alternate spending smelling clues accomplish consumed trapped counting resumed vacation finals received eighty-one eighty-three unacceptable prepared chorused poufy thrown towel drooped oven roasted frosters transmitting charts transmitted peed suffered rested cryokinetics freeze manipulating pyrokinesis mesmers inflictors monitored pyrokinetics inflict fire’s unpredictable truly forbidding pyrokinetic library surely three’s librarian banned archives libraries bust problem: section dire wolves peek promising bins mountain littered haphazardly spaces scan unrolled flip papers helpful lacy dulled childhood: strung lanyards dolls framed bone picture: breathtaking tragedy drinking leftover junk trunks piles unopened bin disturbed murky midterm roll scroll shelf sample starlight moonglade: fireflies flickering stellarscope upside-down spyglass view’s billions wad tag amaranthis memorized fourth lambentine bag spout wider scope knobs cluster dials stiffened lever thumb clinked rubini orroro azulejo cobretola indigeen scratching spectrum rearranged indigo zelenie isolated this’ll bluff scrounging elementine adjusting fidgety hummed shining teared welts frantic thirty-one blackish-purple blisters pot burns sprinkled powder adventure soaking numbs balm miserably regulate temperature palace crown nicer handful roots mutilating blades destroying bashing stubbornness reappeared ointment knelt furrowed fingertip rags longest hottest soapiest griffins discreetly boring-looking firecatching bode bundle solid downright incoherently darkly quintessence fifth element myth truest conditions blow metallic-toned bronze wildly flamed audible unmapped locations merit thirty-two platform thrones remotely procedure involving throne cushions tourmaline sturdy polished dotted onyx heard: clarette velia terik liora emery ramira darek noland zarina flicked mere evacuated three-thousand-year task undisclosed location trial salivating convict straighter dozen marched stationed bodyguards swordlike weapons belts fanfare blasted crowned amateurs seated sapphires shall world’s ungraceful consuming detector fuzzy lying endlessly jell-o hobbled astin’s honesty assigned emery’s argento auriferria pennisi merkariron styggis achromian slower plotting map cowering submit lists convenient judgment frightening hardened remained expressionless mediates telepathically consensus united aspirin unanimous

rise violates actions intentional accountable foster’s involvement addressing agreement millionth wished exchanged dimpling kiddo thirty-three banks sienna bark paintbrushes purfoliage palmae calls pures filter pollution freshest crispest tinge fuzzed hesitation observant instruction lurched sunset farthest councillors’ steadied emerald-encrusted circlet bowed pleasing honor beg refuse descryer response delightfully potential clamoring backfired speaks beginning optional 327 sensed crane sweeping peacock log dream softly regularly useful one-armed fiancé’s projecting vividly replace album dinner’s stroke retracted apology hurting tricks arches replica model thirty-four planted curl plotted page difficulties rivaled protect quieted los angeles hollywood trash conspicuous spider-man batman posed mann’s chinese theatre blended beams issued ‘forgot’ oblivious ourselves stubborn softened unwillingly seeped ‘got of’ ant pavement explore warring hurried consequences captured pleaded mercy prentice’s behalf oversaw shatters society metaphor insurgents rebellion kindest whatever’s decisions encouragement revelations ability-detecting exercises cornered superbusy insistent significant elf-ish onetime played envy tracked master tracking switch spots conspiracies investigating headway ignorance ever: permanently jarred conservation legitimate scientific principle nagging elixir nogginease limbium mineral supposedly resisted bike wheels giddy week’s supply unnaturally syrup absorb nauseating unfastening vest skin’s collapsing allergy dimmed cradling thirty-five fluttered chafed sandpaper wildhaired soothed sensations spectators cleaned vomit upright moaned allergies wits bullhorn’s trite soiled airtight vomiting swollen blotch-free humiliated undershirt noticeably absent dazzling alvar’s raptor disgusting decade spare injected steroids tied budge scolded showers heels crisis ushered deathly tough disasters blankly rests brothy soup elsewhere shadowy comforting yawn snuggled thirty-six squealing hundreds eagle-size pterodactyl somersaulted screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech stability rein speed momentum gained screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech torch pasture dispersed uncannily fried engulfed birdbath sparks jerking possess flareadon fire-resistant replay triggered animal’s cares octave higher killed resting flareadons volcanoes occur gildie strayed ‘flareadon female correcting wade debacle breaks wrestled socks shredded apparent vague emotion animals’ distances qualified lightened results defined iggy’s gildie’s paw tummy reward downy fury paled out-of-breath aura recoiling imperative vital violate risk humiliation fled her: cooperate freezing peered railing partial drifted bars errand thirty-seven mush nights begging blend processing forgetting tearing fluorescent locker: insider’s librarian’s timing shoe absolute librarians plastered sinking confirmed dog-ear chapter everblaze: unstoppable blind thirty-eight paper-strewn something’s ‘everblaze frissyn x stands detailed extinguish overruled excluded unheard indecision warred babies hatch extract unregistered code name: egg cast conventional purpose determine pregnant fertility posing implanted embryo manipulated outstanding retain discovering affects genetic anomaly renegades weapon ‘prodigy illegally forgiving messages suffocating choke word: controlled puppet issue triggers twilight proudly soothe facade crumble table: throaty fix drove wedge messenger delivering seal reseal rampaging limits chaise skimmed bead luminous nonluminous generated lumenite drilled clarify rip grubby paws riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip chunk possession skittered treasure retrieving tattered assess rug glue document accordance canceled thirty-nine heartbeat scrubbing choked-back muffle misery acknowledge gaping owe regardless charade obeying command churn yeti ricocheted ooooookaaaaaaay slinking acknowledging attempting library-appropriate slothlike triple-check echoing phew scrutiny shrug candleshade overhead clipping playlist jarring numbness bass mature speakers bands sarcastic tune swirled seeping cracks triumphed

tiptoed rustled creaked padding crawling lonely forgive forty cheer stricken envelope headline: claims victims scrawl announcement corridor stark-white gulps sneaking suggestions weigh resolve admirer flood applying replacement heal eased uncertainty brothers recent discoveries recording spy undetected textbook dreaded licensed pathfinders restriction threatens ‘everblaze’ accusation fintan pricked balefire fintan’s requires fuel supported cosmic ‘fire ignite conclusive example surveillance ruining depths former dealing approved overrule objection trusted phantom rebels snatched emissary citizen confidential duly noted digging forty-one partly imprisoned sorting reminders pity tension distant lately preparing prejudice megacrush cave commands successful method unwrapping names: connor kate natalie freeman apply permit huddled thinner echoes evacuee note’s unquenchable abandon supporter afar forty-two stashed drawers ‘you threaten chaperone global dumped significance supplied clothing resistant fly willful punish facets stagger hills screeched tying pried displays seals survival glinting corneas swoop thickest raspy coughs locate singeing shift current overcome coughing inferno ouch thrashing clouded watery beads capped treats paced treating scorched angrier contorted squatted pee severe scalding plunked sticky-sweet healthy grim balled-up yelling homes camped affairs mesmerized desperation launching steal dumping tenderness justified reacts offer unintelligible agreeing concerns forty-three relatively illness actress w-what admitting lifeless freaky dumber connections traitorous resisting grasp peace decency furball storm’s appropriate cliff reveling shard clatter soothing relishing pulverized smithereens boulder violent frightened irrational fallen possibly smothered meaty cloaked swooped sickeningly nostrils sedative cursed rallied scuffle scuttled captor circulation rasped viselike lolled rescued forty-four bonds staging unfortunate complication fog scrambling muddled funerals pendants vise sweetness blackness necessary loomed constricted heaving choking gruff hyperventilating suffocates coated hacking nods croaked relocate stolen grunt syllable drugs mist strapped bound shivers eerie breathy wheeze venom trail gumption predicament footfalls disposed disappearance guts throb ignorant cackle toy reserve widen contorting poison ple clarity struggle overwhelming happiness rocked jostling rescuer foggy occasionally elevator altitude delirium parted flimsy fumbling promises caress weary forty-five searing heightened awareness sensory overload barrage cigarette butts alley surveying hideout interrogation kidnappers scoured alexandre desperately operates anyone’s him: upcoming rounded apologized broom peeking roofs yards landmark eiffel gaped graceful paris france french indian saris currency exchange robbing bank machine atm watches account measures ‘make work’ cameras covering buttons alarm bills robbed technopath froster internet café sandwiches cheese once-living boxy computers navigated web browser googled number-one result pont iii bridge seine lanterns shopkeeper sped excitement decorations horizon lamp nexuses lasts mathematics applied dawn forty-six melder stun evening strolls cloaks leader obscurer bends distortion coil rope goons goon pathways underestimate wire enhanced wishful swirl severing rapid duck whizzed seizure dusted flailed gurgling blank forefinger crescent shaped jagged cowl stumble scarred heft frenzy hatred writhing strengthened pumping pulse heavyset figure’s hideouts options battering crushed nearing tug-of-war lessened allowing glorious drift fading surrendered mind’s imagination funeral weariness overtaking hazy snow labored conscious sparkle freedom sweep forty-seven brightness peaceful wove persisted appeal surge newfound pooled aches splintered clearer enveloped strawberry-blond-haired numbing sedated tingles luxuriating gulping wetness numb shhh sniffled recognizing propped girly seasons faltered proves meaningful floppy snickers emergencies conversations flirting scratch

blasts streaking injuries concentration’s cell half-drained gaunt fleeing canceling flitted nuzzling scratched there’d yawned lights forty-eight covers washed sandor goblin bodyguard inflictor paralysis semiconscious incapacitated dormant trauma latent polyglot languages advance interrogated sandor’s bunny seven-foot-tall buffed-out overtime blindfolded seared monitoring proved arrested custody awaiting deaths tragic innocence error motivate condemning madness reluctance single-handedly now’s crescent-shaped recalled epiphany overweight swells digest explains operative guarding subliminal advantage activate developed who’ll address database detectives arson reigned supreme wisest greater questioned decades measure influential amok globe rejected imprison devastated uprooted supporters initiative resign outspoken recruited activity satisfied handled poorly kidnapped prisoner resolved disposal stamped justice voiced revenge birthday birthdays indefinite spans thirteen-year-old crushes plots rebellions grown-ups understands teenager accepted bargain relented insisting uncertain responding arrange forty-nine pedestal charges bylaws sub-bylaws committed transgressions minor tortured regal express safely accused drafting addressed firmly murmurs debated arguments raging attitude disrespectful rebellious overlooked gratitude however static rulers experiences inappropriate assign ‘already served’ sang admission din bursting provisional basis due aforementioned cannot proceed suggestion issues seats smoothing occasion fancier signaling require records indicate provided remain appreciated despised gladly nicely dipped textbooks someday squash toughest earn deserves murderous successfully fingering justifiably displeasure smirking retake propose alternative state events revealed therefore practical prudent career prospects shifting internal logical volatile qualifies majority erupting directing registered cuddly earned oneon-one immediate tangle concluded gathered twirling nudging trades sidestepped congratulate surviving multiple tribunals swirls diamonds feminine unlatch decides woven triply journey

#kotlc

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sitp-recs · 6 months

Text

HD Erised 2023 - Sitp recs

Hello hello! I’ve been trying to get back into the reading zone and Erised came at the perfect time. I thought I’d share my favorites as I slowly make my way through it, mostly to keep track of my reads and also because it’s been so long since I did a fest list (please don’t mind my very much incomplete Fan Fair list while I kick off another one 🙈 so much to read, so little time!). These were great fun and I can’t wait to see what’s coming up next!

🧹 Clear Skies, Full Hearts by @sorrybutblog (E, 16k)

Harry loves everything about playing professional Quidditch – the rush of flying, the rush of winning, the rush of getting off with rival seeker Draco Malfoy. Harry’s the highest scoring rookie Seeker in the history of the League. He’s also, inexplicably, obsessively, hooking up with Draco. When Draco unexpectedly quits the League and disappears from Harry’s life, Harry doesn’t stop wondering what it all meant and if he’ll ever get another chance to find out.

🪴 solemates by @shiftylinguini (E, 17k)

It starts because Harry has no self-control when it comes to meaningless and entertaining competition. Actually no, that's not quite right. It starts because Harry is absolutely plastered.

🎨 Thickets by @wolfpants (E, 17k)

When Draco returns to the UK after two decades of building his career as an internationally-renowned artist to look after his ailing, estranged father, he crosses paths with his former flame, Harry Potter, in the most unexpected way.

🚎 Sugarplum by @mallstars (E, 27k)

"Draco," said Potter, a little breathless, a little cheerful. "Hi." He smelled of coconut lotion, Cockroach Clusters and a sloppy ironing charm, his scent crowding Draco's overworked mind from the moment he stepped onto the bus. Lifting one hand off the steering wheel, Potter gave a small wave. He wore gloves. Fingerless, the leather black against the sunlight. Leather. In August.

🧶 we have heard on high by @oflights (E, 34k)

Reeling from the fallout of a bad breakup, Harry decides to find out who his soulmate is. The bad news: it's Draco Malfoy. The good news: Malfoy doesn't seem to know they're soulmates. The worst news: Harry might be falling for him anyway.

🇫🇷 À Bon Chat by @oknowkiss (E, 35k)

Draco Malfoy didn’t intend to lead a life of crime after the war. It’s just that being good had turned out so incomprehensibly boring. Now he's thirty-five, a fully redeemed member of society, the darling of the wizarding social pages, and a newly minted consultant for Gawain Robards' Investigative Research division. In his spare time, he enjoys good whisky, casual sex, and moonlighting as an art thief.

🥘 Nothing Gold Can Stay by @moonflower-rose (E, 40k)

One summer evening, Harry Potter vanished in the middle of dinner with his friends. Four days later he came back. Sort of. Draco Malfoy is on the case.

🐺 Jasmine in Bloom by @lqtraintracks (E, 41k)

This is not something Draco can have in his life… Potter overturning all that he’s carefully cultivated. They’re not compatible and never will be. Draco’s been playing with fire. It just so happens that he likes how Potter smoulders before being allowed close enough to burn.

⏳The Unplottable Time Conundrum by @writcraft (E, 45k)

When the past starts bleeding into the present at Grimmauld Place, an old academic article pulls Draco Malfoy out of his life of luxury. Haunted by the memory of a fleeting post-war kiss and thrust into the ghostly spaces inhabited by Unspeakable Harry Potter, Draco’s easy life is about to get a whole lot more complicated.

