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curiositydooropened · 3 months ago

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Hell Hound • Part Two

After a few days spent protecting you, a promising lead is found. Steve is wracked with nightmares. You grow closer.

Pairing: bodyguard!Steve Harrington x photographer!Reader, rockstar!Eddie x Reader

Wordcount: 9,770

Warnings: unrequited love, slowburn, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort, violence, gore, weapons, fighting, death threats, stalker *This chapter also contains allusions of voyeurism, sex, drinking, recreational drug use, overdose, religious elements

This blog is 18+ only. I do not give permission for any of my fics to be duplicated, reposted, or put into AI. Thank you!

Navigation • Masterlist

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Moodboard • Fic Masterlist • Part Three [Coming soon]

Robin: Have you told her yet?

“I need to get out.” You said it, slinging your denim jacket over each arm.

Steve’s breath tasted of your toothpaste, and his hair smelled of your shampoo, and he would’ve gone with you over the border to Canada if you’d asked.

Instead, you carted him down several flights of stairs and the opposite direction of his car and the gallery and to a little park with a coffee kiosk on the corner. You ordered for him and boxed him out of paying, and you waited in silence, smiles playing on your faces.

The coffee was good. The coffee was really good. It could have been that it warmed the ache in his spine from scrunching on a sofa that wasn’t long enough for his legs, but Steve knew it was good because you waited expectantly for him to take a sip, eyes wide in wonder and curiosity.

“S’good,” he licked his lips.

Satisfied with his answer, you started off again.

Steve hurried to keep up. “Where’re we going?”

You smiled and didn’t respond, but slowed your pace to let him fall in step beside you.

Sunlight fell, dappled, through the trees as you walked, and birds chirped, and eventually, you passed through wrought iron gates. The sidewalk grew wider, and with it the distance between the two of you, still at a brisk walk.

“Let’s sit,” you nodded toward a stone bench nearby, and Steve followed you there.

You set your coffee on the bench beside you and began to dig through your leather bag for your camera and whatever size lens you’d deemed the perfect fit.

Steve peeled his gaze from the concentration etched into your forehead to glance around, curious of your subject. It wasn’t until then that he realized you’d pulled him into a cemetery. His jaw ached a little. “What uh… what’re we doing here?”

You shrugged, a sly smile curling peachy pink lips. You nodded behind him. “Saw those lattice roses last week, wanted to get them in softer lighting.”

Behind him, curling their way up stone and iron fencing, were peachy pink roses. A few had seen better days, petals gathering at the base of the wall, but more were reaching skyward, bloomed and beautiful and delicate.

“How do you do it?” Steve asked, regretting his word choice immediately when you turned to flash him a cocked eyebrow. “I mean, how do you know what to capture?”

You shrugged, snapped a few, glanced at the display on the back of your camera. “I don’t think it’s a conscious thing. If you hunt for something, you’ll never find it.”

Steve hummed, took another drink of coffee. He wondered what Robin’d say to that philosophy. Sounds like your love life, dingus. He rolled his eyes. “What about these roses?”

You tilted your head, snapped a few more, looked at the display again. “It’s a little about anticipation. I knew these roses would wilt. I knew a storm was coming in, and that usually batters them. Fresh flowers in a cemetery doesn’t tell a story.”

God, you really were perfect, weren’t you?

You were annoyed at whatever the view finder was showing you, and even that was cute.

You must have felt him watching because you glanced up and immediately pulled your camera in front of your face and started clicking away. “And what about you, Steve Harrington?” You smirked. “What is your story?”

Steve stiffened and dropped his other leg to the ground, sneakers grinding into dead leaves on the asphalt.

You laughed and swept his insecurities away. “Quit being weird,” you snorted. “Just talk to me.”

“About what?” He couldn’t help but smile, trying to ignore the gentle click, click, click of the shutter.

You looked at the view finder and seemed as displeased as you were with the roses. You took a few steps back and got down on one knee, shooting up at him.

Self-conscious, Steve crossed an arm over his chest.

“Stop it,” you scolded, eyes bright, smiling playing on your lips. “Tell me about your life outside of this.” You gestured vaguely to his person and snapped a few more shots.

You snickered at the frown he pulled.

“You know like, outside of being a bodyguard slash private investigator slash Tour Mom. Are you close with your family? Does your girlfriend miss having you around?”

Steve sunk a little further into the bench, letting a breath burst from puffed cheeks. He ran his thumb along the perforated ridge of his cup’s sleeve. “Uh no and no… um… no girlfriend.”

You looked up at him then with the same pity and sadness he felt in the depths of his person.

He tried to hide behind his drink, wishing there was something stronger in his cup.

“Oh my God, Steve, I’m so sorry. Eddie didn’t tell me. You and Robin broke up?”

He sputtered around the sting in his nostrils and wiped at coffee that splattered and stained his pants. “Robin isn’t… no. I mean, she’s drop dead gorgeous and like the second best person I know, but no.” He shook his head, frantically. The amount of women that left him because of his relationship with Robin was honestly astounding, but he never imagined he’d have to explain it to you.

You sucked your cheeks in to shut yourself up and squinted, trying to decipher his ramblings.

He blanched. “Robin’s gay.”

You blinked for a moment and then barked a laugh. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. You just… you and Eddie talk about her so much, I just figured…”

Steve nodded. He understood. “I get it, but nope. We’re just best friends.”

Your laughter slowed to something softer, and he could have sworn he felt something spark in your gaze, in the way your lashes fluttered.

You snapped another photo and seemed satisfied with what you found in the display. You turned the camera his direction to see.

Sunlight haloed around him, roses climbing the walls behind his head, out of focus. He looked comfortable. He looked hopeful. A soft small was etched across his features, and he looked madly and irrevocably in love.

“Blue’s your color.” You commented, detaching your lens and packing your things away.

—

Cheap hangers screeched against metal racks, and you pulled another blouse with 80s shoulder pads and held it up.

Steve made a face.

You conceded and replaced it on its rack and kept pushing.

He’d followed you all day, through the cemetery and back through your neighborhood. You tugged on the passenger’s side door handle of his car until it was unlocked, and you’d given him street-by-street instructions on where to go.

You’d inquired about half-a-million things about his life, none of which he was happy to share, but all of which he’d share again if it meant seeing your face light up the way it did when he rolled his eyes.

You found a thrift store along the route and insisted you’d pick an outfit for him if he picked one for you, and he leisurely followed you down each aisle, turning down anything and everything made of satin and silk and printed in florals.

“I really shouldn’t let you peak,” you informed him finally, hand on your hip.

He opened his mouth to protest, but you waved him off.

“Women’s is over there.” You spouted your size. “Don’t make me look ugly.”

He couldn’t if he tried.

With a sigh, he turned to tackle the circular women’s racks. He wondered if he should pull something in your favorite color, or a color that complimented your eyes the same way the peachy pink lipstick did.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Eddie: How’s my girl doing?

My girl. Steve’s heart sunk. He glanced back up at you, arms already teeming with bright yellows and forest greens. He couldn’t believe he’d let himself get lost in today, that he’d forgotten why he was here with you. It wasn’t because you’d asked, it was because he was being paid to keep an eye on you, to ensure your safety.

At that moment, a young man approached you. Steve stiffened and took a handful of strides closer to get a better look and a better listen.

“Is that a camera bag?” He asked. “Very cool.”

His earring jangled beneath a curly blonde mullet: a hipster type. He wore a white tank top and Levis, and his blue eyes darted between you and the clothing rack and back again.

Steve bristled.

“Okay,” the kid spoke again. “This is going to sound like… really weird, but I think I’m following you.”

You looked back up at him, wide-eyed and arms full, but managed a smile and a thank you. There was something else though. Steve saw the way you were looking at the guy, saw the way fear sparked in your features when the kid reached into his back pocket for something - his phone. Suddenly, frantically, you were looking around the store.

“On instagram? I just wanted to say I think your work is incredible.”

Steve was two steps ahead. He swung his arm around your shoulders and brought you in tight, pressing his lips to your temple. “Sorry, babe, the line to the bathroom was surprisingly long. What’d you find me? Oh, who’s this?”

You stiffened before sinking into him, gesturing to the stranger with his phone out. “Steve, he was just telling me he’s a fan of my work. Isn’t that great?”

Steve plastered on a grin and nodded. “She is incredible, isn’t she?”

The kid nodded and put his phone down, features pulled tight in an awkward smile. “Absolutely.”

“You have excellent taste,” Steve glanced down the kid’s body for any sign of a weapon. He extended a hand. “What’s your name, bro?”

You were frozen in your spot. Steve could feel your pulse against his side.

The guy eyed you warily before shaking your guard dog’s hand. “Billy Hargrove.”

“Good to meet you, Billy.”

Billy nodded, though now his expression had pulled into a frown, seemingly a bit miffed to have been interrupted. He straightened his shoulders and turned his focus solely on you. “I really just wanted to say congrats on the gallery opening.”

“Thank you,” your voice came out in a flush of air, and Steve released his hold on you, worried he was squeezing the air from your lungs.

“Good meeting you both, I guess,” Billy shot Steve a look. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

When he left, you deposited armfuls of clothing to the top of the nearest rack. It teetered under the weight.

Steve bent to catch your gaze, but your face was stoic.

You adjusted the strap of your camera bag and sighed. “Pizza? I’m starving.”

—

1 Voicemail

Steve, it’s Hop. Yeah, William Hargrove does have a couple of priors: B&E and a little GTA, but he was a minor. It’s a good lead. I’ve got Callahan heading down to ask him a few questions. Stay safe. Let me know if anything else happens. Stay sharp.

Steve sighed and reentered the small pizzeria.

The pizza lay steaming, untouched in front of you. You sat against a red brick wall, chewing on a thumbnail and scrolling through something on your phone.

As he approached, he could just make out the blurry mirror selfies of a douchebag in a backwards baseball cap. He had a skull tattoo on one bicep and had a difficult time keeping his tongue in his mouth.

Steve cleared his throat, and you locked your phone, screen going black. “Everything okay?”

He pulled out the seat across from you and made about shelving gooey pizza onto each of your plates.

You hummed, but your gaze remained far off, staring at something written in chalk on the menu over his shoulder.

He tugged a handful of napkins from the dispenser and placed one in his lap before passing another to you. Then, he lifted the drooping piece of pizza high enough to manage one scalding bite. Instantly, it torched the roof of his mouth, and his eyes watered in his swallow.

He supposed the pain was worth the uptick he found at the corners of your mouth.

“I was letting it cool,” you explained.

He nodded and chugged some iced soda until a burp pushed its way up his esophagus. He hid that behind a fist and pounded a little at the burn in his chest, but again, it was worth it to see your eyes sparkle like that.

“Don’t move,” you said, reaching into the bag beside you.

Steve froze, as instructed, fingers dangling greasy above his plate.

You camera covered your face, massive lens encroaching in his space in what he knew couldn’t be a flattering angle, but he felt himself melt when he heard your chuckle behind the viewfinder.

“Lemme see,” he said.

You cocked a brow, but flipped the camera to show him the image.

He had a string of cheese on his chin, which he scrambled to wipe off, and the image taken made it look like he had two floppy ears and a long, wagging tail. Frowning, he turned to find a golden retriever had been chalked to the wall directly behind him.

He snorted and wiped his hands on the napkin in his lap. “Glad I can amuse you.”

You nodded, putting your camera away. “Very much.”

A notification lit up your phone. The background was an image of the gallery bustling with people. Steve spotted himself in the foreground, arms crossed, head thrown back in laughter. He remembered speaking with the woman beside him about her kids’ art projects. One had brought home a macaroni necklace the cat ate.

Another notification dinged. Instagram.

Steve glanced up to see you stiffen in your chair. “What’s wrong?”

You blinked, shrugged, plastered on a smile that didn’t meet your eyes. “Nothing. All good.” You dove in to your pizza.

Seeing you hadn’t managed to burn your own mouth, Steve ventured another go. He couldn’t taste much.

The two of you ate in silence, some catchy pop tune absorbing into the brick walls surrounding you both. Your phone continued to light up with notifications, and Steve felt his own buzz in his pocket a few times.

“So,” you said around a mouthful, “tell me something else about you, Steve.”

“Like what?” He wiped at his cheeks with a new napkin.

Before you could pose a question, the song changed overhead to one distinctly familiar. Heavy drums and masterful guitar playing filled the little pizzeria.

That killer smile spread across your features again, and your head began to bob along to the track. You pulled a pepperoni from your slice, stretching the cheese with it, and popped it between slick lips, licking your fingertips.

“How did you and Eddie meet?”

Steve licked his teeth clean and dished you both another slice. “At a party, through a mutual friend.”

You rolled your wrist for him to elaborate, taking another large bite.

He shrugged and peeled a rogue pepperoni from the tray. “We have this friend name Chrissy Cunningham.”

“The cam girl?” You dropped your pizza.

Steve warmed under your gaze, wishing he could read your mind. He wondered how much information to tell you, wondered what might spook you, wondered what Eddie had undoubtedly already let slip.

He cleared his throat and picked at some rogue cheese on the plate. “So, Chrissy invited me to this house party, and it was in his huge ass house way out in the suburbs, and there were all of these famous people there, like so many I couldn’t even process it. It felt like I was in my television, like MTV growing up.”

You smiled and nodded, taking a sip of your soda.

“And there was this asshole from Corroded Coffin coked out of his mind -” Steve stopped himself. He wasn’t sure if Eddie had told you about the Coke Years.

You cocked a brow, leaning forward, seemingly intrigued by this salacious story.

Steve swallowed his words and leaned a little on his elbows. “Anyway, we got in a fight.”

“Like a fist fight?” Your eyes went wide.

Steve nodded. He could still feel the satisfying crunch of Eddie’s teeth before the lanky ass guitarist hit the ground. “I used to fight a lot. Daddy issues.”

You laughed at that, a barked sound that sent his heart racing.

He smiled and shrugged. “Anyway, he got my number from Chrissy and called me the next day to tell me I was hired.”

“He didn’t ask?” You frowned.

Steve shrugged, picked up a new slice to take a bite. “Eddie Munson has a way of getting what he wants.”

You hummed and glanced down at your phone as another notification illuminated the screen.

“I sometimes think he’s just a curator of really great people,” Steve said, tilting his head to catch your gaze.

You smiled at that and took another slice of pizza from the tray. “He told me you saved his life.”

Steve could still smell the mix of sweat and cigarettes that clung to his clothes, could still feel the clammy cold skin of his friend’s cheeks, could still feel his fingers hit the back of the other boy’s throat.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

The bodyguard set down his pizza and wiped his hands on his napkin before answering.

“Hello?”

“Steve? It’s Powell. That Hargrove kid was acting shady so Callahan took him in. It’s looking good that he might be our guy, but just to be safe, is there anywhere you can take her tonight, just in case?”

Steve watched you watch him from across the table. “Yeah, yeah I could take her to mine.”

—

Steve hoped you hadn’t felt this vulnerable when unlocking your own door and pushing it open to let him in.

The moment he followed you over the threshold to his apartment, he second-guessed everything he owned.

The place was a wreck of pizza boxes piled near the front door. The whisky bottle Robin had bought him was next to an open, but dead laptop. He really had just up and abandoned everything when you called.

“This is it,” he introduced the space, feeling itchy under your scrutiny while you looked around.

His leather couch had a Joyce-crocheted blanket tossed over the back. He was grateful for the coffee table books gifted and stacked neatly where they belonged. Quickly, he crunched the open bag of chips left in the seam of the couch and stuffed it into an overflowing snack cabinet.

“I like it,” you nodded, taking a few steps forward to the window, gesturing for permission. “How’s your view?”

He shrugged, scratched at the back of his head. “Not great. Big buildings and fire escapes.”

“There’s beauty in that.” You smiled, slipping the blinds open to peer through.

Light spilled in, caressing your cheekbones and shining through your hair.

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

If Robin were here, she’d kick him.

You hummed, satisfied by what you found, and turned to face him. “Mind if I use your bathroom?”

His bathroom was worse than he thought. He scrambled to scoop dried toothpaste from the sink and re-roll toilet paper that had gone rogue. Not one, but three sets of boxer-briefs were discarded on a navy blue rug. Thank God Robin had reminded him to scrub the toilet before she came to visit.

“Smells like you in here,” you mumbled from the hallway as you swapped spaces.

Steve warmed.

“Your aftershave,” you said with mischief in your eyes. “Give me a minute?”

Bumbling like an idiot, he gave you space and wandered down the hall to him room, once again scrambling to pick up piles of clothes.

Steve: We’re at my apartment. Why didn’t you tell me how disgusting I am?

Robin: I do every time I’m there, dingus. When’s the last time you had a girl over?

Steve: Please don’t make me feel worse.

Dirty dishes went from the nightstand to the sink, and he made about loading his little dishwasher. The kitchen was easy to tidy in piles. Luckily the garbage didn’t smell too bad.

After a long, quiet while, he glanced up from his phone to find the bathroom open and abandoned. Dim light splashed into the hall from his room. With a frown, he toed down the hall to find you admiring photos pinned to a cork board above his dresser.

“Can I help you?”

You shrugged and smiled. “I showed you mine.”

He wondered if you found his bedroom to suit him as much as yours had suited you. He glanced around at a plaid duvet, lightweight curtains, the baseball bat he kept at his bedside.

“Is this Robin?” You tapped your fingertips to a polaroid of him and his best friend, faces squished in smiles.

He nodded.

“She’s pretty.”

He nodded again, shoving his hands in his pockets to avoid the temptation to tangle his fingers with yours. “She’s single if you’re looking.”

“I just might be,” you shot him a sly look.

Steve warmed at the idea, a challenge stirring under his ribs.

“What’s on this?” Your hand found the SD card. “Top secret files? Blackmail?”

Heart racing now, he shrugged. “You tell me. It’s yours.”

You frowned back at him.

Cat’s out of the bag now. “You gave it to me at the hometown after party.”

You played with the tiny card in your hand for a moment. “You were supposed to give it back.”

Steve’s mouth went dry, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, I must have pulled it out of my pocket and forgot it was there.”

You shook your head and looked up at him. “No, at the party. You were supposed to come find me at some point. Did I… was it not obvious?”

His pulse thundered in his head.

You just blinked back at him, expressionless like you hadn’t just confirmed everything he’d been doubting for months now.

His mouth just hung open like an idiot until he rubbed some feeling back into his face and willed himself closer

You continued to weigh the SD card in each of your hands, and he held his breath as you inched nearer. Your boots rested between his sneakers. “When you had me sign that NDA - “

Steve’s phone rang in his back pocket, a loud ringtone that came with the device that he hadn’t heard since he bought the thing. He must have accidentally taken it off silence when he was doing the dishes.

Cursing, he pulled it out to see an unknown number. He slid the answer button. “Hello?”

“Stevie? It’s Lizzie!” A familiar voice cooed from the other line, a little scattered, a little broken. “Where the hell are you?”

Steve stared back down at you, breath heavy in his chest. “I’m in Chicago. Where are you?”

“Backstage with this fucker who tells me he’s met the love of his life. Is that true? And if that’s the case, where are you? I need a good cock to sit on.” A hair-raising cackle preceded a shuffle.

He could feel your warmth now, smell the peppermint on your breath, the lavender in your hair.

“Harrington? It’s me, it’s Eddie. You there?”

In a flash, he saw his friend bent over a pile of vomit, strapped to a gurney, disappearing behind red and blue lights.

“I’m here.” Steve muttered.

“You got my girl, Stevie? Keeping her safe? Put her on.”

Wordlessly, Steve held the phone loft between you, putting it on speaker.

“Sugar, you there?”

You blinked back at him before glancing down at the device. “I’m here, Eds.”

“God, I miss you both. England isn’t the same without you. I’ve been telling everyone here about you, Sug. You’ve probably gotten a million offers today just from me bragging about you. I’m really proud of you, you know that right?”

“Thanks, Eds.” You breathed.

Steve pushed the phone into your hand and trailed his thumb down your wrist, catching goosebumps all the way to the crease of your elbow. He hated the sour taste that accompanied every word Munson said.

“Recorded a song about you today. I got very jealous hearing Simon sing about you.”

Steve let his hand fall to his side before he gestured back down the hallway and let you have your privacy. His hand tingled, and he flexed it in a vain attempt to shake away your touch.

—

Hopper: Got him, kid. Great job. Tell the girl she can rest easy.

—

You were all-encompassing, everything above and around him, a tight pull that had him on the verge of combustion. You were silky smooth, and soft mews spilled from between plush lips as you sunk down onto him, head cast back to expose the beautiful column of your throat.

Steve’s hand was pressed to your bare sternum, dwarfing your frame as he extended his touch to every part of you, desperate to squeeze and caress while the stars began to spin behind his eyes.

Directly above him, you were mirrored, the steady push and pull of your bodies, the rucking of his hips on white satin sheets for all the world to see.

He breathed your name, whined it really, in desperation, begging for you to go faster, to slow down, he didn’t know, he just felt the curl of his stomach, his toes, the building of that climax about to burst.

And then he heard the thunk, a distinct crash of glass and pill bottles from the adjacent suite bathroom.

He took two steps inward to find the Devil himself lying motionless beside the bathtub. Scarlet red skin, cloven feet, two horns that jutted from beneath jet black curls.

Steve shook his head, feeling the weight of something in each of his hands. An empty pill bottle and a fifth of whisky. You did this.

No, no, no, no. Steve knelt beside the man, slapping ruby red cheeks, shaking at a studded leather jacket. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He pried the man’s mouth open to expose pointed fangs.

“Guess you’ll have to take my place,” the man said, eyes wide and ice blue. “You’re the Devil now.”

—

“Holy fucking shit,” Robin exclaimed, all limbs, blocking the aisle in a local bookstore.

Steve shushed her and pulled a photography book off the shelf. He wondered if you were familiar, if you’d thumbed through the pages with a glass of wine in hand, curled into your futon, maybe you were wearing a nightgown… Jesus Christ.

“You had a Wet Nightmare?”

“Not quite as satisfying as it sounds.”

Robin made a face of disgust. “Please spare me.”

Steve sighed and returned the book to its shelf, pressing on through the aisles as though he had something to look for that didn’t remind him of you.

His best friend rounded to the other shelf, freckled face exposed when he removed the next book. He sighed and replaced it to cover her grin.

“So, what do you think it means?” She asked, having returned to his side and looped her lanky arm through his.

“I don’t know, Rob,” he ran a hand through his hair.

“I mean, it feels pretty obvious.”

He rolled his eyes. “Enlighten me.”