🪩 Never Mind the Bollocks by @the-sinking-ship (E, 118k)

If someone told Harry six months ago that by autumn he would be single, living on whisky and toast, and dancing the night away with Draco Malfoy, he would have told them to get their head checked. And yet, here he was.

#Sitp faves #erised 2023

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fandomnsfw · 1 year

Text

Because He Listens - Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

Prompt: I tried my best with this one. It isn't as long as some of my others but I wrote what felt right at the time. love triangles are hard enough pentagons much harder.

Warnings: None just swearing really.

Beta'd by my lovely long time friend, beta and fellow writer @lets-imagine-fanfics

ENJOY!!

*********

You started your day like every other day.

Wake up brush your teeth, take a shower, get dressed, makeup, hair, then out the door. However, this morning you were bombarded with Damon Salvatore laying on your bed causally when you came out with a towel on your body, and one wrapped around your hair. You gave him a silent glare as you picked out your clothes in silence.

Once you’d gotten what you needed out of your closet, you spun around to face him when it became obvious that he wasn’t going away, no matter how much you ignored his presence. You gave him a fake sweet smile that did nothing but amuse the older man.

“How can I help you, Damon?” You asked with a sickeningly sweet tone.

“Have you thought about what I said last night?” He responded, his tone turning serious.

“Why are you doing this Damon? You’ve never cared if I was at the centre of danger before!” You shouted as you walked through your front door after fighting against some witch who came for a doppelganger or more specifically doppelganger blood.

“Because I care okay! Oh yes, I know that’s a shocking concept but I. CARE.” He punctuated with his usual level of sarcasm and sass.

“About Elena yes. Me? Never.” You snarked back with an eye roll.

“Well, I care about you, okay?” He sighed seriously, his usually sarcastic demeanour dropping.

“Why?” You snapped making him close his eyes as if exasperated by this entire situation.

“Because-” He seemed to stop, wondering whether his reason was worth stating but you crossed your arms in a way that said you wouldn’t drop this, so he stared down at you as he walked closer.

“Because...I love you.” He muttered quietly.

“Tell me your joking?” You whispered with wide eyes.

“Oh yeah, this seems like the type of prank I’m fond of, doesn’t it?” He growled in annoyance.

“What is it with you brothers!?” You screamed as you lightly pushed Damon away.

“So, I guess Stefan got here first.” He grumbled like a pouting child.

“What is there to think about, Damon?” You sighed as you stepped away from him, your eyes dropping to the floor as you contemplated how to handle this.

You’d never really been told ‘I love you’ by anyone who seriously meant it and now you had Stefan, who had told you before the fight; and Damon, who had told you after the fight. Oh, and let's not forget the good Mikaelson brothers who seemed to have taken an interest too. How the hell were you supposed to deal with this?

“Well, do you like either of us?” Damon tried with an eye roll to show his frustration.

“Between the Salvatore brothers, the Mikaelson brothers and a witch trying to kill me I haven’t exactly thought about it!” You shouted as you disappeared into the bathroom to change.

You slid on your undies, bra and jeans before realising you hadn’t grabbed your top as you were too busy thinking about how your life was turning out. You knew Klaus had a thing for Caroline as well, so you never really took him seriously until last night while fighting this witch, he jumped in front of a giant flaming ball to save you all the while Elijah hid you behind him.

“I’m not doing this. I’m not Elena and I don’t enjoy being stuck in a love triangle...or a pentagon in this case.” You snapped through the door before wrapping the towel around your bra-covered torso and making your way out of the bathroom to grab your top.

You grabbed the article of clothing ignoring Damon’s eyes on you before rushing back to the bathroom. Once you’d tucked your plain black V-neck t-shirt into your high waisted jeans you exited the bathroom to Damon who was sitting on the end of your bed staring at the floor.

“If you can’t decide then I guess we’ll do it for you.” Damon hissed before speeding out of your room and your apartment before you could even ask what he meant.

You stood there with a frown on your face as you pulled out a pair of socks and started putting them on but once again you were interrupted by a knock on your door. You finished putting your socks on and walked out of your bedroom to answer the apartment door.

You stared at the British vampire with narrowed eyes as she looked at you in confusion, her eyebrow raised as if silently asking what was wrong.

“You’re not here to profess your undying love for me too, are you Bex?” You whispered suspiciously.

“No, definitely not love.” Rebekah snorted as she pushed her way into the apartment without another word.

“So Damon told you?” Rebekah chuckled as she flopped down onto your couch.

“Yeah, and Stefan. All the while your biggest brother protected me from a witch and your other brother took a fireball for me. I feel like I’m in the cheesiest rom-com ever to exist. I have my own Harem.” You sighed dramatically as you flopped down next to her, sinking into the couch as if that would protect you from this entire situation.

“Did you get Bonnie to cast a spell?” She whispered jokingly.

“In what world is this something I would want?” You asked seriously making Rebekah shrug in response.

“To break 4 people's hearts all in one go!” You huffed angrily making her smile sympathetically.

“So...you don’t like any of them?” Rebekah asked with a raised brow.

“I didn’t say that! But I’m not gonna choose one so the others can watch as I have a happy ending with the one I do like!” You snapped as you jumped up from the couch.

“Well, it's better than letting yourself be unhappy just to save these idiots. They all chose to pursue you, that was their choice. Forget about them and do what makes you happy.” She responded with a kind smile on her face.

“Everyone is gonna be unhappy with my choice.” You muttered sadly, your eyes casting down to the floor the fear of your friends hating you was eating away at you.

“So? Why does it matter? Do something for you.” She stated calmly as she stood from the couch.

“Is it really that simple though?” You asked uneasily, your heart pounding a little at the thought of finally pursuing the one person you’d been head over heels for, for months.

“Yeah, it’s really that simple.” She stated as she pulled you into a hug.

You spend the rest of the day with Rebekah, eating waffles and drinking coffee while you watch bad tv. You didn’t know what you’d do without her in your corner to back you up. At least if your friends abandoned you, you’d always have Rebekah.

It was now 4pm and Rebekah was about to leave but before she was out of the door one of her brothers texted her. The text had Rebekah staring at her phone with wide eyes before glancing up at you with a pained look on her face. You frowned as she passed you the phone but once you looked at the words you couldn’t help the scream of frustration that came out of your mouth.

Kol - Why are our dear brothers having dinner with the Salvatores’?

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” You screamed making Rebekah wince at the volume.

“I’ll drive you.” was all Rebekah said as she took out her car keys and started to head out of the apartment.

You slid your boots on, running after her with an angry frown on your face. You couldn’t believe these idiots! What were you, some prize to be won! You glanced at Rebekah who looked rather angry herself, but you knew it was because she, as a woman who fought for woman’s rights back in the twenties, thought this whole thing was barbaric.

She sped to her house which wasn’t far her fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly as she pulled up to the Mikaelson mansion. She got out of the car, followed by you as you both stormed into the house.

You’re glad you had backup because this wasn’t something you wanted to deal with at all, let alone by yourself.

She flung the door open to the dining room rather dramatically. If it was any other day, you’d probably have laughed at her antics but right now all you could see was red. You stared at the four men who were casually eating dinner and sipping glasses of blood.

“What the hell do you wankers think you’re doing!?” Rebekah screeched, her arms crossing over her chest.

“That is not your concern, Rebekah. If you could please leave that would be much appreciated.” Elijah stated politely, making you raise a brow at him.

“It’s definitely my business don’t you think, oh noble one.” You snapped sarcastically as you mirrored Rebekah’s stance.

“I would like to point out I didn’t put this dinner together.” Klaus chuckled as he glanced at Damon and his own brother, snitching on them quite happily.

“Seriously, Elijah? What happened to be a feminist? I guess we can’t just forget you were from a Viking era! Fucking caveman.” You snarled making Elijah look down at the floor, shame taking over his expression.

“What did you think was going to come from this?” You asked seriously.

“We were trying to find a fair way we could all throw our hat in the ring,” Stefan muttered quietly his face covered in shame just like Elijah’s.

“THERE IS NO FUCKING RING! KEEP YOUR FUCKING HATS ASSHOLES!” You snapped.

“That’s exactly what Klaus said you’d say.” Damon scoffed as he glanced over at the hybrid.

“That’s because he listens to me!” You snapped angrily making everyone's eyes snap to Klaus who looked rather proud of himself.

“Him? Seriously!” Damon shouted as he jumped up from his seat at the table.

“I am so not getting into this right now.” You sighed as your caught Klaus’s eyes staring at you curiously, but he kept quiet.

“He’s a fucking monster!” Damon growled angrily.

“She only said he listened Damon. Calm down.” Stefan sighed softly.

“She’s obviously not going to pick one of you nutters. What do ya say, darling?” You heard a mischievous voice chuckled behind you and Rebekah.

“You’re so not funny Kol.” You huffed as you pushed him away from you with a small laugh.

“Well, it’s obviously going to be one of the noble ones.” Kol snorted as he pointed to Stefan and Elijah.

“Ya know what! I’m sick of you ancient bastards assuming you have all the answers, okay, so here we have it!” You shouted as you stormed over to Klaus’s chair and stood behind it.

“SEE!” Damon screamed as he got into a position like he was about to fight anyone who disagreed.

“SHUT UP! Do you even know why I’m picking him? Hmm or do you only care if I picked you? Hmm.” You snarled as you started towards Damon.

“That man over there was abused and betrayed his entire life! Yes, he did some shit but so have ALL of you, so have I. He gifted me things-”

“I gifted you things!” Damon shouted, interrupting you.

“Yes, because I seem like a diamond and Prada kind of girl, don’t I!?” You snapped making his eyes widen.

“What did he gift you? Princess dresses and horses?” Damon snapped right back at you.

“No! He bought me a stuffed wolf, drew a picture of me, he gave me a hand-carved figurine of my favourite tv character and last, but definitely not least, he took my dead mother’s coat to be mended by the best he could find so it would look brand new! But gifts aren't everything Damon! He also listened to me talk for hours about things I like, even though he has no idea what I’m talking about half the time. He drops off coffee and food for me when I’m so busy with college work, I don’t eat or drink. He even brought me a full 2 weeks' worth of grocery shopping with all the things I would usually get. He never once touched me or came into my house without me saying so. The way he looks at me as he draws me doing mundane things, makes me feel so seen and cared for. I am very much in love with him and if you don’t fucking like it, there's the door!” You screamed as Klaus glanced at you in absolute disbelief.

“You see that look right there?” You exclaimed as you looked at him from where you were originally screaming at Damon.

“He’s shocked I chose him. You lot think you have the right to put your hat in the ring but he’s just happy to be around me and before anyone says anything else. It’s been him long before you lot made your feelings for me known.” You chuckled softly as you gave Klaus the sweetest smile you could muster which he returned rather shyly.

“I think it’s time we leave, brother,” Stefan stated as Elijah stared between you and his brother.

“I did not realise you cared for her so much Niklaus. I am sorry to have gotten in the way of that dear brother.” Elijah stated seriously his tone apologetic.

“Congrats on doing what you wanted, Y/N. Can’t wait to be sister in laws!” Rebekah chuckled as she ran out of the room dragging Kol with her.

Once you were alone with Klaus you stared at him from the other side of the dining room table with a soft nervous smile. Your heart was pounding in your chest as he stood up and stride over to you. You barely had a chance to know what was happening but when he took you into his arms holding you like this wasn’t real and it would vanish if he blinked too hard.

“I love you, Niklaus Mikaelson.” You whispered into his ear softly.

He pulled away to look down at you as he cupped the back of your head. His ocean blue eyes staring down at you in amazement. He opened his mouth a few times but for the first time in 1000 years, his words seemed to be failing him.

“I love you too, Y/N Y/L/N.” He whispered as his eyes flickered to your lips.

“Kiss me, Niklaus.” You whispered, clutching his Henley like it was the only thing grounding you.

He leant down, his plush lips pressing against yours so carefully it made your heart pound against your chest as if looking for an escape. His lips were soft and gentle as he kissed you, holding onto you as if you’d disappear at any second.

Once he pulled away you wrapped your arms around him and buried your head in your chest which he returned by holding you as close as he could.

“T-Thank you for loving me.” He whispered into your hair before placing a kiss there.

“I always will. Speaking of we should probably talk about me changing.” You stated softly making him frown.

“I don’t see why you need to change. You look fine the way you are now.” He stated in confusion which had you giggling.

“I meant into a vampire. I don’t wanna be old and wrinkly while you still look hotter than hell itself.” You chuckled and he pulled away from you his eyes widening.

“You’d become a vampire for me?” He asked as if he couldn’t believe it.

“Of course, I would. I’m waiting till I turn 21 though.” You chuckled making him smile down at you with a loving smile.

“Yes, love.” He laughed as you pulled him back in for another hug.

This was the man you loved, no matter what.

#klaus mikaelson x you #klaus mikaelson x reader #reader insert #requested #tvd #the originals #imagine #vampire diaries #fluff #damon salvatore #elijah mikaelson #stefan salvatore #klaus mikaelson #niklaus mikaelson #niklaus mikaelson x reader

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workingclasshistory · 11 months

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On this day, 24 June 1973, an arsonist ignited a fire that engulfed the LGBT+ bar called the Up Stairs Lounge in New Orleans, killing 32 people and injuring 15. The fire was the deadliest attack on a gay bar in American history prior to the 2016 Pulse Nightclub Massacre. In a city where LGBT+ culture was largely hidden, the Up Stairs Lounge was one of the few establishments catering to the gay community and one of the only gay bars that welcomed Black men and lesbians. On the fourth anniversary of the Stonewall Uprising, patrons assembled at the bar for the weekly beer bust. Sixty-five people remained when Bartender Buddy Rasmussen heard the doorbell ring and asked friend Luther Boggs to answer it. As Luther opened the door, flames rushed into the lounge. Buddy led 20 survivors onto the roof of a nearby building while others unsuccessfully attempted to escape through barred windows. The fire department arrived at 7:58 and extinguished the fire quickly, but the powerful flames had already overpowered many patrons. Among the victims were 12 members of Metropolitan Community Church, the first church serving LGBT+ individuals. They included Rev. William "Bill" Larson, associate pastor Duane "Mitch" Mitchell, and Mitch's boyfriend Horace Broussard. Unlike other tragedies, the Up Stairs fire did not amass community support. Although newspapers reported the fire, journalists enflamed anti-gay sentiment by perpetuating vulgar rhetoric and harmful stereotypes. Articles painted the victims as "thieves, burglars, and queers," while other reports named the tragedy a "fruit fry." Eyewitnesses told author Johnny Townsend that they overheard either police or firefighters saying: "Let the f*****s burn". No formal memorials were planned, and churches refused to provide services. This reaction galvanised the New Orleans' LGBT+ community to organise for gay rights as they mourned those who died in the tragic fire. https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=649971757176043&set=a.602588028581083&type=3

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dashielldeveron · 2 years

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soulmate trope | bakugou

Bakugou’s route of soulmate trope.