With a tug of his arm, she twirled him to face her. Sun poured in from a skylight, warm and yellow, illuminating the blue in Robin’s eyes. Steve wondered if you would capture a moment like this.

“You feel immense guilt over trying to steal Eddie’s girl when you promised him you’d make her fall in love with him.”

Moment ruined.

Steve palmed her face and shoved her away.

She swatted at his arm and chased him past the meow of a little ginger shop cat and down a new aisle.

“I’m not trying to steal her,” he muttered when she finally caught up.

“I know you’re not, dingus. You’re much to chivalrous for that crap.” Robin nodded, rubbing a circle into his shoulder.

Steve hummed and pulled a book from the shelf, too heavy, probably a million pages, with a dragon on the cover. The dragon’s eyes were wreathed in flame, his scarlet scarlet. He shelved it. “You should have seen his face.”

“The Devil on the ground? He wasn’t real, babe.”

Steve rubbed at tired eyes and shook his head. “No, Eddie. It’s like, the second he realized he might lose her, he freaked. And I think the most irritating part is that I felt it too. I thought she was going to run and that I’d never see her again because I have to pick him.”

Robin nodded, sliding a book from the shelf to read the back cover. “And why do you feel like you have to pick him?”

Steve swallowed. He knew the answer. It had been nagging at him for days, spinning around in his skull with images of those empty bottles, those tile floors. “Because he needs me.”

His best friend kept her face incredibly expressionless as she flipped through the novel in her hands. Then, with a sigh, she said, “I’m going to ask this will all of the love and understanding in the world. Do you think maybe you need him because something inside of you needs to feel needed?”

Steve didn’t respond, just felt his molars grit around the pang in his chest when her insight hit the nail on the head.

Robin replaced the book on the shelf. “Eddie’s a big boy. He’s grown a lot over the years, thanks to you, and I know he just wants what’s best for you. I think he’ll understand.”

“You think he’ll understand that I’m trying to steal his girl?”

She shot him a look. “I thought you weren’t.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I think when you talk to him, he’ll understand why you can’t be his wingman this time.” She shrugged, turning the corner down another aisle. Books were stacked to the ceiling near an open stockroom, and her fingertips etched the spines.

“Remind me why you came to town? To torture me?” Steve leaned against a big rolling ladder, locked into place.

“I missed you, idiot,” she pinched his cheek and carried on into Science Fiction.

He swatted her away and followed. His phone felt heavy in his pocket, words left unsaid between the two of you, a wordless trek to the gallery. You thanked him at drop-off. You promised him you’d call if anything came up and that you felt safer knowing Hargrove was locked up. Steve promised you he’d have a good time with Robin and that he was happy you felt safe.

Neither of you said anything about the SD card, about the phone call with Eddie.

Maybe Robin was right, maybe he should call his friend. Maybe he should fly back to London with Robin, leave you and the city behind for a while, clear his head.

“So tell me about this gala.” Robin interrupted his thoughts, hands somehow already full.

With a sigh, Steve took her haul under his own arm. “Some charity is auctioning off her pieces and invited her to be in attendance.”

“That’s very cool. Are you still going?”

He glanced down at the titles in his hands, shrugged. “I don’t have to. I can tell her you want to spend your time here with me. I’m sure she’d understand.”

“And miss all of the aftermath drama? Hell no! You are going, Harrington and you are staying all night. Mainly because I’m going to bring a girl back with me and I need you to not kill the mood with your melancholia.” She gestured to his person and held out another book for him to take.

“These aren’t all going to fit in your suitcase,” he pointed out.

She shot him a look.

“Why do you get to bring a girl back to my apartment?”

“You had your chance, Harrington, and you ended up on the couch. Time to let the master show you how it’s done.”

He watched as she strolled through the aisles toward an attractive young woman with a curled bob and overalls. Robin commented on the stack of books in her hand, and the girl chuckled. Moments later, Robin was slipping her phone from her pocket and into the girl’s hand.

Steve shook his head, mouth agape, as she offered him a little wink and gestured for him to hurry and follow her to the register.

—

You: Headed home. Thanks for everything.

—

Steve winced as Robin pushed her little wooden stick into his cuticle. He wasn’t sure how she’d talked him into it, probably guilt tripped him, but they sat cross-legged across his coffee table with beer and chips and the sting of acetone and nail polish.

“Okay, hypothetical scenario for you,” Robin continued her assault on his nail beds, tonguing the corner of her mouth for concentration on his pinky. “Let’s say you call Eddie right now, tell him you’re in love with her, and he realizes he doesn’t want her as bad as you do. So he moves on. He hooks up with Lizzie or finds another girl in the UK who is far more metal or far more Lord of the Rings elf, right up his alley.”

“Where are you going with this?” Steve groaned.

“Let me finish,” she poked at the back of his hand for emphasis before dripping a tincture of oil onto his fingertips. “So he falls madly in love, right? And they deserve each other. And your girl is sad because Eddie broke her heart. What do you do?”

Steve shook his head, not willing to play games that’ll get his hopes up.

“You’d comfort her. Because you don’t like the people you love to be in pain.”

“Like Eddie if I told him I was in love with his girl.”

As if on cue, Steve’s phone buzzed on the table between them. Munson’s picture lit up the screen, and before Steve had a chance to snatch it off the table, Robin answered.

“Speak of the Devil,” she said.

“And he shall appear,” Eddie finished. “Hey, Buckley, how’s my favorite world traveler?”

“Jet lagged,” she managed a weak smile, circles dark under her eyes. Steve tried to force her into a nap, but she was insistent in staying up.

“I bet,” Munson laughed. “You are with Harrington, right? Or have you finally stolen his identity?”

“I’m here,” Steve sighed, paint fumes making him dizzy.

“Oh good. Where’s Sug?”

“On her way home from the gallery,” Steve glanced at the clock, making a mental note to check in on you. You should be home by now.

“I’m not going to ask why you aren’t with her, but I guess this is a good opportunity to ask how our plot is working. She in love with me yet?”

Robin made eyes at him like he ought to tell the truth, those “if you don’t tell him, I will” eyes.

He made a face back.

She opened her mouth to start talking.

“What’s up, Munson? Isn’t it late there?”

“Coward.” Robin mouthed.

He rolled his eyes, resisted running his fingers through his hair.

“Yeah, did you guys get my packages?”

“What deliveries?”

“Becky didn’t call you down?”

Steve blinked back at Robin’s teasing expression for a moment longer before Eddie’s sentence made sense. “Oh, we haven’t been back to the loft since you left.”

“Why the hell not? There’s full security, a door man, a reception desk, and we installed that huge lock. Not to mention, there’s enough beds for all of you. Robin, tell him to let go of his pride and let you sleep in a King sized bed.”

“What he said,” Robin nodded fervently.

Steve rolled hie eyes. “What packages?”

“I bought Sugar a dress for the gala. Robin, I’m actually glad I’ve got you. I’m looking at earrings right now. Do rubies say ‘I love you but I’m not desperate’?”

Steve stomach churned.

Robin’s eyes went wide, and then her face went through a myriad of emotions before settling on, “Sure. Yes, definitely go with rubies.”

“Shit, are her ears even pierced?”

“Yes.” He hated that he knew that, hated that he watched you loop a silver hoop just before the gallery opening, hated that he wanted to press his nose to the spot where your pulse met your jaw.

Robin snorted, all accusation and face hidden in her bright blue nail polish.

“Great. I’m having Angelo make - a tux. You haven’t - beefier since our last -?”

Call waiting beeped over his voice. Steve glanced down to see Hopper’s name, no photo attached.

“Eds, I’m going to have to call you back. Hopper’s on the other line.”

Before his friend had a chance to ask questions, he switched lines.

“Hello?”

“Steve, Jim Hopper here. Listen, I’ve got your girl at the station. She’s fine, just a little shaken up. She asked me not to call you, but I’m not letting her leave here without you.”

—

Hopper’s precinct hadn’t been updated since the 80s. Bricks painted yellow cast sallow shadows on the faces of everyone who shuffled papers around a small office. Florence greeted them with a friendly smile and the smell of stale coffee.

The thundering of Steve’s heartbeat hadn’t quieted since Hopper’s phone call. Robin was up and pulling his jacket off the rack before he even had a second to ask Hop for context, and the two of them split from his apartment and rushed down rainy sidewalks to get there.

Flo buzzed them in, past a glass divider and into a small room with desks stacked with bobble heads and baseballs. Just beyond was an office with a plaque reading Jim Hopper, and a gruff voice asked, “what?” when her knuckled wrapped on the hard wood.

The door opened to reveal a hulking frame behind the desk, broad shoulders and a bushy mustache. A coffee cup steamed in his hand.

Across from him, you sat in a little aluminum chair, your own hands wrapped around a ceramic mug, shoulders slumped. You turned to see who had entered, eyes glassy. “Steve?”

“Sorry, kid, didn’t want to let you loose on your own.” Hopper confessed.

Prodded by Robin, Steve took a few tiny steps into the office and knelt beside you.

Your hands trembled around the mug. A tear escaped the corner of your eye and began to streak the side of your face.

He caught it with his knuckles, brushing it into the hair on your temple. “Are you alright?”

You wiped frantically at your other cheek and nose, straightening your shoulders up and away from his touch. You set the cup onto Hopper’s desk. “I’m fine.”

Steve teetered back on the balls of his feet and pulled himself to stand. “Want to tell me what happened?”

You avoided his gaze, instead nodding to the Chief to tell your story.

“In her building, some guy said hi to her, and when she got to her door, more roses and this,” Hopper slid a card across the desk for Steve to read.

Your name was scrawled in red marker and on the inside, more images of you and Eddie, these taken during your gallery opening.

Eddie’s sunglasses were pulled down his long nose, tongue to his canines in a sly grin, hand tucked gripping your waist. You were swatting at him, just as giddy. Only the same red slash mark through your throat had pierced the paper. This time, the artist only got more graphic in his illustrations on the following couple of photos. Enough to churn Steve’s stomach.

“What the fuck?” Robin hissed.

Steve shot her a look over your head.

The poem went as follows:

Roses are red

I thought you��d been warned

I must make you understand

That you will be harmed

“What did this guy look like? Have you seen him before?” Steve tossed the card back to Hopper.

You shrugged, rubbed at the exhaustion in your eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe? He had these blue eyes. They looked so familiar, but I can’t place him.”

“We’re thinking Hargrove’s got an accomplice, maybe a brother or cousin. Seems like his dad’s a total dick, so it’s not out of the realm of possibilities. We’re looking into it. Think he doubled-down when we took him in.” Hopper explained.

Steve nodded. “We’re going to Munson’s. There’s triple the security there, high quality CCTV. She’ll be safe there.”

You looked up at him then, something terse hardened your jaw and your gaze. When Steve frowned, you looked away again.

“Good, you all try to get some rest. I’m going to send some guys to have eyes on you, too. Call me if anything changes.”

Steve nodded again. “You too.”

You stood before anyone could prompt you and thanked Hopper. You rounded the chair the opposite side of Steve to charge out of the room, but halted abruptly when you found your way was blocked by a leggy blonde in Steve’s denim jacket.

“Oh, hi,” Robin gulped, glanced up at Steve and back to you. “I’m Robin.”

You introduced yourself, voice softer than he had ever heard, a shell of yourself. You glanced back over your shoulder at Steve, looking so small and so lost.

—

Your skin was supple and smooth beneath his palms, throat extended to he could kiss the dip where your jaw met your earlobe. A mewl escaped plump, bitten lips. Steve growled into your clavicle and pressed you tighter into the pane of glass.

“Eddie,” you breathed.

Steve blinked and pulled back from you, that familiar pang of jealousy tight under his sternum.

He trailed your arm to your hand tangled in a mess of curls. Eddie knelt between your thighs, curling your toes.

Steve’s heart raced in his chest, and then you were grabbing him, pulling him back to you.

“Steve,” you gasped in his ear, clutching at his shoulders, raking fingernails along the muscles of his back.

He groaned and buried his face in your chest once more.

Then gravity gave out.

A crash of glass cracked and splintered the pane behind you and the three of you were falling, spiraling downward, endlessly, terminal velocity to a ground that never came. Steve couldn’t fly to you fast enough, watching you float further and further away, fingertips grasping for his own. Eddie clung to his knee, screaming for him to get you, to save you, that he needs you. Help him, Steve, help him.

You hit the ground first.

—

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” You whispered, clutching a glass of water in both hands. You stood at the window, city lights painting you in deep reds and yellows.

Steve’s heart raced, nightmare having startled him upright on the sofa. He was drenched in sweat, t-shirt clinging and faux fur blanket wrapped around his waist. He gulped and gestured for you to come sit, anything to get you away from the glass. “Everything okay?”

You shrugged and glanced out at the world once more before taking cautious steps toward him. You perched on the very edge of a plum velour chair, the back rising up and over your head like a throne, blanketing you in shadow.

“You want to talk about it?” His voice was hoarse. He wondered if he’d been yelling. He hope he hadn’t woken you.

“I don’t want to wake Robin.” You whispered.

He rubbed at the sleep in his eyes and glanced upward to the loft stairs. “Nothing can wake Robin. Plus, she’s jet lagged. What’s going on?”

You hesitated for several long moments before you spoke again, voice still soft, but above a whisper. “I looked through every single one of my Instagram followers and Billy’s and none of them were that guy. I just feel like I know him from somewhere. I thought maybe he was at the gallery opening, so I went through the guest list and my client list. He’s not in there. Maybe it’s just a guy who lives in my building, and that’s how I recognize him. I don’t know, Steve, I just feel like I’m going crazy here.”

“You’re not.”

“And I know it’s safer here, but sleeping in that big bed all by myself just pisses me off. I kept catching the reflection of my phone in those stupid mirrors, and I just feel like I’m being reminded of what a fucking idiot I am.”

“You’re not,” Steve repeated.

“No, I think I am. I don’t know what I was thinking, maybe that because I’m such a nobody, I’m impervious to all of the other shit that comes with sleeping with a rockstar. I just thought it couldn’t touch me. Paparazzi, fans, whatever. I’m just a girl with a camera like they are. I’m just being young and having fun. Nothing and no one can hurt me. Fucking stupid.”

“It’s not,” Steve shook his head.

“And I thought telling myself it was casual every single day would keep me at arm’s length, but that’s not how emotions work. I can’t just stop how I feel or who I’m in love with or -” You went silent in your chair.

Steve felt the pang in his chest again, like a cloven hoof crashing through bone and muddling his organs. He glanced at the pane of glass, vaguely wondered how easy it’d be to crash through.

“I just,” you took a deep breath. Your exhaled was so shaky, he thought you might be crying, but he couldn’t see beyond the veil of shadow. “I just want to catch this guy so I can decide how to keep living my life.”

“We will.”

—

Eddie: Send me a photo of you in that tux. I need spank bank material.

—

Steve felt ridiculous with the luggage cart of packages he wheeled out of the elevator to Munson’s front door. Everything had been opened in front of Becky’s curious gaze, tissue paper torn to ensure no weapons or bombs had replaced the thousands of dollars worth of merchandise Eddie had purchased the day before.

He’d almost walked away without the coffee when Becky called his name to remind him. He thanked her, grabbing the drink carrier, and before he could walk away, she extended a hand with a lime sticky note pressed to her index finger.

“In case you need anything else,” she shrugged.

Front Desk Becky was scrawled across the note above a ten digit phone number.

Steve felt his face flush, but smiled and slipped it into his pocket. He nodded. “Thanks, Becky. I’ll see you around.”

Seemingly satisfied with his response, she nodded and buzzed to unlock the elevator.

He keyed in the six digit code to Eddie’s place and the door slipped open with ease. He thought about shouting for Robin to help him, but seeing your bedroom door closed, he figured it’d be best not to wake you. He decided instead to slip inside unheard.

Dumping keys on the side table and toeing out of his shoes, he made for the kitchen before lurching to a halt at the end of the hallway upon hearing Robin’s voice.

“I don’t mean to pry, but I have to know the answer to this before Steve gets back and tells us to shut up.”

Steve’s heart began to thud in his chest. He had half a mind to tell her to shut up right now.

“Shoot,” you chuckled, a low sound that sent his stomach doing cartwheels.

“Is Eddie like… a freak in bed? Is that why you stick around? Because I knew him in his Lord of the Rings phase and honestly, you are way out of his league. So it must be the kinky shit keeping you here, right?”

Steve’s head hit the wall at his best friend’s tact.

“Honestly?” You laughed. “He’s the total opposite of his… persona, I guess you could call it. He’s so sweet and tender. He’ll never try anything new without talking about it first. He makes you feel so… seen, I guess? Like you’re the only woman in the entire world and he just wants to make you feel desired.”

Steve closed his eyes and tried not to remember all of the moments he’d walked in on, all of the stolen kisses and whispered promises.

“Well you’re a very lucky girl. The way he talks about you, I think he really does love you.” Robin’s voice lingered, like maybe she was asking it instead of stating it, gauging a reaction.

Steve didn’t know how much more he could hear.

“Okay, my turn to ask you,” your tone shifted, conversation alleviated of its tension. “You’ve known Steve forever, right? So you must have gained some insight from the women in his life.”

The bodyguard’s face warmed.

“Oh boy, where do I start?”

“No, it’s fine, Robin, I got it.” Steve said a little too loudly, rounding the corner into the living quarters. The large windows poured in the light of a foggy morning. He made eye contact with Robin, and he could tell from her expression she knew he’d heard everything.

“Do you need help?” She asked, uncrossing her legs on the sofa.

He shook his head and smiled, “I got it. Here’s your coffee.”

She took his drink with mumbled gratitude.

Then he pulled yours from the carrier to slip between your soft fingers. “Good morning. How’d you sleep?”

“Fine. You?” You hadn’t.

“Good, yeah,” he nodded. He hadn’t either after his nightmare. He sat up scouring the internet for any and all suspects. He knew you were, too, yards away in that big bed all by yourself.

“Can we start digging into those presents from Eddie?” Robin cut the tension. “It feels like Christmas, and he promised he’d buy me something too. I wanna know what I got.”

Steve gestured for the entry hall and sipped his own coffee, too hot and too bitter for such a grey morning.

You feigned a laugh, allowing Robin to pull you up by the wrist.

—

1 Voicemail

Steve. It’s Hopper. No leads yet. Munson’s driver has been vetted, and the building security staff. We’ll have patrol cars out front as well as guys posted near the exits. I’d been packing if you got it. I don’t think Brenner’s affiliated, but we’re taking all necessary precautions. Joyce wants pictures. Stay safe.

—

A valet opened the door and Steve hopped out of the large SUV before you, extending a hand to help you down and onto the pavement of the function hall. You teetered a little on your heels as you began to ascend the stone steps, but Steve ensured the crook of his elbow was there to stabilize you.

Cameras flashed, and you clung to him like a life raft, a panicked look etched across your features.

“Relax. I’ve got you,” he muttered into your hair when you reached the massive front doors.

Coming to a coat room, your worn leather jacket was slipped from your bare shoulders, and your white invitation was exchanged for a numbered stub that Steve slipped from your fingers to stash in the inside pocket of his tuxedo.

You didn’t wait for him to proceed into the massive event space, marble pillars standing hundreds of feet tall on either side of you.

Say what you will about Eddie Munson, but the man had style.

Your dress was the perfect shade of burgundy to match the rubies dangling from your earlobes. It billowed with each step, yet maintaining enough structure to hug and accentuate every beautiful curve. The silk garment left your shoulders bare, the expanse of your beautiful skin exposed and gathering goosebumps as you entered the vast space.

Steve suffered the same goosebumps when you’d both stepped out from your designated dressing spaces, you in your dress and heels, he in his all-black ensemble. The two of you just took a breath to stop and stare, a moment suspended in time.

For half a second, he was tempted to sweep you off your feet, to crash his lips into yours and never let you go. He took two strides closer. You did the same, fingers tangling with nerves or excitement or anticipation, that familiar glint of mischief in your eye.

“Alright, I’ll say it,” Robin sliced into the moment. “I’d fuck both of you. Right now, if you’d like?”

You laughed, head thrown back, dark lipstick accentuating your sparkling white teeth. He’d pay to feel them sink into him.

Now, he remained two strides behind, giving you space to relax, to take in your surroundings, to lead the charge.

Your name was called from nearby, and he watched every muscle in you tighten and release when you looked over to find Martin Brenner, host of the gala, with his hand outstretched to you.

You accepted and allowed a kiss to the height of your cheekbone.

Brenner introduced you to a handful of guests surrounding them. Steve tried to memory-bank their names and faces. All of them older, none of them had blue eyes.

“This is my date, Steve Harrington,” you extended your hand now, and your bodyguard fell into place beside you, shaking hands and offering curt nods.

“You work in the music industry, do I have that right?” Brenner sized him up, squared shoulders and pursed lips.

Steve spared a glance your direction, felt himself tighten at the fear in your gaze.

Brenner shrugged, let a smug smile slip onto his features. “Background checks. We want to ensure our get-togethers are safe. I’m sure you understand. You’re in security, right?”

Steve nodded, tight-lipped. “I appreciate your diligence.”

Brenner’s smile widened at this. “Good man. Your job must feel grueling, all of those late nights, traveling the world. Have you ever considered settling down? Maybe taking a stationery position somewhere? I’m always looking to expand my security team.” He nodded to indicate men with earpieces scattered throughout the floor.

Your fingers gripped Steve’s bicep tighter. He smiled and shrugged. “I tend to thrive in chaotic circumstances.”

Brenner seemed to appreciate his response, but glanced over his shoulder with a nod. “Well, it was fantastic seeing you both again. Hopefully I’ll catch up later. More guests to greet. Please, help yourself to some drinks.” And he was off.

—

Several champagne flutes had found their way into your hands and then abandoned on tables, still full, while you met and greeted dozens of Chicago’s elite. Steve recognized a few faces, elbows he’d knocked before, and tried to impress you, when he could, with introductions. He couldn’t help but delight in the way your timid smile grew with each compliment.

“You’re doing great,” he managed to whisper between senators and lobbyists.

That smile had his stomach doing somersaults.

“When I saw your piece, I cried,” another woman said, clutching your arm with diamond encrusted fingers. “I’m serious. I thought, ‘that’s it. That’s my city.’ Your work is amazing. Isn’t her work amazing?”

Steve nodded and smiled. “Her eye is incredible. I feel the same way every time I look at it.”

“It’s not enough that her work has to be beautiful though, I mean, will you look at her?” The woman’s secretary pitched in.

“Isn’t she breathtaking?” He agreed. The soft candlelight wrapped you in warmth, reflecting off smooth skin and the sheen of your dress. If only they knew what you looked like in a t-shirt, hair tossed to the top of your head, sipping a lavender latte.