His chapter follows the most standard soulmate rules, so that's why he's first. From here on out, it gets more unhinged.

Warnings: lots of talkin’ ‘bout dicks.

~6k words. Female reader.

Of course you weren’t going to share your soulmate identification with anyone else. It’s right next to your vagina, where your thigh meets your labia. You wouldn’t’ve noticed it yourself if you hadn’t been contorting yourself in the dorm shower stall to shave.

You saw the mark and panicked, going for the mundane instead of the supernatural—what if you had a cancerous mole? But it was way too large for that; you probably would’ve noticed it sooner, if it were a mole, and besides, it was very clearly…shaped.

So, it wasn’t a name or any words but a shape. Some symbol. Hunched over in the steam of the bathroom, you couldn’t fucking tell what it was supposed to be. It occurred to you once you got back to your dorm room that you might be looking at it from the wrong perspective and that the dark shape might be discernible if it were, like, upside-down.

One horrible mirror-camera-flashlight session later, you think you got the right angle. After deleting all of the mistakes and putting the correct one in a hidden file on your phone, you lay in bed, holding your phone above your face and squinting into its light.

This was dumb. This was so dumb.

Because it was either 1) an emanata, a.k.a. those bubbled sound effects in comics such as bam or pow, but the mark was small, spiky (like a punch sound effect?), and solid black. Or it was 2) a very prickly flame.

Both options were, uh. Not ideal.

If it were a comic book emanata, then your first thought would be that guy from 3-B with the onomatopoeia quirk, Manga Fukidashi. He was already matched, though. It also vaguely reminded you of Tetsutetsu’s mask, but that was a stretch.

If it were fire, well. That left Bakugou and Todoroki, both of whom without soulmates accounted for.

If either of them is your soulmate, would he have the same symbol? Would it be in the same place on his body? You couldn’t exactly go up to Bakugou or Todoroki to say, “Hey, any cancerous-looking blotches appear near your cock lately?” God.

And what if you didn’t have all of the details? What if there were more to the soulmate mark than just a tattoo? Can he tell when you’re thinking about him? Can he read your mind?

Well, you grumbled to yourself, plopping back inside your desk for your next class, you couldn’t read anyone’s mind, so if he could, it’s majorly unfair. You slumped in your seat, leaning lazily on your elbow, and scanned the classroom for both of them.

Todoroki already sat at the back of the class, copying something out of a book quietly. He might very well be your soulmate, because whoever hasn’t claimed him yet is an idiot. Todoroki’s a catch—kind, observant, dead clever, extremely talented, not to mention the tiniest bit socially dense—all very nice, non-threatening things in a man, or at least in Todoroki.

The thing, though, is that he wore his uniform correctly, down to the number of buttons buttoned up his shirt. No excess skin was showing, so if he shared a mark, it, too, was somewhere he didn’t display for the general public. Promising, but it still didn’t mean much, especially since his hero costume covered up the same areas.

Cringing, you got out your notebook for class. Yes, it’d be effective to ask him to take off various articles of clothing, but you can’t fucking do that. And in the far-flung situation where you get Todoroki to play strip poker, you’d probably lose.

Startled, you knocked your pencil case off your desk when the classroom door slammed open, the quiet of the classroom shattered by the Bakusquad barging in. Over Bakugou’s bitching about the sparring matches before lunch, Kirishima and Sero were trying to calm him down, Mina and Kaminari talking loudly behind them about what they were doing after class this afternoon.

Bakugou shoved off his friends with a growl and slid into his desk, his legs spread out in front of him with dirt flecking off his shoes. “Just fuckin’ shut up; I had it. It’s no use telling me what damn special move Ida was trying to pull. If he hadn’t caught me like that, I would’ve scorched him.” He ran a hand through his hair, shaking soot from it lightly.

Sero held up his hand. “You’ve got to admit that it was a really good move to—”

“Stop talkin’ to me,” said Bakugou, digging through his backpack, “I won’t be able to concentrate if you keep running your trap.”

“Fine, fine.”

Pros of Bakugou being your soulmate:

1) You’d get to be close with an astonishingly complicated and closed-off person, who was intriguing in his own way, clever when he needed to be, driven, determined to do a thing correctly, and, moreover, capable of nearly anything he set his mind to.

2) Pretty boy. Prettyyyyyy

Cons:

1) He’s mean even to his friends. You understood playful teasing, but Bakugou went a bit too far. You don’t need that kind of negativity in your life.

2) He’d always be too honest with you and hurt your feelings.

3) He didn’t want a soulmate. He’d said that a soulmate would hold him back, that he’d prefer not to have one. Which means he’d reject you.

But really, you considered as you zoned out for the lesson, would you be holding him back, like he’d said? True, your quirk wasn’t as powerful as his, but that didn’t mean that it was worthless. In fact, you considered your quirk pretty damn useful, but you could see how someone like Bakugou could think you’re weak.

If Bakugou didn’t want a soulmate, then he didn’t want a soulmate. But that didn’t stop you from wanting one.

So, it’s simple: you find out what kind of soulmate identifier Bakugou has, toss him once you discover he’s not, and then you move on to Todoroki.

***

“Hey, can I see your cock for non-sexual purposes? It may turn into sexual purposes, but I assure you, the initial look would be purely out of curiosity.” You cracked, smiling wearily at your reflection. More bullshit things you can’t just say to Bakugou. You couldn’t even say it with a straight face.

The more you’ve seen your classmates match up, the more parallels there have been with soulmate identifiers. If Bakugou’s got your mark, it’s totally near his cock.

Not that you don’t want to see it, because while Bakugou was a whiny little bitch, he’s also excessively, annoyingly handsome, now that you thought about it. You weren’t stupid; you’d noticed his perfect skin (guaranteed because of his quirk), sharp eyes, and nice tits, but now that there was the possibility of you having access to him, his appearance was growing on you.

The sound of an explosion shook the glass. “Try that again, and I’ll fuckin’ kill you!”

His personality still left a lot to be desired.

In a stroke of luck (but rather just partner rotation), you were assigned that day in hero training to spar with him. You hyped yourself up in the girls’ locker room, not bothering to participate in the gossip but instead planning your own strategy for the fight. It’s been a while since he’s fought you, since you usually have to cycle through the rest of your classmates, but this time, your goal was to—you felt like a damn pervert for even considering it—to tear his costume in some way. See what that modest bitch was hiding. You could pass it off as a different technique in fighting, or something.

When you walked into the training area in your hero costume, Bakugou was already warming up, stretching despite his heavy gauntlets, and his grin that was more of an excited scowl cut across his face.

“C’mon, you damn punk,” he said when you approached him, “Took you long enough. How long’s it take you to get ready to be smeared across the floor?”

“Oh?” you said calmly, like a calm person, like you weren’t about to trip to rip off the clothes of someone who might not even been your soulmate, “Just as long as it takes to cultivate those three brain cells you’ve got rolling about in your head.”

What the fuck, dude; where’d that even come from?

Hissing, Bakugou reached for a grenade on his belt. “You’re gonna be dead before class gets out—”

While Bakugou and you sparred, you zoned out on the muscle memory of your quirk’s special moves, instead thinking about his dick. Since your mark was on the left, his would probably be on the left and probably not directly on his cock itself, which was probably good. The soulmate mark was a bit ugly and amorphous, to be honest, and you were betting—now that you were paying attention to the bulging, sweaty biceps (trying to get you in a chokehold), the tensing and relaxing of the tendons in his calves and thighs, his longer-fingered, calloused hands (letting an explosion go off in your ear)—that his cock would be as infuriatingly pretty as the rest of him. It was practically framed for your perusal, the way it was surrounded by straps on his belt and pants, the straps cutting into the fabric so that the curve of his cock protruded just slightly more than it normally would. Relaxed, but noticeable. And you were noticing.

On the receiving end of an aerial explosion, you let out a grunt as you hit the floor, and Bakugou landed right next to you, squatting while holding down your chest with one hand splayed across your collarbone. His warm hand felt nice on your skin.

“The hell’s wrong with you?” he spat, pulling back his mask to get his sweaty hair out of his eyes, “Why aren’t you fighting back? You think I can’t take it? Me?”

You blinked. “I was fighting back—”

“Not like you normally do. Where’s your stealth slide? Where’s your two-step jump? You’re not pullin’ your best moves,” said Bakugou, grinding his teeth, “and it’s really pissin’ me off. You think I’m stupid?”

Panting, you grinned. “I know you’re stupid.”

Huffing, he clamped his free hand around your neck and squeezed the sides. “Try again, you fuck.”

You rolled your eyes. “What makes you think I’m not—fuck, loosen up a little—not trying my best?”

He released his grip on your neck, but he kept his hand there. “You haven’t landed a single blow on me this whole time.” He wrinkled his nose. “You usually get one or two in before I kick your ass.”

“Haven��t I?”

“Thought you’d know.”

You shook your head. “I wasn’t paying atten—”

“I knew it.” Bakugou let go of you and sat back on his heels, disgusted. “You’re a big waste of time if you’re not gonna fight me at your best. Neither of us is getting any better if you don’t value every opportunity to train.”

Your gaze flickered to his crotch for a moment, but it returned very deliberately to his face. “Who says I’m not?”

You seized him by the grenade and attempted to flip him; it was mostly successful, and you ripped the back of his shirt in the process. For the split second he was face down, your hungry eyes took in the patch of skin exposed on his lower back—muscled and pretty but unfortunately bare.

Bakugou, his chest heaving, snapped his head back to glare at you, his jackal-teethed grin growing even wider. “I dare you to try that again.”

***

Though it pained you, you took to studying in the common rooms. You couldn’t concentrate with everyone’s clamouring or trying to talk to you. You ultimately brought down material you already knew, so it didn’t matter if you were interrupted.

“No, no, Jirou, it’s fine,” you said, pen in your mouth as you unzipped your backpack, “I have extra.”

Ducking from a miniature bag of popcorn tossed over the couch towards Kouda, you riffled around for some notebook paper. Jirou was grabbing it from you as the tall, dorm door swept open, letting in hot, humid air into the cool commons.

With Kirishima jogging up behind him, Bakugou stormed into the dorm, post-workout, sweating, pressing his icy water bottle to his cheek and rolling it down under his chin and to his neck as he passed you: black tank top, black sweats.

Modest bitch.

Consistent bitch.

Nothing new, even though it was great to see his biceps every time. But since he’s been consistent with what he’s been wearing, you haven’t been seeing any new skin, since you’ve started camping out. It’s not just going to happen; you’re going to have to make your own opportunities.

Jirou tugged the paper from your hands and shot you a curious look, and you laughed it off.

God, you cringed to yourself. You have to be careful, lest you get a reputation for being a creep. How to go about this delicately?

***

You stood with your laundry basket on your hip, meagrely filled with stuff that looked dirty at a glance, staring into the whirling window of a school dryer. The zippers knocked against the metal insides, the only flash in the heap of black clothing. Must be his dark load. He seems like he’d care about that.

It’s the only dryer going at the moment, since it’s early Saturday, but there were two washers going, the hum louder for reverberating off the basement walls.

You’re going to do it. You’re going to steal Bakugou’s laundry.

You glanced at the bleach in your own basket. Maybe it would be better to simply ruin his clothes, since it’d be hard to sneak away with a whole load of clothes up multiple sets of stairs. But that’d be mean, and you would eventually return his clothes, just after a while.

Crouching on the reflective tile, you sighed, resting your elbows on your knees. This was dumb. This was too dumb. You couldn’t do it. You wanted to kill everyone who’s taken your clothes, so Bakugou would want to murder you anyway. Todoroki, though—he probably wouldn’t notice if you took anything. You wished you were onto him already, instead of agonising over this idiotic—

You jolted at someone’s clomping down the stairs—in flip flops, by the sound of it. The grumbling under his breath stopped once Bakugou rounded the corner and saw you, pushing on your knees to stand, and he arched a brow.

“What, you’re so bored you don’t have anything better to do than to watch clothes spin?” He slams a basket full of lights (you caught a flash of an All Might logo from his silver age) onto the top of an unused washer. “I’ve got some series you should watch, then.”

Big sigh. Bakugou covered himself up more than usual—his white t-shirt cuffed nicely at his upper arms, but no new skin for you to peruse. Sweats again, too. Comfortable bitch. Dress like a slut, you coward.

“I’m not watching laundry,” you said, moving towards an unused washer yourself, “I’ve got a lot on my mind.” Maybe you’re going about this the wrong way. Maybe if you slip something into his laundry—say, a tiny little pair of slutty shorts—then he might wear those.

“Yeah? Can’t be anything worse than your little fuck-up in class, can it? Little Miss Place-bo,” he said, nudging you with his elbow between the shoulder blades.

You swore under your breath. “Listen! Anyone can make that mistake!” You threw up your hands and turned to him. “Anyone can pronounce—pronounce, uh.”

Your mouth hung open as Bakugou grabbed his shirt by the back of the neck and yanked it over his head, the light cotton fabric catching on his hair. In the precious moments before he could make eye contact with you, you greedily drank in his lower abdomen—defined way beyond toned—this man is fucking ripped, hard lines outlining his muscles—especially those glorious lines forming a v and trailing into his sweats (c’mon, c’mon, make a move to pants him right now; you can pass if off as an accident; do it—)

“Forget how to pronounce it again?” Bakugou made a noise between a scoff and a chuckle as he tossed his shirt into the washer, along with a detergent pod. His abs flinched at the cold of the metal when he leant into the washer, and you had a hard time dragging your eyes away. “Plah-see-bo,” Bakugou said in English, his voice teasing.

You swallowed drily and made yourself look at his face. “Yeah? Bite me, Bakugou. We can’t all be perfect all the time—”

“Strange invitation,” said Bakugou, but he snatched your hand off your own detergent bottle, and he held it in front of his mouth for a moment, pausing for your reaction.

Your mild surprise morphed into terror when the expected, albeit out of character, kiss to the back of your hand did not happen, and instead he bared his teeth, his tongue running over the sharp points before clamping them together. He took the pad of your ring finger into his mouth, and though he made motions to chomp down quite violently, the bite itself was delicate. Gentle.

It took his tongue swiping over your finger for you to remember to jerk your hand away, and he rolled his eyes, letting out another scoff-laugh, and he crossed his arms over his bare chest (Your own eyes fell to them, bulging a little. Seeing Bakugou’s tits won’t solve the soulmate problem, but by God, did it make you feel alive).