“You’re a very lucky man.”

“I am,” he nodded.

“Ladies, will you excuse us? I think I need a little air.” You tugged at his forearm, and the woman chirped and cooed goodbyes.

When you finally stepped into the hallway, breeze brisk from outside, you rounded on him.

“Why did you make me sign that NDA?”

Steve blinked, whiplashed at your change in demeanor. After the first exchange, he noticed your shoulders relax, that light come back into your eyes. Now, you were all harsh angles and spat words. “What?” He shook his head.

“I gave you the SD card and told you to come find me, as in, come talk to me, as in, I’m interested in you, Harrington. I thought I made it pretty fucking clear. And then I met Eddie and started talking to him, and he told me I had to talk to his security guard to sign the NDA, and I don’t know I guess a part of me really hoped you would talk me out of it and convince me to go home with you instead, but you didn’t.”

Steve glanced around the hall at on-lookers before gripping your hips and pushing you back into a more secluded corner.

“Don’t touch me,” you huffed.

He released you immediately, hands threading through his hair while his brain tried to catch up with everything you’d said.

“And now I’m getting death threats and am terrified for my life, and Eddie Munson is in love with me, and I can’t even reciprocate even though he’s the most genuine, sweetest man I know because part of me is still holding out hope that you feel the same way about me as I do about you.” You hissed, glancing over his shoulder to ensure no one could eavesdrop on this onslaught of confessions.

Steve felt his jaw go slack, but only in the way he can feel his hands go numb if he’s been laying at a weird angle on an airplane. Everything buzzed and his ears popped and his heart thundered in his ears.

“So why did you make me sign the NDA?”

He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond, couldn’t find words past. “I don’t know.”

You were trembling, breath shallow as you slipped one hand into his, the other tucked up under his lapel. “Do you feel..” You glanced up at him through long, thick eyelashes.

He swallowed, nodded, allowed his hand to caress the small of your waist. Your smooth dress caught on calloused fingers.

“So kiss me,” you tilted your head, breath warm on his face.

He traced circles into your hand with his thumb.

“Steve,” you breathed. “Kiss me.”

Your name cut through the air too loud, too disruptive, ripping through you.

“The woman of the hour, have you seen her? I heard she came out this way. I simply must compliment her on her work.”

Steve’s blood ran cold at the sound, and he turned on his heel to find a man in an all-white tuxedo, a menacing grin splitting his features.

“Oh, Harrington, right? Good to see you.” Jason Carver extended his hand.

---

[A/N: Dun dun dunnnnn. I think I might be in love with him. Steve. Just for clarificaiton. xoxo]

#steve harrington fic #hell hound fic #steve harrington x reader #bodyguard!steve harrington #bodyguard!steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader x eddie munson #steve harrington

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absolutebl · 26 days ago

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GMMTV 2025 Line Up - My Totally Biased and Wildly Flawed Feels

This is the point where I remind you that GMMTV announced 16 BLs for 2024 and didn't actually release 4 of them in 2024: My Golden Blood, Ossan‘s Love, Sweet Tooth Good Dentist, and The Ex-Morning.

So despite the fact that these are from GMMTV 2025 line up, some of them will not happen until 2026, and some could get dropped entirely or have cast changes.

I'm not including the GLs, grab bags, or possible bromances. Confirmed full-tilt gay af only.

In order of ones I'm most excited about.

Dare You to Death

trailer

JoongDunk as police investigators in a mystery suspense thriller. Yes, I'm in. This is it. This it the one I wanted to instantly watch. Even though their's 20 BLs airing right now.

This is the only trailer I immediately rewatched.

Boys in Love

trailer

Our only true high school BL from GMMTV and it's fresh faces for the youths and old favs for the teachers. It's milk teeth Make it Right and that is perfectly fine with me! I like lotte milk. Also DIMPLES! Yay! I suspect they're using this one to test some new pairs for future seasons. Like a Project 101 Thai BL. (Honestly I just invented an amazing reality TV for you GMMTV, you're welcome.)

Like My School President was in 2023, this could be a major 2025 sleeper hit for me.

Memoir of Rati

trailer

Sing the praise song with me BLabies! GreatInn in a HISTORICAL with a class divide and everyone's favourite side couple! Be still my heart! I'm beyond pleased. (Also I got my boat in a lotus pond at last.) My only concern is this could end sad, it's in the title after all.

This is the only trailer that gave me chills.

My Magic Prophecy

trailer

Paranormal mystery with a fortune teller and a doctor. I'm in. I hope the script doesn't fail JimmySea again, they are such a great pair. I'm intrigued by this one but it felt the most formless of all the trailers, so I'm thinking we could see some significant tweaks.

Me and Thee

trailer

A photographer gets involved with the mafia? OMG is this a Thai dupe for Target the Finder? Only mixed with Cyrano? WILD. I mean to say, this one is wild WILD! Plus Est (my love) back in suits and ear dongles I see. Also GMMTV never gonna let us forget they bagged two of BL's best bods with PP, thanks all for the visuals.

Of course this is for me. I'm the shallowest, remember? Plus I love a BL that's just a little bit...... well...... stupid.

A Dog and A Plane

trailer

A prissy gay flight attendant in a push-pull relationship with an EMT dude-bro. Characters are a bit throwback to PeteKao (no bad thing) not to mention the looming shadow of What the Duck? (bad thing). But the side couple is the always appealing MarcPoon.

Okay GMMTV, surprise me, I'm game. And you know TayNew are my OG GMMTV pair du jour.

Cat for Cash

trailer

Finally something fluffy with a pair I like. Looks cute. I like cute. Yay for me! Adorable gay boys and cats.

This one is basically made to be a tumblr comfort meme meets thirst trap. I see what you're doing GMMTV and I applaud you. Carry on.

That Summer

trailer

The only side pair to seriously level up. Okay so amnesia is my least favourite trope, and I tend to not be wild about secret identity either, but I like both pairs in this one, so I'll watch.

My Romance Scammer

trailer

New couple! My boys Ohm and Fluke (no, not that Fluke, the one from My Ride). Honestly, Fluke has popped up as a side in a couple GMMTV shows I was wondering who they'd BL him with.

This could win. Prettiest human on earth paired with the world's most potent single dimple. Will I survive? I honestly don't know, because Ohm historically doesn't have much chemistry with anyone but the original Fluke so... Still I l do love JuniorMark and this as a really unique premise (gay Heartbreakers), so I'm game.

Head 2 Head

trailer

The Boo kids are back. I don't love this pair (I find their chemistry and acting awkward) or the main trope (E2L) but I do like the new sides and their trope (2nd chance is a fav of mine). So this one will depend on whether those are full side dishes or just crumbs.

Ticket To Heaven

trailer

GMMTV is doing Boy Foretold by Stars concept? Interesting, did not have religious boundary pushing and bildungsroman down on he Thai BL bingo card.

This isn't my thing but I think G4 are actually going to be amazing in it and I certainly look forward to them pushing their acting chops. Not to mention the discomfort something like this can cause in general/global viewership. I like it when BL makes people (who aren't me) uncomfortable.

Burnout Syndrome

trailer

GMMTV doing edgy is never a good thing IMHO, and in this one they're handling sex work. *shakes head* However, Not Me is the noted exception and this is that same pair with the same director. So I'm curious if not wild about the content.

That said, I'm delighted to see Gun with someone else (Dew is a stunning choice, thank you Casting) even if only for a love triangle moment. It's been a WHILE.

Melody of Secrets

trailer

Not wild about ForceBook, do like a mystery, don't like horror or psychological thrillers... not sure on this one.

I like BL pushing into new territory, even if it's not my territory, but this is defiantly not made for me, that's for damn sure.

And that's the end of my list.

"But wait," you cry. "P'ABL you're still missing some."

How Dare

Only Friends Dream On

trailer

Yeah, no fuckoff. I will not be watching this. I already marked it pink on the Spreadsheet of Doom. (Pink means CNF or an automatic no watch for me.)

But dude was it nice to see all those pairs busted. That's always a good time for me. Anyway, all you so-n-sos who gave the first one your eyeballs are to blame for this. Watch it n weep. Without me.

(Side note: I love it when a title reviews itself, Only Friends: Dream On, indeed. It's like media aptronym.)

and last and definately least......

Love You Teacher

trailer

no no

NO NO

NO!!!

I do like Perth & Santa (although I'm not sold on them as a pair). But words cannot describe how much I dislike this premise. SERIOUSLY? No thank you very much. I could, just maybe, hate watch Only Friends 2, but it's gonna be hard for me to even turn this on. Infantilization and people acting like children wigs me tf out. YKINMKBYKIOK of course, but not in my BL GMMTV. Stop it! (This one also got the dreaded pink of will not watch.)

More Disappointments

Thor didn't get the lead in anything. (Pouts in "but he so sexy.")

No major pairs were significantly busted.

Tonally it's gone darker than I expected. I prefer lighter fluffier BL so this tonal shift for GMMTV as a whole is not a win for me personally. Should be left to Japan IMHO.

That said, most of my favorite GMMTV pairs are in my top picks to watch as well, so I'm happy for that.

I'm Intrigued Despite Myself

My favorite trailer of all was actually Wu (red thread fated paranormals are my favoritest thing ever next to isekai) but that's not a branded pair so I'm not convinced it's BL. Hoping it is, but that happened in 2024 with these boys, so I'll leave it in the air for now.

I like that we're making push to leave uni and high school behind (don't worry, other Thai studios will fill the gap). I think GMMTV is doing this in order to

keep branded pairs together and

keep the actors of those pairs interested in the BL scripts.

As their major pairs age out of uni, GMMTV has to hand them more meaty and grown up stuff. I didn't think they would actually do this, so I'm pleased to see it happen. Even if it's all going darker than I like, at least it's different.

I don't really report on GL and I rarely have time to watch it these days. I thought the new MilkLove looked cute, but I'm still recovering from whatever happen in their last one. The Girl's Rules one looks like a light-weight L-Word. Still happy to see GMMTV move out of school for thier few GLs too.

(source)

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chlorinecake · 1 year ago

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𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐬𝐚 𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐩𝐭 𝟏 — a riki nishimura fanfic

𖦹 ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: a cute and flirty airport security assistant gives you a hard time before boarding your flight

♡ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: brief language, mentions of hunger pains, flirty behaviors (duh), riki invades your privacy

𖦹 ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 0.7k ~ read pt. 2, pt. 3, and pt. 4

〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰

Of course, the x-ray machine detected something foreign in your suitcase. It happens to everybody at airports, right?

Introducing the helpful airport security assistant:

Male, check.

Tall, check.

Attractive, triple check.

You always despised having your luggage inspected, but from the surface, your agent appeared easy to work with. Or at least, that’s what you thought until the young man began with a smug “Hey, you,” greeting you with his piercing dark eyes and playful smirk.

That was about five minutes ago, with the time in between consisting of his frequent coquettish remarks. By now, he had asked you a number of questions, ranging from your favorite color to your relationship status.

“I doubt your flirty behavior follows protocol. Or is this your way of making luggage checks with women more interesting?”

He eyed you through his messy bangs, still rummaging through your belongings.

“Me? Flirty behavior?” He scoffed, humored by your remark. “I can assure you that I am thoroughly incapable of such a thing, Miss?...”

“____,” you blurted out.