“Hey, don’t freak out. You’re the one who said to bite you.”

Feeling your face heat, you turned to your own laundry. “Does figurative language mean nothing to you?”

Bakugou shrugged and stretched his arms over his head (a quick check of the armpits—no soulmate mark). When you were this close, you could see the light tan freckles around his scars.

***

Okay, if the embarrassing thing also happened to you, then you clearly couldn’t be the culprit. Therefore, when you and Bakugou both took a late-night shower, both of your clothes would go missing.

For your part, you simply left the pyjamas you’d be changing into in your dorm room and simply brought a towel that would cover you well.

Sneaking into the boys’ bathroom and stealing Bakugou’s clothes while he’s in the shower was another story.

Step one: set up your stuff in the girls’ bathroom, but don’t get wet yourself. Dripping water on the bathroom tile would give away that someone had been there.

Two: when Bakugou has just put soap in his hand (and therefore starting a new task, not paying attention to outside the shower), take his clothes from the little stool outside the stall curtain.

Three: skibble back to your shower to get wet, as if you’ve been in the shower all along.

Four: Do all of the above in an instant, since Bakugou takes aggressive but short showers.

Five: wait for the shouting.

Step one accomplished, you’ve wrapped yourself in your biggest towel, cosy and firmly situated not to fall, and as stealthily as you could in your shower shoes, you sneaked down the hallway and into the boys’ bathroom.

The water hissed onto tile in the farthest stall from the door (great, cool, fabulous), and Bakugou’s voice—fucking humming some song popular a few years ago—floated through the steam.

Tiptoeing in flip-flops doesn’t work too well. There’s a moment where you squeaked and winced, listening for a sign of acknowledgment, but it never came. You couldn’t take your time, because he could shut off the water at any moment, but you couldn’t just flippity flop all the way—oh, stop thinking. Just do it.

Within arm’s reach of the wooden stool in front of Bakugou’s shower, the scent of his shampoo wafted towards you, mixing with the steam—man, that apple shampoo was useless, since nitroglycerine smelt like caramel—oh. Oh, that’s cute of him. Caramel-apple-autumn-basic-bitch.

He’s still humming as you stretched for his pyjamas—your wide eyes pinned to his silhouette through the nasty school curtain—good God, if you just ripped open the curtain, you could see everything—but then 1) you’d be labelled a pervert forever and 2) if he is your soulmate, it’s not a very romantic way to find out. Still. The shadow of his ass had a curve that wouldn’t quit.

Okay, okay, stop gawking. Grab the clothes, yes, and sneak away—quietly, quietly. Don’t shower shoes your way out.

Hold up.

Rushing into the girls’ bathroom, it occurred to you that your plan hadn’t included something to do with his clothes.

Oh, God. Oh, fuck. Um, you can’t just hide them in your stall, because he might come investigate in here, too—oh, uh. Oh, God.

Through the pipes overhead, you heard the water shut off for the boys’ bathroom.

“Oh, fuck, fuck,” you said, kicking open a bathroom stall and peering into the toilet, “Oh, God—no, I can’t—” Grimacing, you dashed out, tripped on your towel, and stumbled to the trash can. “Forgive me, Bakugou,” you said under your breath, and you hid his pyjamas underneath some paper towels.

You flicked on a sink to hold your head under the water, getting your hair and shoulders wet enough to look convincing, hopefully.

Now for the show.

Looking nervous, you peered into the hallway between the bathrooms, and you tentatively took a tiny step into it, your hair dripping onto the carpet.

The door to the boys’ bathroom slammed open, despite the time of night, and Bakugou strode out with his shower basket, looking grim but no worse than usual, with—with a—

You’re going to pass out. You’re going to pass out and drop dead. You’re pretty sure Bakugou could hear the nyoom as you stared at his—for fuck’s sake, he’s wrapped what’s got to be, like, a hair towel around his waist, barely skimming the top of his thighs.

A man’s got legs.

The thin, white towel covers him enough to be modest, but holy shit, his cock basically doesn’t matter when his legs are like that: thick, powerful thighs, sturdy, muscular, and would splay your legs far apart if you straddled one of them, and calves with definition that comes from running regularly for sport. Mother of God, get this man some booty shorts. He would win every fight immediately.

Oh, he’s said something. You shook yourself. “Sorry, what was that?”

Bakugou grunted. “Didn’t expect to see anyone up this late. I must have forgotten my clothes, so.” He scratched the back of his neck and jerked his head to the side.

Your eye twitched as a bead of water ran from his nipple and down the side of his ribcage.

“Left?” Oh, you hadn’t considered that he might blame himself. Do you bring up that someone might have stolen yours, since he doesn’t suspect? What do you do? “Uh, looks like we’re in the same boat,” you said, tugging your towel up, despite it still covering everything.

Wait, maybe you can flash him, and he’ll make the soulmate connection—

“You should be asleep,” said Bakugou, turning towards the stairs, leaving wet footprints behind him, “It’s not healthy to be up this late. You need to take care of yourself.” He glanced over his shoulder at you. “You can take the elevator.”

You blinked. “Oh, uh. Thank you. You get some sleep, too.”

Clearing his throat, Bakugou shrugged it off. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

***

Bakugou won’t go swimming with the rest of the class. He won’t re-design his costume. Your theoretically accidental spills never hit him. You ended up with nothing but some unvarnished lust, unrequited affection, and coffee to clean up from the floor.

You’ve decided: one more day, and then you’re moving on to Todoroki. This soulmate search shouldn’t take this long.

Todoroki would be easier to love than this overly determined, stubborn-ass perfectionist who holds everyone else to the same high standards. God knows you don’t live up to Bakugou’s standards, so it’s good that this is the last day. He probably wouldn’t want you, anyway.

So, in this last, cloudy day of allowing yourself to like Bakugou, you shirked your own work to sit on the side of the gym with a book as a flimsy excuse to watch Bakugou do one-armed push-ups, his scowl growing deeper with each bead of sweat that dropped to the mat.

The gym slowly cleared out the further into the evening it got, and when Sero waved his goodbye to Bakugou, he’d spat out a response as stormy as the rain that pelted the gym roof. Huffing, he shot a glare towards you, and you snapped your book upright, not seeing the words.

It’s just the two of you in the gym, almost closing time, with Bakugou left in charge to close up with the thunderstorm raging outside.

You wanted to squeeze your heart to a pulp. He knows. He’s got to.

When the power flickered out at a particularly harsh thundercrack, Bakugou didn’t even react. Turning on the flashlight on your phone, you trotted over, stepping over some weights, to shine your light on his backpack as he ferreted everything away.

He grunted as he swung the strap over his shoulder, and without so much as a glance back towards you, he trudged to the gym door. He held it open for you, grimacing at the rainfall, and you slipped underneath his arm.

As the electronic door clicks shut behind the both of you, the rain picked up, striking the pavement like swords into sod. Squinting up at the sky, Bakugou shifted more closely to you underneath the tiny awning outside the door.

“I shouldn’t run through this shit,” said Bakugou, shifting his backpack to his front, “I’ve got my term paper in here.” He eased himself down onto the cramped bench, scooting the edge of it under the awning so that you’d both be able to sit. “You, you’d get so fucking soaked you wouldn’t be able to lift your feet, and then I’d have to cover your ass.”

So.

The two of you couldn’t get back inside, due to the power outage and electronic lock, and your phone was on its last dregs; he didn’t carry his around. You found yourself sitting less than the width of your hand away from someone who might be—oh, who are you kidding? This idiot isn’t your soulmate. So, it didn’t matter if you ruined it.

“Hey,” you said, and when he didn’t respond, you spoke more loudly, over the rain, “Hey, uh, Bakugou. Are you doing well?”

He shot you a look out of the corner of his eye and didn’t even bother to answer, simply crossing his arms across his broad chest. As if catching himself, he uncrossed his arms again and rested one on the bench between you.

“Yeah, okay, that’s fair.” You shifted in your seat away from his hand, because you didn’t want to take up room that Bakugou wanted; it’d make him hate you even more. C’mon, this is the last time you’re going to have Bakugou as a captive audience, and then you can avoid him for the rest of your sorry life.

C’mon. Open your mouth and say it.

(“I need to see your dick?”)

You can do this.

(“Take out your rascally ol’ penis so that I can see your soulmark, you cuddly bastard.”)

Bakugou cleared his throat so gruffly it practically blended in with the thunder. “What are you reading?” He nodded towards your book, leaning over your lap to see the cover.

Oh. You tilted it his way, lightning flashing on the glossy letters. “It’s a social history that came out two months ago; it more or less triangulates the connections between hero marketability, social media, and romantic relationships. Midoriya leant it to me; it’s not exactly a thriller, but it’s informative.”

(“Cock now!”)

Bakugou seized the book from your grasp, hunching lazily on his hand between the two of you. “God, this looks miserable,” he said, thumbing through it, holding it away from the rain dripping off the awning, “Cynical and cold to even think about it. Why are you wastin’ your time over hero romantic marketability? Does that matter to you?”

God, he was taking up more and more space on the bench. You kept scooting away from his hand, which he had lifted from the cast iron to flex his fingers before returning to its spot, but now that the arm rest of the bench was pressing into your thigh, you couldn’t go any farther. Bakugou is a big guy, sure, but does he need a whole bench? “Um—no, not really, but, but it might affect—someone’s career in the future, and—I don’t wanna mess that up for him.”

You took the book back from him and clutched it to your chest, retreating as much as you could to the end of the wet bench without it cutting into your skin or getting into the rain. You were wincing, scrunching up your face and flinching away from him, closing your eyes so that you wouldn’t see whatever foul expression he’d have for you. Bakugou tugged on the book in your hands, but you gripped onto it more tightly, hunching in on yourself.

Ask him now. Ask him now, and you can bolt if he tries to kill you. He won’t follow you into the rain because of his term paper.

You can do it.

Oh, God, you can’t do this—

“Goddamnit,” said Bakugou, fumbling for the book, “Are you gonna let me hold your hand, or—”

“Please let me see your cock!” you shouted a bit too loudly, shielding your face with your face with your hands, and the book dropped from your lap to the wet pavement.

The rain bombarded the awning uninterrupted for a few painful seconds.

Peeking through your fingers, you watched Bakugou, his brow furrowed, pick up your book from the awning’s dripline, and he gently shook water off of it before wiping the cover on his sweats.

“Well,” he said at last, “if that’s the reaction I get when I try to hold your hand, I can only imagine what’ll happen when you let me kiss you.”

“No, no—forget I said anything. Forget everything I’ve ever done. Forget me. I’m,” you said, spluttering as you stood, “I’m leaving.”

“Stop.” Bakugou didn’t even have to grab you by the hand to stop you; all he did was graze the inside of your wrist. “Sit back down. Very good. Good girl. Tell me why you need to see my cock,” he said way too seriously, stretching his muscular arm behind you on the bench.

How is it fair that Bakugou was so calm while you were freaking out? Steeling yourself, you made yourself make eye contact, trying to be as serious as he was. “Bakugou, I think we may be soulmates.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “And that correlates with my dick how?”

Bakugou won’t even have to kill you after this. You’ll do it yourself. “I need to see if you have a soulmark there. Well, not technically your cock but more like the area around it—”

“You think we’re soulmates because of soulmate marks,” said Bakugou flatly.

“I—”

“You know what! Fine.” Bakugou threw his hands up in surrender, surprisingly placid. “If you need to see my cock to affirm we’re soulmates, I’m down. Got two conditions, though.”

You swallowed with a dry throat. “What are they?”

“One,” he said, holding up his index finger, looking smug as hell, “you’ve gotta do it kneeling.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Oh, uh. Okay.” This must be how Bakugou kills you. Either that, or your heart is going to burst out of your chest, with how hard it’s pounding. “I’ve, uh. Never—” You cut yourself off and moved in front of him.

“I’ll keep your book from getting wet, but I can’t guarantee the same about you, sweetheart,” said Bakugou, spreading his legs for you.

If you weren’t going to commit suicide, you’d murder him. Maybe you can fit both into your schedule. You got on your knees between his legs, shuffling a bit closer towards him than you would’ve liked to keep out of the rain. Sighing, you cautiously lifted your shaky hands to the ties on his sweats.

You paused to look up at the smug bastard. “You didn’t mention the second condition.”

His teeth glinting in a grin, Bakugou reached down to curl some of your hair behind your ear, not that it really needed it. “Afterwards, I get to punch you in the face.”

You shrank away from his thighs, trying not to let him see your jaw tremble in the flashing light. No. You’ve come this far, and if Bakugou will kill you with a punch, then that’s probably better than disembowelling yourself, or something. You’d like to see his dick before you die.

Taking a deep breath, you reached for his sweats again. He, accommodatingly for some reason, lifted his hips for you to tug them down, but you took a moment before doing the same for his plaid boxers. You’re not going to cry out of fear and embarrassment; you’d be the girl who cried at the sight of a cock.

You glanced up at him. Bakugou glared down at you, his head tilted to the right, arms splayed across the back of the bench. He was clearly suppressing a smirk—you didn’t know why; wouldn’t be more humiliating if he laughed at you in the moment?

All right, you’re pulling down his boxers. Do it.

Closing your eyes as thunder rolled, you braced yourself and dragged down the fabric, careful to keep his bare ass from touching frigid cast iron, but it happened anyway (he hissed slightly at the cold). You froze, your hands still gripping the waistband of his boxers when they reached the mid-thigh, and you ducked your head.

“You gonna open your eyes?” His voice cut you straight to the bone. “You’re gettin’ punched for this; you might as well look.”

You were not above temptations of the flesh.

You were right: his cock lived up to the rest of his unfairly pretty-boy body, even though at this point it wasn’t even fully erect. Stupid and pretty and flushed, curving to the side just slightly with a pulsing vein (artery?) going up the same side that curved. The thick base sat amongst dark blond curls, and when you huffed in frustration, it twitched when your hot breath blew over it.

Scowling at his cock, you said, “Where’s the soulmark?”

“You’re an idiot,” said Bakugou, yanking his boxers and pants back up, and he didn’t even stand up to punch you; you hardly had time to prepare yourself properly. All you saw was his huge fist reeling back for a split second before smashing into your face.

You fell back on your ass, extremely baffled but somehow not in pain. You touched your cheeks, your mouth—nothing was broken or even aching. Bakugou had looked like he was going to slam you into the next century; why did it only feel like a tap on the cheek?

“You look confused,” said Bakugou, grinning and crossing his legs to hide the growing bulge in his sweats, “Don’t tell me you’re as stupid as you look.” He held out his hand to help you up, and he pulled you back onto the bench, this time sitting under his arm around your shoulders. “We’re soulmates, all right, but we don’t have marks. We can’t physically cause each other pain.”

You hesitantly snuggled into his pec, and he hummed when you did, so you supposed that was permission. Bakugou emanated a bunch of body heat; you should have done this when you first came out into the rain. And things were falling into place: the bite to your finger, the sparring when you couldn’t hit him…

“You’ve let me flounder?”

He tightened his grip around your shoulder. “I thought it’d be more fun for you if you figured it out yourself.”

Frowning, you gently hit his chest. “How long have you known?”

“Long enough to enjoy your terrible attempts to get me naked, sweetheart,” said Bakugou with a smile so annoyingly self-satisfied that you couldn’t look at it for long, “All you had to do was ask.”

“Oh, my God.”

With his free hand, he reached over to lace his fingers through yours. “Do you still have my pyjamas?”

You groaned into his shirt, not wanting to look him in the eye. “Yes. I was gonna wash them first, though. But wait,” you said, “I have a soulmark.”

Bakugou scoffed. “No, you don’t.”

“I do; it’s right next to—to my vagina,” you ended in a whisper, almost covered under the thunder.

“Dumbass. It was probably a bruise.” He was stroking your upper arm with two of his fingers. “It’s gotta be gone by now. Have you checked recently?”

“Uh,” you said, biting your lip and glancing away, “No. But I have pictures!”

“Show me,” he said, and he waited for you to dig out your phone, which died as soon as you pulled it up.

“I swear that it looked a bit like an explosion—”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You mean like a normal bruise?”

“I think I would know when I got a bruise there.”

Bakugou clicked his tongue. “Fine, then where’d you get that bruise on the back of your left leg?”

“What?” You twisted your leg, pulling up your capris a bit to see the full bruise. “I don’t—I didn’t know I had one there. Shut up. Okay, it’s possible that I mistook a bruise for a soulmark.”

Bakugou shifted so that he was facing you and took both of your hands in his, playing with your fingers. “Want me to check?”

You jolted in your seat, hands tensing in his. “Ex—excuse me?”

“You don’t know if it’s a soulmark, yeah? I do, but you seem to like proof. I can look for you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I—” Too flustered to speak well, you nodded at Bakugou’s encouragement, with the voice in the back of your head saying that you could easily get addicted to the tender way he’s looking at you.

“Good girl. I’ll only do it with a condition, though,” said Bakugou, getting on his knees in front of you, nudging your legs apart, “I get to do it kneeling.”

soulmate trope taglist: @bakugouspsycho

#bnha #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou/reader #bakugou imagine #bakugou fic #mha #bakugou headcanons #bakugou fanfiction #bakugou fanfic #bakugou katsuki x reader #soulmates #soulmate #soulmate au #dash it all

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mybutcheredtongue · 5 months

Text

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

harry potter timeline sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER THREE (see full series list here)

1992

The first day of term is always fun. Everyone arrives at breakfast happy and excited, the first years arriving particularly early because they're scared they'll miss it.

You take a seat at the staff table, a copy of Astronomy's Articles under your arm. You settle yourself between McGonagall and Hagrid. McGonagall's currently engaged in conversation with Dumbledore.

"Morning, Hagrid," you greet cheerfully and he looks up, giving you a great grin.

"G'mornin'! 'appy first day of term!" He booms and you chuckle.

"Happy first day of term."

You pile breakfast items on your plate, summoning a teapot from the middle of the table to pour some tea into your cup. With a wave of your wand, Astronomy's Articles opens itself in front of you on the first page, and you read as you eat.

"Anything interesting?" You hear Dumbledore's voice beside you and with the call of your first name you turn to him and shrug.

"Nothing I hadn't seen myself! There should be a meteor shower at around 12-ish on Friday night," you reply. "Meteor showers are wonderful, I would definitely recommend."

Dumbledore hums thoughtfully. "I have had the treat of viewing quite a few meteor showers in my lifetime," he says. "Once, I could have sworn that the meteors seemed to form the shape of a very animated chocolate frog."

McGonagall chuckles quietly and you join her.

"How do you know it was a chocolate frog and not just a regular frog?" You ask.

Dumbledore considers this for a moment. "I suppose I must have had a particular craving for chocolate that evening," he replies simply.

His plate is empty, clearly having awoken much earlier than you, and you return to your breakfast, flipping the page of your magazine onto a puzzle page, littered with crosswords, word searches, anagrams and some sudoku squares. Something for later, you think.

"How was your summer, Minerva?" you ask. Her first name has always felt odd on your tongue, after you spent 7 years of your life calling her Professor McGonagall.

"Oh, it was fine," she replies. "Nothing too extravagant."

"Did you go to any quidditch matches?"

"A few. I seen — "

"RONALD WEASLEY!"

You jump at the loud yell, turning to the source of the screech: a red envelope floating in front of Ron Weasley's face at the Gryffindor table. You exchange a look with McGonagall, returning your eyes to the scene playing in front of you.

Mrs Weasley's outraged yells are so loud that plates and spoons rattle on the Gryffindor table. Harry is wide-eyed beside him, watching in horror as Ron dips so low in his seat that only the top of his crimson forehead was visible.

" — STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE — "

You wince, knowing well how it feels to receive a howler at school.

Poor Ron.

"— LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND HARRY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED — "

Harry's face has turned the same shade as Ron's, and every eye in the Great Hall is on the howler.

"Bloody hell, just run out of the hall, Ron..." you mutter under your breath in exasperation.

McGonagall hums in agreement beside you.

"— ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED — YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME."

The howler then spins around to Ron's younger sister, Ginny, and its tone changes drastically. "Oh, and Ginny, dear, congratulations on making Gryffindor. Your father and I are so proud."

The howler drops and bursts into flames and curls into ashes. Harry and Ron sit stunned, as though trying to comprehend just what had a happened. A few people laugh before gradually a babble of talk breaks out again.

You chuckle, opening your magazine again and flipping the next page. "Happens to the best of us."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

You wander down to the dungeons, your shoes audibly clicking against the hard stone floors. You wrap your arms tightly around your body, your hands bunching your woolly sweater at your sides.

You had spotted a poster for a 'duelling club' run by Lockhart and it had piqued your interest. You wanted to attend to make sure someone didn't die or get fatally injured because Lockhart seemed the type to not know a defensive jinx if it punched him in the face.

You push open the big wooden doors to the room he's occupied. Several students turn to look at you, but your eyes land on another man standing beside Lockhart, an unimpressed expression on his face.

Hm. Looks like Snape and I have had the same idea.

"Seems we have a late comer! No matter, join in with the rest, young lady!" Lockhart chirps.

You sigh, walking up to him to stand next to Snape. "It's me, Gilderoy." You tell him your name and he just blinks blankly.

You narrow your eyes in confusion. "We work together."

Blank.

"I literally sat beside you at breakfast this morning? You asked if I'd read your book."

Lockhart just stares in confusion, before his face contorts into an overdramatic picture of recognition. "Ah, yes! Yes, of course, I — uh — I recognise you, yeah! Of course I do!"

You scoff, rolling you eyes as he turns around to face the students. "Prick," you mutter under your breath.

You watch as Lockhart steps out onto the long, narrow stage and walks ostentatiously along it. "Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can everyone hear me?"

A beat.

"Excellent! Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little Duelling Club, to train you all up in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions — for full details, see my published works."

You have to cough to cover up your derisive snort.

"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," Lockhart says, flashing a wide smile. The look on Snape's face when Lockhart calls him his assistant is absolute gold. Then, his eyes lock on you and he pauses for a moment, nodding to himself. "And, well, we also have our dear, uh...Astrology Professor here too!"

"Astronomy."

"Astronomy! That's what I said," Lockhart continues. "Professor Snape tells me he knows a tiny little bit about duelling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry — you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"

You raise your eyebrows, glancing over at Snape as he pulls his wand from inside his robes, stepping out onto the stage to face Lockhart. As much as you have a...tumultuous relationship with Snape, you would definitely not be as keen and enthusiastic as Lockhart is to try and duel him.

You're excited to see that smug grin wiped off Lockhart's face, though you would love to do it yourself. You bet he'd remember your name after that.

Lockhart and Snape turn to face each and bow, though Lockhart's is considerably more flamboyant with much twirling of his hands while Snape jerks his head irritably. They raise their wands in front of them.

"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart tells the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

"One...two...three — "

Both of them swing their wands up and over their shoulders. Snape cries, "Expelliarmus!".

There's a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart's blasted off his feet, flying backwards off the stage wildly and smashing into the wall.

You bite your lip to stop your laughs.

You notice some of the Slytherin students cheering while others nervously watch Lockhart in anticipation, collectively breathing a sigh of relief when he unsteadily staggers to his feet.

The look on his face is priceless.

"Well, there you have it" he says, tottering back onto the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm — as your see, I've lost my wand — ah, thank you, Miss Brown. Yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy. However, I felt it instructive to let them see..."

"Well, what spell would you have used, Professor Lockhart?" You pipe up, ultimately stirring the pot to make for a more interesting evening.

You remember when there was a duelling club in your school days. You'd had the pleasure of being paired with Lucius Malfoy, delicately delivering a few hexes to him. He'd had to walk around school with an ear the size of his ego, which was quite the difficult feat because it was exceptionally gargantuan.

Lockhart blinks stupidly at you, rolling a hand through his wavy blond hair. "Well, the Shield Charm, of course!"

"Shouldn't you demonstrate that as well?"

"Well, I — I hardly think the students want to see another demonstration...I'm sure they're dying to try it for themselves!" Lockhart stumbles.

You shrug. "I just think the students might want to witness...what does it say in your book? 'An extraordinary display of barely comprehensible wizarding prowess'?"

Lockhart's mouth opens and closes twice as he tries to think of something to say in return, before landing on a great grin and wiggle of his eyebrows at you. "Well, alright then! I'll let you try and defend my spells, young lady!" He eyes Snape, laughing nervously. "Best give you a break, Professor Snape!"

Snape mutters something under his breath and steps off the end of the stage to stand beside his Slytherin students.

You pull your wand from your pocket, facing Lockhart, bowing.

"One...two...three!"

"Expelliarmus!"

"Protego!"

A blast of red light explodes from Lockhart's wand, and as though there was an invisible shield in front of you, it bounces off harmlessly and is deflected into the roof.

Lockhart lets out a relieved sigh, as if he was expecting it to rebound and hit him instead. He chuckles lightly, regaining his confidence. "It's a good thing I went easy on you there!"

You blink at him, unimpressed. "Truly."

"Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professors, if you'd like to help..."

You start moving through the crowd, but Snape beats you to Harry, Ron, and Hermione first. You watch as he splits the two boys up, Ron huffing as he moves over to Seamus Finnigan, and Snape beckons Draco Malfoy over to pair with Harry.

You wince, well aware of their rivalry. They almost remind you of James and Snape when they were young, though that was a much more inequal affair at the time.

You sigh, pairing others together and stepping out of their way to observe their moves.

Well.

Disastrous is a kind word for the carnage you witness.

Lockhart is screaming hysterically over the battling crowd, attempting to quell the fights. The pair in front of you, Pansy Parkinson and Parvati Patil, are unleashing whatever horrible spells they can think of. Pansy's face has broken into a million boils, and Parvati's left hand is currently repeatedly hitting her own face.

"Hey!" You shout at the two. "Finite Incantatem!"

Parvati's arm stops moving, and Pansy's face stops breaking out. Some of the boils recede and disappear, while some linger and you sigh.

"Madam Pomfrey's," you say to her and she scampers off, screeching about Parvati on her way. "Where the bloody hell did they learn those spells..." you move away from Parvati.

Lockhart skitters through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels. "I said disarm only. I think you may need another demonstration on how to block unfriendly spells...how about a volunteer pair — Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you?"

"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," says Snape. "Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox. How about Malfoy and Potter?"

You scowl. How could he be so cruel? "Mr Longbottom is perfectly capable of performing a simple shield spell, Professor Snape."

He glares at you, black eyes glinting maliciously. "Well, best not allow for any risks, yes?"

"You're being unreasonable — "

Lockhart looks between the two of you, as though choosing which side is the safer option. In other words, which of you he'd least like to piss off.

"Mr Malfoy, Mr Potter, let's see how you fare!" Lockhart booms nervously and you click your tongue, glaring at Snape. His face contorts into a twisted smile as the two boys step up onto the stage.

"Now, Harry," Lockhart says, "when Draco points his wand at you, you do this."

He raises his own wand, attempting a complicate sort of wiggling action.

He drops it.

He picks it up, saying, "Whoops — my wand is a little over-excited."

Snape bends down to Malfoy's ear, whispering something in it. Harry looks nervously up at Lockhart and says, "Professor, can you show me that blocking thing again?"

Lockhart cuffs Harry merrily on the shoulder. "Just do what I did, Harry!"

"What, drop my wand?"

You snort. He is his father's son, that's for sure.

Lockhart isn't listening though, excitedly shouting, "Three...two...one...go!"

Malfoy raises his wand quickly and yells, "Serpensortia!"

The end of his wand explodes. You watch in shock as a long, black snake shoots out of it, falling heavily onto the floor between them and raises itself, ready to strike.

"Don't move, Potter," Snape says lazily, clearly enjoying the spectacle in front of him. "I'll get rid of it."

"Allow me!" Lockhart shouts, and before you can do anything, he brandishes his wand at the snake and there's a loud bang, throwing the snake ten feet up into the air and landing back down on the floor with a loud smack. Enraged and hissing furiously, it slithers straight towards Justin Finch-Fletchley and raises itself again, fangs bared, poised to strike.

Panic sets in through your body and you flick your wand, frantically yelling, "Immobu — "

Then, a hissing sound. You watch in disbelief as Harry walks forward towards the snake, hissing at it, and it slumps to the floor, docile, its eyes now on Harry.

Justin stares at Harry in horror. "What do you think you're playing at?" He shouts, and storms out of the hall.

"Harry..." you say gently, trying to appear calm and collected, despite genuinely thinking you may have jumped out of your skin.

Snape steps forward, waving his wand, and the Snape vanishes in a puff of black smoke.

Ron grabs the back of Harry's robes, tugging it and pulling him out of the hall. It's utterly silent and tense in the room and you swallow hard.

"Alright, everyone, I think it's time to get going," you announce, and the students obediently depart from the room, muttering between themselves.