He then offered a hand and smiled, “Riki. Nice to meet you.”

“Hopefully never again,” you replied sarcastically, returning his handshake. Firm, you thought to yourself. This guy has confidence pumping through his veins. You couldn’t help but wonder what game he’s playing. Pleasantries aside, his behavior was wildly unprofessional, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could take his insipid remarks and annoyingly handsome face.

Ugh.

He’s turning you into one of those girls that get upset about a cute flirty stranger for no good reason.

Whatever. The sooner you got through this awkward situation, the better. You’d literally never have to deal with him again after this, so you swallowed your pride, relaxed your posture, and tried to take a few calming breaths. Inhale, exhale…inhale, exhale…inha-

“Well, well, well, what do we have here,” he smirked, cascading a sexy pair of light blue lace panties high in the air for the entire first floor of the airport to see. Heat rushed through your neck up to your cheeks, and you’d damn yourself if you knew how hot and bothered you suddenly appeared.

“Did you want me to find these? Tempt me during my shift? How about finder’s keeper’s?”

“Loser’s weepers,” you retorted, snatching the lingerie from his grasp, folding it back neatly, and placing them on the cold metal side counter.

“Aww,” he pouted mockingly. “I think she likes me! Guys!” He shouted across the room, “She’s totally whipped for me!”

All you could do was roll your eyes. His bold energy intoxicated the entire space, provoking you to act more immaturely than usual. He was certainly a mood maker.

“Are we almost done here,” you questioned, narrowing your eyes at him. Your patience had officially left the building, as you couldn’t wait any longer for this crippling interaction to end. You leaned forward, tapping your fingertips on the countertop out of frustration.

“Shh, I haven’t found your diary yet…nowww, where is it-“

“Gosh, you’re such a jerk,” you whined, smacking his hand from your suitcase and removing it from the counter. He had really pushed your buttons this time, and you’re afraid that the crowded room was the only thing holding you back from literally blowing up. Or maybe it was his pretty privilege?

He ignored your retort, and opted for a more professional personality than the one you’d been graced with before.

“Perfect! You’re all set, ma’am. Enjoy your flight, and thank you for partnering with Nishimura Airlines!” He smiled, bowing before you.

“You too- I mean, thank you? No, you’re welcome, have a good day!” You cringed at yourself. It boggled you how flustered he managed to make you feel just from that short interaction alone. Still, his switch in behavior confused you until you spotted a tall man dressed in khaki pants and a collared shirt. “Ahh, the manager,” you thought to yourself. It would’ve been lovely if he came out to your rescue 10 minutes ago, because now you’re pushing for time just to get in line for your flight.

“Damnit,” you scolded yourself, realizing that you forgot your underwear on the counter in front of Mr. “Finder’s Keeper’s.” On top of that, the rising hunger pangs in your abdomen only added to your growing frustration. All you could do now was hope that the staff would board you and the rest of the travelers quickly for the sake of your emotionally affected stomach. It’s amazing to think that all of this stress erupted thanks to…

Wait-

What was his name again?

………………………………………………………………………………….

ᴀ/ɴ 𓂋 thanks for reading! feel free to send in any content requests for future works ~ love always <3

#enhypen #enha imagines #enha scenarios #enhypen niki #niki ff #enhypen headcanons #niki x reader #niki nishimura #enhypen ff #enhypen fluff #niki fluff #kpop ff

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wjbs-bonkle-au · 1 year ago

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Every Bionicle mask-power summarised.

Hau: Everything-proof shield

Kaukau: "Hey, wanna see how long I can hold my breath underwater?"

Miru: Somewhat balanced flight powers (can't take off from a standstill; horizontal movement at least somewhat controlled by wind)

Kakama: Wheeeeeeeee!

Pakari: Kinda like the Berserk Pack from Doom

Akaku: X-ray specs

Huna: Stealth mode

Rau: Google Translate

Mahiki: Illusions, but also just full-on shapeshifting for some reason?

Komau: Hypnotism kink

Ruru: "Night vision", which canonically manifests as a torch-like beam projected from the mask's front, and gives the wearer actual night-vision, and yet more x-ray stuff

Matatu: Gmod Physgun Telekinesis Addon 2004 No Virus

Calix: Basically X-Cell from Fallout 4 but without the intelligence boost

Elda: Thing finder, for finding things

Suletu: Telepathy and also psychic torture

Sanok: Aimbot

Kadin: Very unbalanced flight powers (literally the only downside is that the user can't hover in place)

Iden: Out of body from morning to night/Dance floor packed and I'm feeling alright

Arthron: *Whale noises*

Faxon: "Hey, wanna see my animal impressions?"

Zatth: Kinda like if going "pspsps" had an equal chance of attracting a cat, a bear or a car-sized land-octopus

Garai: Gravity-y-y-y-y-y, on me/Never let me down, gent-ly damn, two Gorillaz references in one post; I'll try to use another band next time

Volitak: Same as the Huna but worse

Tryna: Wise fwom your gwave!

Jutlin: Rust-vision

Avsa: *Vampire noises*

Felnas: Messes up your abilities, but only through touch for some reason?

Mohtrek: I have no idea how I'd condense this mask's timeline-fuckery into a single se- where did all these scars come from?

Shelek: ‍

Crast: Pushes others away

Mask of Mutation: Guess.

Mask of Scavenging/Vulture: Like the Avsa, but it only works on the recently-deceased

Pehkui: Makes you tiny

Mask of Clairvoyance: The last word of this post will be "diversity"

Kualsi: Nightcrawler powers

Mask of Emulation: "Hey, wanna see my non-animal impressions?"

Mask of Growth: Makes you big

Mask of Rahi Control: Gives you all the powers of a zookeeper

Avohkii: Let there be light!

Kraahkan: Actually I changed my mind; there should darkness

Mask of Psychometry: Ever wondered where your favourite shirt came from?

Rode: Mask of Seeing Through Your Shit

Olmak: Now you're thinking with portals

Mask of Charisma: Actually functions more like brainwashing

Olisi: Isn't it weird how Bionicle's most notable use of the "mad oracle" trope is A. unreliable and B. a giant Frankenstein-man who commits body-horror on random people?

Kiril: Basically the opposite of the Jutlin

Mask of Intangibility: *Ghost noises*

Mask of Possibilities: Essentially the Improbability Drive from Madness Combat, but on a smaller scale

Mask of Elemental Energy: who cares about this one like seriously it barely appears outside the games

Mask of Adaptation: Turns you into an environment-specific action figure

Mask of Aging: The mask that makes you old

Mask of Biomechanics: Essentially the Gmod ragdoll-mover addon

Mask of Conjuring: I'm just going to copy what Biosector says, since it's really convoluted and complex; "The Mask of Conjuring is a Kanohi that allows its user to verbally program a limited power into the mask for a brief period of time. The user must describe in detail the power desired and at least one weakness. If the phrasing is spoken wrong, it causes intense psychic backlash in the user's mind. The user can use a programmed power for fifteen minutes (with a Great version), and after the time is out, the user must wait thirty seconds to activate the mask again. The Noble version will only work for five minutes. Another weakness is because it requires time and speech, any enemies nearby can hear in detail what power to expect and what its weakness is. Because of this, the usage of the mask is more commonly done alone. It is also capable of being programmed with the powers of other masks, such as the Kanohi Hau."

Mask of Freezing: What do you think it does

Mask of Fusion: Combines things • Mask of Healing: Heals stuff

Mask of Incomprehension: 👁️🧠🫵🥫🚹🇮🇹📤

Mask of Rebounding: Something something rubber glue etc.

Mask of Reconstitution: Literally just another Mask of Mutation, but slightly worse

Mask of Sensory Aptitude: 'Cause I've got one two three four five/Senses working o-ver-ti-ime!

Mask of Undeath: I live... again!

Mask of Weather Control: /weather clear 18000

Mask of Weight Increase: Literally just a Garai that can't make things lighter

Ignika: Do-anything MacGuffin that turned into a guy once and also became God's hat for a bit

Vahi: Time isn't holding up/Time isn't after us/Same as it ever was/Same as it ever was...

Mask of Creation: Just kinda lets you make stuff, while also celebrating the Matoran Universe's cultural diversity!

#bionicle

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asapflights · 11 days ago

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The Ultimate Guide for Smart Air Travelers

Introduction Welcome to The Ultimate Guide for Smart Air Travelers! In this comprehensive guide, we’ll explore how to navigate the skies like a pro. From finding the cheapest flights to maximizing your travel experience, this book provides you with all the tools and insights you need for stress-free and cost-effective air travel. With resources like the Cheap Flights app, website, and other platforms, you’ll be equipped to save money, travel safely, and make the most of every journey. Visit us online at Cheap Flights Website and connect through our social channels: YouTube, Facebook, Quora, Rumble, Truth Social, Mail.ru Community, and Dzen.

Chapter 1: Planning Your Trip

Choosing Your Destination

Factors to consider: budget, weather, and seasonal travel tips.

Using https://cheapflights365.net/ to explore affordable destinations.

Budgeting for Air Travel

Calculating flight costs, accommodation, and extras.

Tips for using apps like Cheap Flights Pro (iOS: Download) and Cheap Flights (Android: Download) to compare prices.

Travel Insurance and Safety

Why travel insurance is essential.

How to choose the right insurance plan.

Chapter 2: Booking Your Flights

Finding the Best Deals

Utilizing the Cheap Flights app (Android, iOS) to compare flight prices and find deals.

Leveraging price alerts and seasonal discounts.

Direct vs. Connecting Flights

Pros and cons of direct and connecting flights.

Using apps to identify optimal layovers.

Booking with Confidence

Trusted platforms: Travelpayouts-affiliated sites and apps.

Securing your bookings with reliable airlines.

Chapter 3: Packing for Success

Essential Packing Tips

Creating a packing checklist for international and domestic travel.

Carry-on vs. checked luggage: what you need to know.

Travel Gadgets and Accessories

Must-have tech and travel gear for air travelers.

How to optimize luggage weight and space.

Chapter 4: At the Airport

Navigating Airport Procedures

Check-in tips for a seamless experience.

TSA guidelines and security checks.

Making the Most of Layovers

Tips for staying productive and entertained.

Best airport lounges and how to access them.

Airport Transfers Made Easy

Using Cheap Flights to book airport taxis and car rentals.

Chapter 5: In-Flight Tips

Comfortable Flying

How to select the best seats using airline seat maps.

Staying comfortable on long-haul flights.

Entertainment Options

Best apps and resources for in-flight entertainment.

Offline options to enjoy during your flight.

Healthy Travel Practices

Staying hydrated and combating jet lag.

Exercises to avoid stiffness during the flight.

Chapter 6: Arriving at Your Destination

Smooth Arrival

Navigating customs and immigration.

Booking last-minute accommodations with Cheap Hotels app (Download Android).

Local Transportation

Comparing car rentals and taxis using travel apps like Deals Rental Cars.

Tips for using public transportation safely.

Making the Most of Your Stay

Planning excursions and local experiences.

Saving money with discounts and offers on partner platforms.

Chapter 7: Leveraging Technology for Travel

Travel Apps You Need

Overview of Cheap Flights (Android, iOS) and Cheap Hotels (Android) apps.

Using price trackers and itinerary planners.

Maximizing Your Savings

Booking flights, hotels, and car rentals with Travelpayouts affiliates.

Tips for earning and redeeming travel rewards.