Snape makes to leave but you grab onto the arm of his robe angrily and he turns to glare at you.

"What were you thinking, telling Malfoy to summon that snake? He was supposed to be practicing a shield charm!" You snap.

"A let down on Potter's part. He was unable to cast the shield charm."

"Oh, don't give me that. You knew what you were playing at, you shifty — "

"It is my fault," Lockhart chimes in and you think you can genuinely feel your will to live slipping from your grasp. "I weakened the snake to allow for young Mr Potter to have a better chance, but it seems I should have — "

You spin and glare at Lockhart. "Oh, really, is that what you were doing? Because it seemed to me like you just mumbled out whatever sounds came to your thick skull and hoped it'd do something!"

"Now, now, young lady — "

"It's Professor, you dimwit! I am a grown woman, I am your colleague! Don't patronize me!"

You scoff, anger bubbling terribly in your veins, as you brush off the front of robes and glare at the two idiot men in front of you. "Don't you ever put your students in danger again. You should be ashamed of yourselves."

You spin on your heel and angrily storm out of the hall.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

→ all kinds of interaction appreciated ♡

->-> read chapter four here!

#harry potter #fanfiction #the marauders #hp #hp fanfic #fanfic #angst #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #angst with a happy ending

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heauxvibez · 3 months

Text

Toxic

Warning: Smut (+18). This is a long nasty one, you're welcome :)

That damn Don Julio make me a fool for you And I might hit your phone up with that Ra Ra Ra Missing ma Da Da Da Missing that Ah Ah Ah ....

Mariah's face scrunched up as the smooth taste of alcohol burned her throat. She slammed the empty shot glass against the kitchen countertop and wiped the corners of her glossed lips. Thoughts raced through her mind as she made her way to the couch, her emotions swirling in a tumultuous mix.

Sinking into the cushions with a deep sigh, memories of the past began to surface. Mariah pressed her lips together, shaking her head defiantly. "No," she thought to herself, determined to push aside the tumult of emotions threatening to engulf her.

Her phone lay in her hands, a silent witness to her inner turmoil. She picked it up, then hesitated, uncertain of what action to take. The Don Julio bottle beckoned from the countertop, and she grabbed it, downing the remnants left from her party a few days ago. The alcohol surged through her body, igniting a familiar fire within her.

Damn. Don Julio always making her feel reckless. Maybe drinking the bottle alone wasn't such a good idea after all. When left alone with her thoughts and alcohol, anything could happen.

She found herself missing him—his walk, his talk, the way he smelled. Her pulse quickened at the thought of him between her legs, his hands exploring her like a precious treasure. But indulging in these memories only fueled her longing, igniting a dangerous flame within her.

Mariah chuckled nervously as she toyed with her phone's keyboard. What could she possibly say?

"You up?" Too basic. "I miss you." Too needy.

A smirk played on Mariah's lips as an idea struck her. Perhaps a semi-nude would suffice. She scrolled through her photos, searching for just the right image—something provocative yet tantalizing, enough to pique his interest without revealing too much.

Her thumb trembled nervously as she hesitated. But then, with a decisive "Fuck it," she sent the risqué boomerang, a suggestive dance in lingerie that left little to the imagination.

As the three dots appeared, indicating his response, Mariah's heart raced. She quickly exited the message thread, biting her nails in anticipation.

Twenty-five minutes passed, and Mariah began to regret her decision. He hadn't responded to the video she sent, and it was driving her mad. She sighed aloud before heading upstairs to end her night alone and horny.

Three knocks on the door stopped her in her tracks. Could it be? No. She said to herself out loud. Slowly, she approached the door and looked through the peephole. She saw none other than the black and red crewneck of the dangerous other half of her.

Smirking, she opened the door to see the delicious sight of Roman. His eyes were hooded with lust as he saw the small woman in front of him. He bit his lip and walked through the door, not taking his eyes off her.

"Aren't you supposed to speak before you enter someone's house?" she asked jokingly as she shut the door behind him.

"Aren't you supposed to text someone 'Hi, how are ya?' before you send them a sexy video?"

She smiled lazily. "Touché."

Roman looked around and noticed the half-empty bottle of Don Julio sitting on her countertop. He raised an eyebrow while walking toward the bottle.

"Looks like you were having a good time in here," he smirked while pulling his crewneck over his head. He set the article of clothing on her barstool and took a seat.

"Yeah," she said nervously while approaching him.

She stood in front of him and leaned against the countertop, watching as he poured himself a shot. He looked deeply into her eyes, then licked his fist before pouring salt on it. She crossed one leg over the other, knees almost giving out as he stared her down.

He chuckled, licked the salt off his fist then downed the shot. He squeezed the last lime she had into his mouth to chase the strong drink.

"Woo, haven't had that in a long time," he said, shoving the shot glass from his view.

Mariah smiled as he glanced at her again.

His smirk soon faded. He looked at her once again with hooded eyes.

"You know something else I haven't had in a long time?" he questioned, holding his hand out for her to grab.

"Hmm?" she questioned, watching his hand. She was stuck in her position, surprisingly becoming nervous about what he was about to say next.

"Come," he said almost in a whisper. Her pulse quickened as he motioned for her to come closer. She stood slowly and walked toward him, now standing between his legs. Her balance was off slightly because of the alcohol and slightly because she was nervous.

Roman's right hand slowly caressed her face, his eyes trailing from the features of her face all the way down to her toes. She felt a surge of heat as his gaze lingered on her. His touch ignited a fire within her, a longing she thought she had buried long ago.

She didn't know why she was so nervous. She'd been with him plenty of times, but being in front of him right now made her want to shy away.

"I haven't had you in a long time," he uttered. She gasped as she felt his fingers on her bare skin, lifting her shirt only to find out that she wasn't wearing a bra.

Roman bit his lip and looked at her before taking one of her nipples into his mouth.

Wrapping his arms around her waist, he went to work on her breast, and Mariah melted into his hold. She didn't know if it was him or the alcohol, but having her nipples sucked had never felt so good.

Roman looked into her eyes while swirling his tongue around her bud. If she were to continue this stare down for any longer, she just knew he was going to make her cum. So she closed her eyes, threw her head back, and indulged in the feeling.

Roman took this opportunity to slip his left hand into her sweats. He could feel her knees buckle as he did, so he held her waist tightly with his right arm, still keeping his attention on her right breast.

His left hand found its way to her pussy, his fingers wet before he could touch her. Her juices were dangling from her clit to her thigh. He moaned against her nipple. The fact that she was this wet for him drove him absolutely insane.

He nibbled on her bud while simultaneously grazing her clit ever so lightly with his middle finger.

Finally detaching his mouth from her breast, he said, "Damn baby, all this for me?" as he slid his fingers through her wet folds. She whimpered, squeezing her thighs tightly together as he pushed his fingers inside of her.

Roman exhaled deeply as he felt the silkiness of her walls against his fingers.

He missed this so much, well... just this, at least. It was beyond him how they had such great chemistry when it came to intimacy, but outside of that... their relationship was hell. They'd fight hard, fuck harder. But no matter how toxic, he'd always find his way back to her.

Mariah cried out as he moved his finger in a 'come here' motion, and Roman loved every moment of it. He loved the control he had over her; this was the only time she was ever submissive to him. He loved the ability to make her melt in the palm of his hand just like chocolate.

Slowly, he pulled his fingers out, watching as her jaw hung low at the loss of the feeling. He wrapped his hand around her throat and made her watch as he slipped his fingers into his mouth with a groan following afterward.

She nearly came at the sight.

He then pulled his fingers out and slowly pushed them into her mouth, making her taste herself.

"You taste so good, baby, huh?" he asked with his right hand still around her throat.

He pulled his fingers out of her mouth, allowing her to speak.

"Yes," she whimpered.

"Yes, what?" he asked as his left hand pulled down her sweats.

"Yes, daddy..."

"That's what I like to hear, baby girl," he cooed in agreement. He pulled down his pants slightly, his dick springing up once it was free. She gazed at it; she had almost forgotten how big he was.

"Come sit on daddy's lap, baby," he threw both his arms back and rested them on the armrest of the barstool.

She climbed on top of his lap and put her legs at either side of him. She grabbed his dick and rubbed it up and down her slit. He shuddered at the feeling while tucking his bottom lip between his teeth.

She slowly slid down on him and gasped at the feeling. The first stroke is always the best. Roman was also consumed by the feeling. He grabbed at both of her thighs tightly as he felt her wrap around him. He threw his head back almost letting out a whimper himself.

"Lord..." he mumbled while bringing his head back up. The feeling was so good; Mariah hadn't even put him all the way in. Roman noticed and rolled his hips upward, digging deeply into her.

She already couldn't take it, and this was only the first stroke. She dug her nails into his shoulders and told him that it was too much. It was too late; he was easing his way in and out of her slowly.

"Look at me, baby," he huskily whispered. She shook her head no. She knew that if she looked into his eyes with this pleasure surging through her veins, she was going to be so deep in love with this man that she wouldn't be able to get out.

His hand slapped the side of her ass.

"What did I just say?" he asked through gritted teeth, his strokes becoming deeper and slower.

She ignored him; there was no way she was going to look this man in the eyes.

Roman's hand slid up her chest slowly and wrapped around her throat.

"I'm not going to tell you again."

She gave in, opening her eyes and letting them fall upon his.

Mariah's heart palpitated. She couldn't believe what she was feeling right now. She felt like she was falling in love with him all over again.

The way he was making her feel... she knew it was more than just sex. Sex was always easy to do with no strings attached, but it was so different this time.

He pumped deeply into her, and his strokes weren't so slow anymore; they were a little faster, harder. He was hitting spots that made her want to get out of her own skin to get away from the immense pleasure. She couldn't fucking take it.

"You can take it, baby. You can take daddy's dick," he said, almost as if he read her mind.

He grunted as he felt himself getting close. "Fuck, I'm so close, baby," he whispered.

Roman loosened the grip around her neck and pulled her closer to him, taking Mariah in for a deep kiss. His tongue rubbed against her own while his fingers cascaded down her spine, a weak spot for her.

Her body tensed, and she soon felt herself cumming. She moaned into the kiss and bit his bottom lip lightly.

He held onto her tightly as he came not too far behind her.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!" he repeated as his body spasmed. She held him tightly as he recovered.

"You good?" she asked, laughing lightly. Her fingers danced in his loose curls, making her smile to herself. She missed this.

"Yeah," he exhaled as he held her in his lap. He kissed up her neck and planted a small kiss on her cheek.

"You?" he asked before planting one last kiss on her lips. She was going to answer until she saw his phone buzz on the countertop. It was a text from someone named Chrissy.

The preview text read 'Hey Daddy, you still up?"

She shook her head. She knew that he was seeing other people; hell, she was too. But for him to really fuck her like that and still talk to other females actually hurt her feelings.

No matter how much she wanted things to change, she knew that them being more than what they are would just be... toxic.

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

Hey ya'll! This is 1 of 2 items being released tonight. I really hope ya'll like this.

@harmshake <3

#oneshots #imagines #romanreignsoneshot #roman reigns #romanreignsimagine #wwefanfic #wwe #roman reigns smut

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eddiemunsons80sbaby · 5 months

Text

Everybody Hurts

Chapter 19

Pairing: EddieMunsonxReader

Summary: You needed to escape, escape from your life, your messy divorce, and all the pitying looks. Looks you couldn't ignore when everyone in town had known you and Cam, had known your shame and failure. So, you took the first job you could get, teaching third grade in a town called Hawkins. Little did you know, you were walking right into another messy situation, a messy situation with big brown eyes and long dark waves. But he's resistant, at times unbearable and you start getting curious about the town's past, his past, especially when things don't start adding up.

18+ Only for eventual smut

Next chapter: 01/03

Word Count: 7K

Masterlist

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

That place…lightning and a red sky. You couldn’t get it out of your head. You couldn’t stop picturing it, trying to make it make sense, trying to figure out where it could be, this place that haunted him, wouldn’t let him rest. Could it be the mall fire? The flames and smoke could have made the sky appear red…but didn’t the fire happen at night? And was there a storm that night? You didn’t remember there being any mention of a storm in the news articles you'd read. But with so many deaths, the weather could have been an inconsequential detail.

You lay back on the couch, Eddie’s heavy weight pressing you down into the cushions as he slept, wrapped around you like a baby lemur. His arms were locked around your waist and his leg wound around your thigh. Soft snores rumbled between his lips from where his head rested on your chest. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to and you didn’t find yourself inclined to do so, comforted by the warmth of his body, your own personal man-shaped heating blanket.

Your fingers danced over his dark locks, appearing almost black in the darkness of the room, rubbing the ends between your thumb and finger. He’d finally calmed, slipped into sleep, about an hour ago, once the thunder and the lightning had subsided. But you found yourself wide awake, your brain unable to stop the mad dash it was in as it tried to search for answers to your never-ending questions.

Soft whimpers filled the silence as Eddie began to move, small, jerky movements at first, building into more erratic ones. His head shook from side to side, jaw stabbing into your sternum, fingers trembling against your back. Then his arms shot out from underneath you and you made a cage with your own around your head, preparing for him to lash out. Because that’s always where it led. You had quickly learned within the past week to dart out of the way once the nightmares took over but there was nowhere for you to go with him on top of you and he was going to feel awful if he managed to hurt you again.

“No! No! Dustin, please!”

“Eddie!” you cried out, trying to break through the horrible memory he was living, to bring him back to the present, to you. “Eddie! It’s okay. You’re safe.”

“No! Stop! Please!”

His body flailed on top of yours and you grunted, gasping for breath when his elbow slammed into your ribs. Jesus, he was heavier than he looked, his panicked writhing weight making it hard for you to breathe. You reached out, wrapping your arms around him, trying to stop his movements before he hurt you. You couldn’t bear to see that guilt devouring him again. He didn’t mean it, had no control of it, but he would never look at it that way.

“Eddie! Eddie, you’re safe,” you cried, holding onto him as tightly as you could but he was so much stronger than you and you couldn’t keep him still no matter how you tried. “I’m here. You’re safe. You’re with me. You’re not in that place. It’s okay. Just open your eyes, baby. Come back to me. It’s okay.”

Deep brown eyes shot open, darting around the room as if searching for any signs of danger, a wild animal ready to defend against a predator. His large hands gripped your arms tightly and when his eyes finally found yours, you could see as he visibly relaxed, shoulders dropping, tense muscles in his face releasing. Then his hands were cupping your face, so gently, as if you were made of glass.

“Are you okay? I didn’t…did I hurt you?” he asked and your heart broke with the fear in his words, the tremble in his voice. This man, who was tormented every night by monsters you didn’t know, was more concerned for you than he was for himself.

“No, you didn’t hurt me,” you assured him with a shake of your head, hands running up and down his back soothingly. “I’m fine. Really. Are you okay?”

“I’m…fuck. No. I’m never okay, am I? Okay people don’t turn into massive babies because of a little thunder and lightning, they don’t fight invisible monsters in their sleep every damn night, and they don’t have to worry that they’re going to hurt their girlfriend.”

“Eddie, it’s okay. I know what to do now. You haven’t hurt me since that first time.”

“Princess,” he huffed, pulling away from you, sitting up. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, all mussed, smushed down on one side from where his face had been pressed against you. “This is insane. You know that, right? You shouldn’t have to think up defensive tactics just to be able to sleep next to the guy you’re seeing.”

“It’s not a big deal, Eddie. It’s fine.”

“It’s not. Did you even sleep?” challenged Eddie, dark eyes shooting over to you. “Or did you lay awake just waiting for the moment that I lost my shit, getting ready to cover yourself in case of attack?”

“I wasn’t sleeping but it had nothing to do with that. I was just thinking.”

“Thinking about what? How you made a massive fucking mistake deciding to date someone as unstable as me?”

“Jesus, no,” you groaned, pulling yourself up next to him. Your arms came around his waist, chin resting on his shoulder. “Just thinking. Us women are quite known for that, you know. Men just lay down and conk out. Us women have to run through all the problems of the world first, not to mention our to-do lists and chastise ourselves for everything we didn’t get done on our to-do lists that are still on there for tomorrow now, and we have to think of all the ways we’ve failed that day. It’s a lot to run through and sometimes it makes for bad sleep. That’s all.”

Eddie’s cheek pressed against the top of your head, his fingers running along your forearm, the movement soothing. Back and forth. Back and forth. Each sweep of his fingers caused your eyelids to droop, the lack of sleep you'd been experiencing for the past week starting to catch up to you. Your body was desperate for some real rest, a full eight hours of uninterrupted slumber.

But there was only one way for you to get that and you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You couldn’t ask him not to stay over with you. His face, the expression of hurt that would be on it, flashed before your eyes and no. You couldn’t be the cause of that. You couldn’t be just one more person who couldn’t accept him for who he was. You wanted him, wanted this, in spite of all of his baggage. And if that was the case, then you needed to heft up some of the load and figure out how to make it work.

“Hey, come here,” he whispered, twisting his torso to wrap his arms around you, pulling you into the safety of his chest. He sank back into the couch, bringing you with him, his lips brushing over your forehead. “You sleep for a bit, okay? I’ll stay awake this time.”

“No, it’s okay. You need…”

A calloused finger pressed against your lips, “You need sleep, too. Let me be the one who’s got you right now, okay? Just close your eyes and relax. No alarms need to be set. No big schedule or to-do list for today. It’s Saturday. Just get some rest. I couldn’t go back to sleep right now if I wanted to, anyway.” Eddie shifted and then you heard the sound of the tv, turned low, through the sleep that was pulling you under. “Just sleep, baby. I’ve got you.”

And then you were gone, Eddie’s heartbeat your own perfect lullaby, sending you off to peaceful dreams.

____________________________________________________________

“Come on,” Eddie whined, dragging you behind him, your feet rushing to keep up with his long strides, toward his van.

“Where are we going?” you laughed, feeling much more yourself after a solid seven hours of sleep.

Eddie had let you sleep until eleven. You'd woken to the smell of bacon beckoning you to the kitchen where Eddie stood in his boxers, frying eggs and popping Eggos down into the toaster, a sight you could definitely get used to. All lean lines, long limbs, and inked skin. You could not think of a single thing more beautiful than Eddie at that moment. You'd enjoyed a large breakfast where he’d been bouncing like a kid who was getting ready to head off to the amusement park and just couldn’t wait, pressing you to eat faster.

He’d told you that he had a big surprise for you but he would not tell you what it was. So, you had headed in for what was supposed to be a quick shower but became anything but when Eddie decided to join you. Borrowing one of his Iron Maiden tees, pairing it with the shorts you'd worn yesterday, you had brushed out your hair and called it good because Eddie appeared to be in a rush.

“Eddie, seriously,” you laughed as he ushered you into the passenger seat and then raced around to the driver’s seat. “What are you in such a hurry for?”

He turned to you, eyebrows raising and dropping dramatically, that grin taking up his entire face. “You’ll see.”

What in the world was he up to? Eddie turned up the music, hands drumming along to ‘Sacrifice’ by Motorhead. The windows were down, a warm breeze moving through the van on this perfect late spring day. You tilted your head, your arm propped on the frame of the door, closing your eyes, relishing the feel of the warm sun beating down, the wind rushing through your damp hair.

School was going to be out in just one week. Come Friday when that bell rang, you would be facing ten glorious weeks of freedom. Two months ago that had sounded like hell. Ten weeks of nothing ahead of you. Ten weeks of working on whatever house projects you could scrounge up the money for just to keep yourself busy. Ten weeks to dwell on all the ways your life had gone wrong, how you were thirty and all alone and that wasn’t likely to change soon.

But now, you were looking forward to all that time. Time you could spend with your new friends. Time you could spend with Eddie. Yes, you still planned on doing some things around your house. But now instead of sitting alone in your house with a carton of Chinese food and television, you could picture cookouts and bonfires in the backyard with friends. Instead of silent mornings, drinking your coffee on the couch while reading a book, you could see you and Eddie staying in bed far too late, wrapped up in each other, before tumbling out to make pancakes. You could see long, hot days spent at the lake, strolling with Eddie through town as ice cream dripped down your fingers, Tuesday nights sitting at The Hideout watching his band play. The future suddenly looked bright, as if someone had changed the bulb, shining light into the dull dreariness that your life had been.

“So, before we get to this surprise, there was something I wanted to talk to you about,” Eddie announced, turning the volume down to conversation level.

“Okay.”

He looked so nervous, tongue dancing around the corner of his mouth, his fingers gripping and loosening around the steering wheel. You turned in your seat a bit, noticing those little lines between his eyebrows, the ones you always wanted to smooth out with your fingers when they appeared. Something was making him nervous and you weren't sure if you should be too.

“I told my uncle about us.”

“Okay. Is that a bad thing? I mean, everyone else knows, right? So he’d find out eventually.”

“Yeah, no. I mean, it’s not a bad thing. Trust me, the old man is thrilled. I mean, he’s ready to throw a party and invite the entire town to celebrate the fact that I am finally dating someone seriously. He was convinced I was going to be living alone in that house, yelling at kids when they walked through my grass, angry and spiteful at everybody, hating the entire world. So, trust me, he might just be happier than anyone else.”

You laughed, picturing a crotchety old Eddie, waves that had long gone white billowing behind him, as he shook his cane at kids. His cane wouldn’t just be any old cane either. No. It would be something impressive, ebony wood with some crude silver topper, maybe a hog’s head or a skull to match his rings.

“Alright, so what’s the problem then?”

“The problem is that he’s been bugging me. Hell, he’s been harassing me every day since I told him to bring you over there for dinner so he can meet you.”

“But we met,” you laughed, remembering that day. The gentle, kind man so opposite from Eddie’s surly and rough demeanor. The man who’d had a glimmer of hope in his eyes that you were more than just some girl Eddie brought around to see a car. “Doesn’t he remember me coming over there to look at the car?”

“Yes, but he wants to meet you as my girlfriend,” snorted Eddie, rolling his eyes. “Like you’re a completely different person now that we’re dating or something. Look, we don’t have to do it. I can come up with some excuse if you’re uncomfortable with the idea of meeting the parent. I mean, I know we haven’t been dating that long and it’s probably weird, right? Is it weird?”

“No, it’s not weird,” you answered, meaning it. You were genuinely touched that his uncle wanted to invite you over, that Eddie seemed to want you to get to know the man who raised him. “I mean, when were you thinking about doing dinner?”

“Tonight.”

“Oh…” You trailed off, your stomach suddenly knotting up with nerves. Yes, you'd met the guy but that had been as just some girl that Eddie was bringing to possibly buy his car. This man meant everything to Eddie. You wanted to go. You wanted to go because Eddie wanted you to but if you made the wrong impression, if his uncle didn’t like you, would Eddie still want to date you?

“Like I said, we don’t have to,” Eddie reminded, his hand coming to find yours, fingers slipping between your own. “I can just try to deter him for a while longer until you’re ready. But I want you, he is pretty stubborn so it might not be long before he shows up on your doorstep.”

“No. I want to,” you stated, nodding and you did. You just didn’t want to say or do anything wrong. “We can have dinner with him tonight. Your uncle seems like a great guy.”

“That he is. He can come off as a little gruff,” Eddie chortled, shaking his head. “But he’s a big ass softy.”

“Hmm…sounds like someone else I know,” you teased with a smile.

The van turned onto the main road and then Eddie was pulling into a spot right in front of Melvald’s, the local general store. You knew that Will’s mom, Joyce, worked there. You'd met her the day you'd headed into town to buy a few things for the house. But you couldn’t figure out what Eddie would be so excited about at a general store.

“We’re going to Melvald’s?” you asked, confused.

“No, we’re going next door.”

Eddie pointed out of his windshield and your eyes tracked it, landing on a sign that read ‘Hawkins Animal Shelter.’ Why would they be…then it hit you. You turned to him, jaw dropped, eyes wide.

“Eddie, no…”

“I thought since your ex is a massive dickbag who took your dog that you might want another furry companion to cuddle.” He shrugged, that cute little smirk you loved so much curving his lips as he shook his hair. “I mean, besides me, of course. Look, maybe I’m overstepping but the idea just came to me this morning. I was watching you sleep and…”

“You were watching me sleep? Creepy, much?” you joked with a grin.

“Yeah, well, I am the town freak, sweetheart. Gotta live up to the name. But anyway, I was watching you and thinking how damn lucky I am to have found you, someone who is willing to put up with all my bullshit and my neurotic behavior. Anyway, I wanted to do something nice for you. And I didn’t want to do flowers or chocolate or that boring shit guys usually do. And then it came to me. You miss your dog. So, I thought maybe you’d like to find a new little guy who needs someone to love.”

“That is…” Your voice broke and you cleared your throat. “That’s the kindest thing anyone’s ever done for me. But Eddie, you don’t have to thank me for anything. I just want to be here for you.”

“No, I know. I know you do. I just…you know, I’m not good at always saying shit. And I just want you to know how much it means to me that you haven’t gone running for the hills yet. Because nobody would blame you if you did. I’m a lot. I know I am.”

“You’re not a lot. You’re just enough. Eddie Munson, you’re perfect.”

His hand rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, “Sweetheart, did you get into my stash because…”

“Stop it,” you laughed, swatting at him.

“Alright, you ready to go find a new friend?”

“Yes!” you squealed, hopping out of the van.

Eddie grinned as he came around to you, his arms circling your waist, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. His finger booped your nose.

“You are fucking adorable when you’re excited.”

You were probably smiling like an idiot but you didn’t care. You didn’t care because this man enjoyed you, all of your quirks and your flaws. He didn’t mind if you used your teacher voice, didn’t care that stupid things made you giddy, wasn’t bothered when you randomly broke out into song because everything reminded you of a lyric. All things that Cam used to hate but Eddie only seemed to find endearing.

His hand trailed down to the small of your back, guiding you into the shelter. You were greeted by a cacophony of barks, a symphony of high and low, but all sounding very excited to possibly have new friends visiting. A young guy who looked to be in his early twenties approached you with a warm smile.

“Hi there. Are we looking for a new four-legged friend today?”

“She is,” Eddie told him.

“And do we know about what size of dog we want?”

Your cheeks puffed up and then you released a long breath, “No idea. I don’t really care. I just want a dog that’s mine.”

“Something bigger,” Eddie answered and when you looked up at him in confusion, he shrugged one shoulder and added, “you know, for protection.”

“Protection? What do I need protected from in Hawkins?”

“Stop assuming that this place is safe just because it’s a small town,” Eddie told you, his tone far more serious than seemed necessary. “You have no idea the things that…look, bad things can happen anywhere, right? It doesn’t matter. Big cities and small towns. You live all alone. Would it be the worst idea to have a bigger dog?”

“No. I guess not. I’m not against a bigger dog. I mean, Marley was a husky.”

“Husky, you say? Well, then I may have just the buddy for you,” the guy told you, gesturing for the two of you to follow him into the back.

Kennel after kennel ran along the wall. Sweet little faces, standing on their back legs, paws up on the bars, greeted you as you walked by and you wondered how you would ever pick just one to save and bring home. You wanted to unlock every single gate and tell the guy to load them all up in the back of the van but you knew you couldn’t. You didn’t have the room or the money for all of that.

“This guy just came in yesterday. They found him wandering around out by where the old lab used to be.” You seemed to be the only one who noticed Eddie stiffen, the guy completely oblivious to the change in his body language. “The best we can guess is he’s got some husky and doberman in him. So, he’d made a great guard dog. We’ve named him Reese because of the black and brown. Get it? Like Reeses Cups?”

“Yeah, we get it,” Eddie snorted.

“Of course, you can change that name if you’d like. He’s not used to it yet as he’s only been here a day. He seems young. We’re thinking maybe four months old.”

He opened the door of the kennel and the young pup came bounding out. You knelt down to the floor and he lunged at you, wet kisses all over your face and just like that, you were in love. Giggles rose from your belly as you ran your hand down his fur and he spun in a circle before sitting down in your lap.

“I would say it looks like we’ve found a match,” the guy beamed.

“He clearly seems to think so,” chuckled Eddie, squatting next to you to scratch behind his ears. “So, what do you think?”

“I think I love him already,” you breathed, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“I would say the feeling’s mutual. He’s already staking his claim,” laughed the guy.

“Alright. Well, let’s just get something clear, my little furry friend,” Eddie told the pup, taking his face in his hands. “You have to share. No staking claims. She was mine first.”

Reese tilted his head from one side to the other as if he could understand Eddie’s words. Then he lurched forward, paws flat into Eddie’s chest, and the man was on his back, Reese covering his face in kisses as he laughed.

“I would say he’s a winner,” you told the guy happily. “So, what do we have to do?”

“Just some paperwork to fill out. We get him up to date on all of his shots for you and get him fixed. He just got here yesterday so we haven’t had a chance. Our vet will be taking a look at him on Monday. So, you should be able to take him home by the end of next week.”

“Alright. Give me the papers,” you stated, watching with amusement as Reese bounded all around Eddie before jumping on him once again. It looked like you weren't the only one the dog was staking claim to.