Chapter 8: Sustainability in Air Travel

Eco-Friendly Flying Tips

Choosing airlines with sustainable practices.

Packing and traveling light to reduce your carbon footprint.

Supporting Local Economies

Staying at locally-owned accommodations.

Participating in eco-tourism activities.

Conclusion: Take Off with Confidence

By utilizing the tools and tips in this guide, air travel becomes an enjoyable and affordable experience. Resources like Cheap Flights (Android, iOS), Cheap Hotels (Android), and partner platforms empower you to take control of your journey from start to finish. Bon voyage, and may every trip bring new adventures!

#cheap flights #cheapflights #cheap tickets #google flights #smarttravel #budgettravel #book flights #flight finder #app #android #android app #travel guide

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last-flight-of-fancy · 8 months ago

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staring at the last two raids on my ff14 to-do list and going 'but what if they're hard tho?'

#i mean. they will be.#it's more he fear.png that i load in and realise the brain fog is too strong for that today #the fact that i managed to get through all the other (non-extreme) raids doesnt appear to matter to brain #i heard that pandaemonium was super hard and now im Intimidated #the puppets bunker i havent done mostly because every time i load up the duty finder the est. wait time is like half an hour #and the chances of me putting down the game to briefly do something else only to give myself a heart attack from the PING is too high #stop talking to yourself flight

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summahsunlight · 6 months ago

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Perhaps It's Fate, Part 26

Rating: T, to be safe

Word Count: 2,142

Summary: After joining the Resistance as a mechanic, you were happy to keep to yourself, until a little orange and white bb unit and his master wander into your workshop one day.

Pairings: Poe Dameron x Mechanic!Reader

Start from the beginning!

Taglist: @ms-dont-care, @starless-eyes-remain, @elmoakepoke, @marvelobsessiononastick, @kiaralein, @softly-sad, @totalpoedameron, @ordinarymom1, @sevvysaurus, @spider-starry, @liadamerondjarin, @jingyuhearteu, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @paintballkid711, @ren-ni, @lostinwonderland314, @elite4cekalyma,@elisabethbathgate, @imabeautifulbutterfly

I'm back! I know it's been FOREVER. I hope this new chapter is worth it :) Reblogs, comments, etc. are appreciated!

Poe knew he had royally screwed up. He knew the moment you tearfully fled the command center. He knew he should have gone after you, to look for you immediately.

Instead, he stayed. You would come around eventually and seek him out when you ready. Poe could almost bank on this--so he was a bit surprised when he left the extremely long briefing with Leia--you were no where to be found. In fact, no one had seen you for hours. Not even BB-8, who always managed to find you to make sure you were alright.

He needed to find you. He couldn’t leave on the next mission without talking to you--there was a very real chance he wouldn’t come back from this mission and the last thing he wanted was for your last memory of him to be him angry and telling you to leave. But the longer he looked for you, the more Poe was beginning to believe that you had left. Rushing back to the command center he cornered the unsuspecting communications officer and demanded to know if you had boarded the last transport off planet.

“The last transport went to Mon Cal, sir,” the officer reported.

“Was she on it?” Poe growled, desperately.

“I’m not sure, I can pull up the passenger manifest.”

“Then pull it up!”

Fear flashed through the officer’s eyes before he quickly got to work on the commander’s request. Poe anxiously paced behind him. What if you had really gone? What was he going to do? There was no time to chase after you--he needed to leave soon--the Resistance needed to find that way finder so they could end this war once and for all--and there was literally no time to spare.

Briefly he thought about letting Finn and Rey go--she could pilot, he’d seen her skills, but damn it--they were both so green when it came to missions. Perhaps an ounce of military training between them and he was being lenient on Finn’s training with the First Order. He’d been trained to just follow orders, never think for himself...

...the communication’s officer cleared his throat, alerting Poe that he was done with his task. Poe stopped pacing and nervously swallowed. “Well?”

“Her name wasn’t on the manifest, sir.”

“Great. That means she’s still here on base.”

“Not...not necessarily. If she was a last minute passenger...”

“What do you mean by that?”

The officer took a deep breath, winced slightly as he replied, “The crew might not have put her name on the final manifest that they passed off to us because that would have meant having to resubmit all their flight plans again and delayed their departure. It happens all the time, sir. I’m surprised you didn’t know about that.”

Poe felt like he had been punched in the gut. You were gone; with his intense desire to protect you, to give you the life you deserved--he’d pushed you away, probably for good. Before he could even think straight, he asked when he could get clearance to take off. He was going to Mon Cal, he was going after you--the mission, the Resistance be damned.

****

If you were being honest with yourself, you were devastated that Poe didn’t show up to stop you from getting on the transport. Well, it's not like you told him that you were actually leaving, you thought, bitterly, wiping at the tears in your eyes.

Or perhaps he didn't love you as much as you thought he did. Maybe he really did want you to go. Somehow, you managed to beg your way onto the transport to Mon Cal--the last one to leave base that afternoon--despite not being on the original passenger manifest. The crew seemed annoyed by that; apparently they didn't want to add your name and delay departure. You suggested they didn't add your name--you didn't want to be found or followed.

"Fair enough," the captain said with a shrug. "Get on board."

One last glance to see if Poe had emerged from the base; one last little bit of hope dashed when you didn't see him. He doesn't love you, you're such an idiot for ever believing it.

Crying, silently, you found a hidden spot on the transport. No one could watch your fall apart back here, behind a large crate. There had been some questioning eyes when you boarded, however, no one actually said anything to you. For all they knew, you were on a mission for the Resistance--not trying to get away from the man that had broken your heart into a million little pieces.

At least now Poe was free from the burden that you were. He got put all of his attention on the war and the Resistance--he could find someone that could take care of his heart better than you. He could have that peaceful life after the war was over with someone else; he could bring that person home to his father and proudly introduce them--he could parade them around Yavin IV with pride beaming in his brown eyes--he could have the life he deserved.

You had been living a dream with him, a dream that you had to wake up from eventually.

"Sorry folks," a voice said, making you realize someone had been speaking. "We're experiencing some mechanical problems; they're working on it but our departure is going to be delayed."

A low rumble spread throughout the cabin as the passengers grumbled about the delay--you felt a little bit of relief--you weren't entirely sure you wanted to leave the Resistance behind, after all you had made some friends here and you wanted to help. You told yourself that if Finn, Rose or Rey were aware that you thinking of leaving--they would have come to stop you

Familiar beeps echoed across the base and from your hiding spot you were able to glance up and see Poe, rushing to his fighter--rushing off on another mission not rushing to make sure you didn't walk out of his life forever.

****

Poe stormed towards his fighter, BB-8 on his heels. If he hurried he could get to Mon Cal not long after the transport--that would give him enough time to find you and tell you that he was sorry, that he was so in love with you that he was terrified he was going to be the reason you died.

BB-8 was screeching at him and Poe spun about on his heel, ready to shout at the little droid that they were wasting time--until he saw what the droid had been trying to tell him--the transport had not left yet. You weren't gone after all. He could see a team of mechanics working on the ship, the passengers had disembarked and were milling about waiting for the opportunity to reboard and be on their way. His deep brown eyes scanned the crowd looking for you and his heart sank when he didn't see you at first--and then, he caught sight of you, the sunlight catching in your hair...

...Poe took off like a shot, dodging in and out of workers and ships trying to reach you.

As he got closer, he called out your name and when you looked up at him, his heart shattered. He would never get the image of you, eyes swollen from crying, the devastation reflecting back at him--and then the realization that he had been the one to do this to you. Not the First Order, not Kylo Ren or General Hux--but him.

You ducked into the brush behind you and disappeared. Poe clenched his fists as a pair of mechanics, unaware of what was going, stepped in his path, blocking him from following you into the jungle. Gritting his teeth, he lowered his shoulder and pushed his way passed the mechanics and then into the jungle.

He saw you running up ahead on the path. Poe caught up to quickly, gently grabbing your wrist and pulling you back towards him. "Please, sweetheart, please don't go," he begged. "I didn't mean it--I regret that I even put the thought in your head."

Violently, you yanked your hand back, noticing that Poe's hand dropped to his side and that his shoulders sank a little. "Why should I stay? It's been hours since we got back from that mission, hours since you told me to leave--now all of a sudden you regret that?"

"I regretted it immediately," Poe whispered.

"Sure you did," you snapped at him, tears running down your cheeks.

"I did; I should have followed you, I should have told you..."

"But you didn't Poe! Just admit it--you don't love me!"

Poe felt sick to his stomach. Even if he convinced you to stay, would you even want to stay with him? He was about to lose you, he knew it from the bottom of his heart. "Is that what you think? That I don't love you?"

Wiping the tears from your eyes, you sharply nodded your head. "Isn't it obvious? You've been so angry at me--I'm a burden to you--I'm in the way of your work with the Resistance. I'm a nobody, Poe, just... just got back to base and forget about me. It's just better this way."

"Better? You think this is better? Breaking both our hearts like this?"

"You'll find someone else! Someone better!"

"There's that word again! I don't want better! There is no one better! I want you!"

Drawing your arms around yourself, you hugged your shaking body, tightly. Tears freely streamed down your cheeks and you felt him take a step closer to you. "Poe," you pleaded with him, "please, please don't make this harder."

Poe heard his commlink going off; Finn must have been looking for him, but he couldn't leave on that mission--not now--he could not leave the base without making sure you'd be there when he returned. He took another step towards you, making the small space between you even smaller. "I know...I know I haven't...I've been terrible towards you recently. Angry. But it's not you I'm angry at, sweetheart. I hate this whole situation. I hate that I can't give you a safe place to call home, I hate that every time I leave--I might not come back to you. But I have never, ever stopped loving you. Please, sweetheart, you have to believe me when I say that."

You shook your head; why couldn't he just let this go? Why couldn't he see it the way you saw it? It was better this way--even if he now hated that word. "Just go on your mission, Poe. It's more important than me. Just forget me."

"No," he said, softly, firmly.

"No?" you repeated, looking at him through watery eyes.

"I'm not going to just forget about you."

"You should; you'll be able to focus on your mission."

Heavily sighing, Poe closed the last little bit of space between you. His fingers ghosted along your arms before he gently grasped your wrists in his strong hands. "You are my mission, sweetheart. Bringing an end to the First Order, bringing peace to the galaxy--making sure it's safe for you--that's my mission. I have to go on this mission with Finn and Rey--if we don't find a way to stop the reborn Emperor and the Final Order--there will never be peace. Promise me, you'll be here when I get back."

Crying, you buried your face against his shirt and you felt one of his hands let go of your wrist and his arm snake around your waist. You couldn't manage any words, just a simple nod of your head.

Poe pulled back, kissing your forehead. His comm was going off once again and he knew he couldn't delay any longer. "Promise me," he whispered, now kissing your lips softly. His hand holding onto to your wrist let go and his thumb wiped your tears away. "Sweetheart, please."

You sniffled, a few more fresh tears falling. "I...I promise...I'll be here when you get back."

Letting you go, Poe stepped back. His eyes locked with yours as he answered his comm and said he was on his way. Reaching underneath his scarf, he pulled the chain from around his neck. You saw the gold of his mother's wedding ring reflecting the sunlight and then he slipped the chain around your neck. "Keep this safe for me?"

"Shara's ring? I'll...I'll make sure it's safe."

"I love you; I'll say as often as I have too until you believe it. And then I'll keep saying it so you remember it."