___________________________________________________________

“Finally!” Uncle Wayne announced loudly as he swung the door of the trailer open. “I have been bugging him to bring you over. I never thought he was gonna do it. This nephew of mine doesn’t seem to want to share you, wants to hide you.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Eddie sighed, rolling his eyes at his uncle. “We’ve barely decided we’re in a relationship. You act like I’ve been seeing her for a year.”

“Still, glad he finally brought you over. I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting any of Ed’s girls. He’s never brought them around. You’d think he’s ashamed of this old man or something.” He winked, elbowing Eddie gently in the ribs to let him know he was kidding around.

“No, I never brought anyone around because I never had a girl,” Eddie stated.

“Oh, there’ve been girls.”

“No. There’s been flings. I’ve never had anyone I was serious enough about to warrant bringing them over to meet you.”

Wayne’s eyebrows lifted, teeth flashing as he grinned, “Serious, huh? So this thing here is serious? Well, that’s damn nice to hear. It’s about time. I thought Eight Ball was going to get a slew of new friends when you became an old bachelor just like your uncle.”

“Eight Ball?” you asked.

A small meow greeted you, a black cat appearing from behind the recliner, beckoned at the sound of his name. He gracefully pawed his way over, rubbing himself in between your legs. You knelt down, running your hand over his sleek fur, smiling when he purred in response, bright green eyes closing in contentment as he nuzzled his face into your palm.

“That’s Eight Ball,” Wayne explained, swinging his hand in the direction of the cat.

“What a funny name for a cat,” you laughed. “What made you decide to name him that?”

“I didn’t name him nothing,” he told you, pointing at Eddie. “This guy’s the one who picked the name.”

“I found him by the dumpster behind the pool hall,” Eddie explained with a shrug, kneeling next to you, one finger coming out to rub under the sweet kitty’s chin. “I had slipped out back for a smoke and this little guy came right up, rubbing all over me. I pet him and tried to go back in but he followed me. I thought he might be hungry so I snuck inside and stole some ground beef from the kitchen. After that, it was a done deal. The cat was on my heels, followed me to my van, meowing, looking at me with those big old eyes. What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t leave him out there. It was January in Indiana and cold as hell. Little guy could have frozen to death if I didn’t bring him home.”

“Yeah. I come home from work in the morning, dead tired on my feet, and almost step on this guy as he darts between my feet, demanding food. I wound up falling on my ass, staring at this cat, wondering where the hell he came from,” Wayne chuckled. “Didn’t take me long to figure out it was Eddie. He was always trying to bring home strays. He fed a damn raccoon once and the thing wouldn’t leave, kept coming around, getting into the garbage. I yelled for him and he came stumbling out, half asleep. I asked him what the hell this cat was doing in my trailer. I had every intention of telling him to get it out of here but he turned those damn sad eyes on me and I couldn’t say no.”

“The cat?”

“No, Eddie!” Wayne harrumphed. “I’m sure he’s used that look on you, those eyes like a damn baby deer, looking all sad and shit. He knows how to pull at the heartstrings with those things. I’ve never been able to say no to him. Those eyes got him out of a lot of trouble, let me tell you. Never could stay mad at him for long.”

You smiled, glancing over at Eddie who smirked, lifting one shoulder. Oh yeah. You knew exactly what eyes Wayne was talking about. Those eyes could melt you into a puddle on the spot. Those eyes had you completely wrapped around his finger. You weren't sure there was anything you could deny him if he asked.

“So, if he’s Eddie’s cat, why didn’t you take him when you moved out?” you asked, rising to your feet as Eddie sat down, folding his legs, the cat curling up in his lap.

“Because that old man can say whatever he wants but he loves this cat. He bitched about him all the time. He was under his feet. He was in his bed. He scratched up the couch. But then I would come home to find him napping in the recliner, Eight Ball curled up on his chest. I felt bad about leaving him here all alone so this way, he’s got a friend.” The cat rubbed his cheek against Eddie’s and Eddie planted a kiss on his nose. “Huh? Doesn’t he, buddy? You’re Uncle Wayne’s best pal, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah. I guess he grew on me. Well, come and have a seat. Dinner should be ready.” Wayne’s hand came to the back of his neck, rubbing nervously, a habit that seemed quite familiar. “We uh…well, we don’t have a large enough table for all of us so I thought we could eat at the coffee table. Sorry. Don’t usually have more than Ed over for meals. Would that be alright?”

“That’s perfect,” you assured him, recognizing the embarrassment he was feeling at how small his trailer was. “I have a table but I eat at my coffee table all the time.”

“Well, alright then. Have a seat and I’ll bring in the plates. I made a pot roast. Hope that’s good.”

“That sounds perfect. Do you need any help?”

“Oh no. I got it. I’m not as old as Ed likes to make me out to be, you know. Just go relax and I’ll bring everything in.”

Eddie stood up, placing Eight Ball onto the floor, brushing his hands on his jeans. The cat looked offended but sauntered off into a room in the back of the trailer. Eddie followed you over, sitting down on the floor next to you. His hand covered your knee as he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours, soft and sweet and leaving you wanting more.

“Thanks,” he said, quietly enough to not be heard over the clanging of plates as Wayne assembled their dinner.

“Not that I’m complaining. I’ll take that kind of thank you any time you want to give it but for what?”

“For being you, for not making a big deal about my uncle living in a trailer or eating at the coffee table.”

“Why would I make it a big deal? It’s not a big deal. It’s just a table. And who cares where he lives? Personally, I love this trailer. It’s so cozy. I love his little collection of ball caps and mugs. It makes it feel like a home, like a place where you can just be comfortable.”

Eddie laughed, “Yeah, well not everyone thinks like that. Why do you think you’re the first girl I've ever brought around here?”

“I thought it was because I was the first one you were serious about,” you teased. “Or were you just saying that for his benefit?”

“No, that’s definitely a big part of it. But even when I still lived here, I never brought a girl around that I was seeing. Hell, sometimes when I told them where I lived, they’d get this look, you know? Like they smelled something bad and that something was me. Of course, the town already knew where I lived so some girls said shit anyway. They’d rather hook up in the back of my van or in the middle of the woods or the alley behind the bar…”

You clasped his lips between your fingers, “Eddie, I get it. I know you’re no virgin and have a lot more experience than me. And that’s fine but I’d really rather not listen to you laundry list all of the places you’ve had sex or how many girls you’ve had it with.”

He smiled, his lips flattening in your fingers and you laughed because he looked so ridiculous. You let go and he nipped at your hand playfully.

“Sorry. My foot and my mouth need to be way less friendly with each other,” he sighed. “Harrington tries to tell me to think about what I’m saying first but the thought just shoots right from my brain and out of my mouth before I can do anything about it. Anyway, it means a lot that you’re not making my uncle feel uncomfortable about what he has.”

“Of course not. Eddie, the richest men in the world can be the unhappiest. They can also be absolute pricks. Money does not define a person. Your uncle seems pretty damn happy. His face absolutely lights up when he sees you. You are obviously his favorite thing ever.” You leaned in close, your forehead pressing against his. “And I know the feeling quite well.”

The smile he gave you could have lit up the whole town. It was like a sunspot emerging through the canopy of trees in a dark forest. It was pure light, a glow from within that radiated everywhere, warming everything that it touched. His eyes lit up with the beauty of that smile and you swore, right then, that you would do everything you could to make him smile like that every single day.

“Where in the hell did you come from?” mused Eddie, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Galena, Illinois,” you said with a grin.

“Galena, huh?” asked Uncle Wayne as he set two plates of food in front of them. Pot roast, mashed potatoes, green beans, rolls, and gravy: a feast that had your tummy rumbling in hunger. “I drove through there one time on my way to Chicago for a Stones concert.”

“You saw the Stones?” asked Eddie, wasting no time digging in, scooping a heapful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. “How have you never told me that?”

Wayne shrugged as he walked in with his own plate, plopping down in his recliner, leaning forward, “Never came up and you never asked, I guess.”

“How could I ask about something I didn’t know about? And never came up? I play music. I love music. I am in a band. How would it not come up that you’ve seen the Stones play live?”

“I don’t know. It just never did. It was…” His face crinkled in thought, deep furrows appearing on his forehead. “It must have been ‘64, I think. Went with a bunch of friends of mine. Hell of a night. Hell of a morning after too.”

He chuckled and Eddie glanced over at you in amusement, “Party a little too hard there, old man?”

“You could say that. Of course I wasn’t an old man then. There was some drinking…and some other stuff.”

“Other stuff?” Eddie questioned, interest piqued as his body leaned in, effectively blocking you from your food. “What other stuff?”

“I may have tried a little LSD that night,” Wayne admitted and when Eddie gasped, he held his hand out, shaking his head. “It was the ‘60s. Everyone was trying every damn thing. It was just the once. Man, I swore I was hearing colors and seeing the music. It was the trippiest fucking thing ever. I didn’t like it. Don’t like losing control of my faculties. Swore I’d never do it again.”

“All those times you’d lecture me about drugs…” Eddie clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I did because I know what they do. Not that you ever listened for all the good it did.”

“Oh, it was just marijuana. Shit, man, not even I have done LSD.”

“Well, good for you. There’s one thing you haven’t tried,” Wayne scoffed, spearing a hunk of roast.

“There’s loads of things I haven’t tried. Even I drew the line at needles.”

Your eyes went wide, “Well, I guess at least you have a limit.”

“I mean, I don’t do any of that shit anymore. Well, weed, but that’s it and that’s barely even a drug. I haven’t done Coke or Special K or X in years. And I never touched heroin or meth. That shit would fuck you up. I watched a couple guys lose everything because of it. I’m not scared of needles but the shit they’d mix in that stuff without you knowing could kill you with one dose. No thanks, man.”

“Well, now, how about we switch over to a more dinner appropriate topic?” Wayne urged and you had to agree. “So sweetheart, tell me about yourself. Ed here doesn’t like to share much so I don't know anything about you except that you’re a teacher.”

“Umm, well, I mean, I don’t know what else there is to tell. I’m really not that interesting.”

Wayne’s eyes narrowed, “Now that can’t be true, not if my Eddie likes you so much. Something piqued his interest. What brought you here from Galena?”

“Oh, I got a job offer at Hawkins Elementary and decided to take it,” you shrugged, taking a sip of your water. “I mean, there’s not much more to the story. I didn’t particularly choose Hawkins. I was just looking for a fresh start and when they offered me the teaching position, this seemed as good a place as any.”

Wayne sat back, folding his hands over his stomach, “Well, now, in my experience if someone needs a fresh start, there’s a reason. Was there a reason?”

“Uncle Wayne,” Eddie muttered in warning, those dark eyes flashing up at his uncle.

But the warning wasn’t necessary. It made sense that he would be curious about the girl who was dating his nephew. Besides, he was bound to find out eventually that Eddie was dating a divorcee. What did it matter if you told him now or in six months?

When it had first happened, you had been humiliated, embarrassed, and didn't want to show your face. You hated having to open your mouth and admit what you'd allowed your husband and best friend to do. To admit that you'd been dumb enough to not know. But now, sitting here with Eddie, you found it didn’t really matter anymore. Because, if Cam and Cassie had never done what they did, you wouldn’t have come to Hawkins. You wouldn’t have all the new friends you'd made and you wouldn’t have Eddie. So, really, even if it hadn’t felt like it at the time, your ex husband and ex best friend had done you a favor.

Besides, it wasn’t your shame. You hadn’t been the one to betray your marriage, to throw your decade long friendship out the window. You hadn’t been the one who had schemed, lied, and done something that would hurt someone you loved. You were done being ashamed. You were done being embarrassed.

“It’s okay,” you told Eddie, laying your hand on his arm. “Actually, I came to Hawkins because I had to get out of my old town. My husband and my best friend were having an affair behind my back. It went on for a year and I walked in on them. I left him and we’re divorced now. But I just couldn’t stay in that town with all of those people knowing, looking at me like I was someone to be pitied. I wanted somewhere new where no one knew me or what I’d been through. So, when the job offer came around, I jumped at the chance.”

“Well, I am mighty sorry that happened to you. That’s a real shitty thing for someone to do but it sure seems like it worked out well for you,” Wayne commented with a kind smile. “And for my boy. So, as much as those two deserve to be whipped for what they did, I’m sure glad they did. I ain’t seen a smile like that on that boy’s face in far too long.”

“Damn, you really gotta just call me out like that?” Eddie huffed, shaking his head.

“Damn right, I do. You know how long I been waiting for you to be happy? Way too damn long. It does this old man’s heart good to see you like that, to know I don’t need to be worrying about you in that house all alone, cutting yourself off from the world.”

“Hawkins isn’t the world,” argued Eddie.

“It’s your world. You chose to stay here so this is your world, kid. I know you got all those friends and they’re mighty fine people. I’m so grateful you had all of them looking out for you when this town was gunning for your head. I’m more than grateful for Hop making sure all those charges were dropped, proving you were innocent. Good man. Always been a good man.”

“I had you. You were more than enough,” Eddie told him. “You’ve always been more than enough.”

“That’s mighty nice of you to say. I tried my hardest to be everything you needed but I knew I could never fill the holes left behind by your parents. I worry about you, kid. I can’t help it. Don’t matter if you’re sixteen or sixty. I am always going to worry about you. But maybe I don’t need to lose so much sleep now that you’ve got someone. Someone who will be there all the time. You planning on sticking around, sweetheart?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you assured him, squeezing Eddie’s knee, receiving a smile in return, his hand coming to cover yours. “Eddie couldn’t chase me away if he tried.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s done that already. My boy is nothing if not stubborn and self-sabotaging. Thinks he don’t deserve anything good. The truth is, he deserves everything good and more.”

Eddie flushed bright red as you agreed, saying, “He deserves the world.”

“Yeah, well I don’t need the world,” he mumbled, looking up at you from under those impossibly long lashes as he squeezed your hand, implying what he struggled to put into words.

“So, how are you at playing Rummy?” asked Wayne, rising from his seat with his plate in hand.

“Oh, I think I’m pretty good,” you told him, grinning. “My family and I used to have game nights every Thursday night. Rummy was one of our favorites and I won quite often.”

“Well now, sweetheart, those are fighting words. Eddie, go get the cards.”

“Uh-oh, you’re in for it now,” Eddie teased, lips pouting, eyebrows raising. “My uncle is a shark when it comes to Rummy. He appears to be a sweet old man but he’s got a nasty competitive streak.”

“Bring it on,” you replied with a grin.

Chapter 20

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