Clutching tightly to the ring, you stood there while he kissed you, making another promise to come back to you and reassuring you once again that he did love you. Then he was gone--heading back through the jungle--leaving you standing behind, silently tears running down your cheeks.

Promise me, Poe, that you'll come back.

#my writing #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #perhaps it's fate #an update!#hope it was worth the wait #i know it's been forever

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hlficlibrary · 1 year ago

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HL FIC LIBRARY ✤ AUTHOR REC

AO3: phdmama

Tumblr: @phdmama

STATS:

✤ Number of fics: 208

✤ Posting Since: 2016

TOP 5 FICS:

1️⃣ Hold My Heart {E, 14k}

“Excuse me, mate, I’m the window seat here.” The voice was soft, apologetic, and accented in something a bit unfamiliar — northern England, maybe, Harry thought.

“Oh,” Harry jumped to his feet and moved aside, “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you standing there.”

The other man laughed as he swung a bag into the overhead compartment and slid into the seat. “You were well caught up in that book, mate. What are you reading?”

Harry paused, wondering how to explain the fact that he was reading an epic and x-rated romance that was the story of a relationship between a prince and the man he’d enslaved. “Oh, you know, just some fiction my sister recommended.” He turned to look at the man and froze.

Sitting next to him was Louis Tomlinson.

Or, the one where famous Louis Tomlinson offers his hand and a lot more to his seat mate on a transatlantic flight.

(Co-written with @a-writerwrites)

2️⃣ Feels Like Coming Home {E, 60k}

The last thing Harry Styles expects when he's hanging out at the Someday Cafe in Somerville one rainy October day is for his ex, Louis Tomlinson to walk through the door, but that's exactly what happens. After a spectacularly ugly break-up three years prior, Harry hasn't heard one word from Louis, and he's moved on. Gotten over him. But having Louis back in his life, not to mention working at the restaurant where he's a chef, isn't easy, and the feelings that Harry thought he'd left turn out to be not so easily forgotten.

This is a story about love and the power of forgiveness, and how the hard choices we make define us, and change our lives.

3️⃣ On the Go {T, 2k}

From this post because I could not resist.

4️⃣ It's a Better Place (Since You Came Along) {E, 51k}

When Harry Styles, a mid-level talent, Finder, and small business owner, sets off on the vacation of a lifetime with his best friend, Niall Horan, he has no idea the changes his life will undergo over the next nine days. He's got it all planned - there's going to be shore excursions, lounging by the pool on the deck of the luxurious cruise ship, not to mention margaritas. What he does not plan for are the new friends, new bonds, or the mystery from his past that comes back to haunt him, and he certainly hasn't planned for Louis.

5️⃣ For Better and For Worse {M, 12k}

Harry and Louis have been together for 5 years and they've been getting questions when they would be getting married and start a family. Bur Harry doesn't have the time. They were arguing one morning when Harry had enough and left for work. He's a doctor and works at the a&e there is a call that there has been a bad car crash and that there is more than one patient coming in. Harry does his job good and works on the first patient and everything goes great until his next patient is Louis.

HIDDEN GEM:

💎 Unveiled {M, 65k}

The train grinds to a halt and Harry leans forward in his eagerness to take it all in. It’s a gorgeous Spring day, the sky the same intense blue that he knows from home, which comforts him. There’s much here that looks almost familiar, but then so much that is new and strange to his eyes. The bustling station platform and winding streets beyond paved in cobblestones look much like home. There are vehicles ranging from small to very large, some with strange and unusual shapes of which he can only guess the purpose. But most surprising are the people. There is a crowd gathered, filled with men and women, some in what looks to be a military uniform, some in what must be the street clothes in this Land.

There are no robes. And not a single one of them is veiled.

#ficrec #phdmama #authorrec #hlcreators #hljournal #trackinghome #trackinghappily #ficsfor4am #1dficvillage #hlsource #tracksintheam

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training4theapocalypse · 8 months ago

Text

Finders Keepers Ch 19. (Cormac McLaggen x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit 18+ (no smut in this particular chapter)

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Graphic violence (not canon-typical)

Summary: An unwelcome newcomer makes an appearance as you hold off the Death Eaters. McLaggen races against time to work out how to enchant the bludgers.

A/N: omgggg can you believe there's finally a chapter called 'quidditch'?!?! And not a quaffle or a snitch in sight… maybe a few bludgers though. alexa, play holding out for a hero by bonnie tyler

Masterlist

Chapter 19: Quidditch

If this is the way you die. What a way to go.

You laugh. Actually laugh as you speed around the pitch, weaving between the stands and drawing the remaining three Death Eaters away from each other, scattering their attacking formation.

Your friends are nowhere to be seen. They’ve taken heed of your instructions and gone back to the castle. And thank god, because it means all you need to worry about is your own path weaving through the spells being hurled from the pitch.

The Death Eaters’ furious spell casting gets even more erratic as you frustrate them, dodging them on the battered old Cleensweep Seven you borrowed from Madam Hooch’s office. Despite the mortal peril, you feel alive. So much for only being able to buy McLaggen ten minutes of time while he works out how to enchant the bludgers to attack the Death Eaters. Even on this old broom, you could do this all day -

“You can’t fly away forever - Mudblood,” shrieks a woman’s voice.

You pivot on your broom and rise high out of spell-casting range to see the voice that ignites a flicker of realisation.

As she pulls back her hood her companion mimics her movement.

Cerys Thicknesse accompanied by Marcus Flint.

As they stride across the scorched earth of the Quidditch pitch below you, Cerys’ eyes are alight with a cold fire. At the same time, you both break eye contact and see yours and McLaggen’s brooms lying abandoned, silent witnesses to the chaos that has unfolded. When she hands her companion McLaggen’s broom and picks yours up from the pitch, indignation ignites inside you that she’d dare to even touch them.

“You might be able to outfly them but you can’t outfly us,” says Cerys.

You laugh derisively, masking the jolt of fear that courses through you. You’re confident you could fly rings around Flint - but Cerys? She was good enough to make it to the Holyhead Harpies. You remember her well from tryouts - even if that day feels like centuries ago now.

When she mounts your broom your eyes narrow. Your companion through countless flights, hundreds of training sessions with McLaggen at Hogwarts and several hundred more at Seafarer’s Beacon with the rest of your friends. Your broom was the thing that first made you feel like you had a place in the magical community. A real connection between your love of muggle sport and the wizarding world. Something your parents were able to understand - they might not have been able to wrap their heads around transfiguring buttons to button mushrooms but they understood saving goals. It was even the common ground between you and McLaggen when you first started talking to each other in Potions.

The anguish you felt when you found out Cerys has convinced her father to send you to Azkaban pales in comparison to how you feel now seeing her on that thin piece of wood that’s been your anchor for the past seven years. Unfortunately for Cerys, you're not the same scared girl you were when you were carted off to Azkaban. Deep down, you’ve always known your prickly assertiveness was a defensive mask for your lack of real courage. But your time at Seafarer’s Beacon has changed you.

You’ve always been a leader but now you’re a fighter.

With something worth fighting for.

“What’s wrong, Cerys? Didn’t your Death Eater pals teach you how to fly without a broom?” you jeer as she and Flint kick off.

“Oh, they’ve taught me more than that,” says Cerys, raising her wand as she flies towards you. “Avada Kedavra!”

Before the words leave her lips, you react - diving on your broom out of the way of the jet of green light. Your heart rate shoots up, shocked that Cerys’ first attack is aiming to kill.

Fuck.

No sooner do you dive than Cerys and Flint surge forward, their brooms cutting a direct path through the air towards you.

A red jet of light whizzes past your ear and you narrowly avoid the stunning spell.

You focus your breathing as you push the battered Cleansweep Seven to its limits. Cerys isn’t the only one who has learned a few things since you last met.

You aim your broom handle towards the three Death Eaters on the burning pitch. Fast. Furious. Direct. Thinking only of Viktor Krum’s signature move.

“Marcus! Stop!” Cerys’s distant voice tells you that she’s pulled back, realising what you’re about to do but you hope that Flint hasn’t.

The hot, burning world below becomes a fiery blur that makes you screw up your face as you fly towards them, Flint hot on your heels. Wind screams in your ears as the figures of the Death Eaters on the ground chaotically try to take aim at your speeding figure. The three of them push each other out of the way of your deadly path and at the very last second, just as it looks like you’re about to crash headfirst into the pitch, you execute the Wronski Feint and pull up with all your might.

Gravity tugs at every muscle in your body. And just as you knew he wouldn’t, Flint doesn’t react in time. With a satisfying, bone-crunching crash and a scream of pain, he slams into the ground, the sound of the impact echoing across the pitch. One of the Death Eaters, caught completely off-guard by Flint's unexpected descent, is taken out in the crash, crumpling onto Flint in a tangled, bloody heap.

You don’t have time to look back before hearing Cerys’ horrified cry followed by more spells narrowly missing you. You need to keep going. This close to the pitch, the hazardous maze of burning debris makes your throat dry and your t-shirt soak with sweat.

You need to get into the open air again but your broom seems to be fighting against you. It’s hot. Swelteringly hot. Come on, you think, urging your broom upwards. But it’s dragging. Why is it dragging? You check over your shoulder and see that the tail of your broom is set alight.

Double fuck.

Whether it’s by Cerys’ hand or from flying too close to the burning stands on the pitch you’re not sure. Either way, you point your wand over your shoulder. “Aguamenti!”. It’s no good. It’s so hot down here that the stream of water from the tip of your wand turns to vapour before it can extinguish the flames.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

There’s nothing else for it - you look for a patch of scorched grass amidst the flame and throw yourself from the broom. As the burning broom leaves a streak of white light in the air before crashing down into a pile of embers, your body slams and rolls onto the firmly solid ground, an entirely new sensation compared with the freedom of the air. Your right arm bears the brunt of your fall. Pain explodes as you roll awkwardly onto your back and your arm feels out of place - either broken, dislocated or both, you’re not sure.

Before you can fully register the vulnerability of your situation or gather your wits, a shadow falls over you. You try to wrench McLaggen’s dad’s wand from your pocket but it’s not there. It must have fallen out as you tumbled from the sky.

Cerys aims her wand directly at you. “Crucio!”

The incantation cuts through the din of burning chaos around you and the curse hits a thousand times worse than a physical blow. The throbbing, useless dead weight of your arm becomes a drop in the ocean as pain like you’ve never experienced before pulls at your every nerve - like every fibre of your being is being torn apart inch by inch. You’re only vaguely aware of the noises you’re making - so raw and so desperate that you don’t even recognise your voice. Even your teeth feel like they’re being pulled from your gums by pliers as you scream. It's only the absence of blood in your mouth that convinces you they’re still intact as you stop screaming to clench your jaw against the unimaginable pain.

She keeps her wand on you as you arch your body in agony and think only of the sweet release of death.

Then it stops suddenly. With immense effort you open your eyes to see Cerys admiring her handiwork, her face twisted in a sadistic grin. She raises her wand once more and you almost hope she ends it rather than putting you through the pain again. But you have to know why she’s getting so much pleasure from targeting you specifically.

“Cerys - wait -” You pant, lifting your head and pushing yourself up on your left elbow as your right pulses in agony. “All this because of what happened last summer? When McLaggen punched Flint?”

“Don’t make me laugh,” she huffs. “This is nothing to do with Marcus.”

“Then what? Cerys I don’t understand what I could have -“

“I told you in the Black Dragon. I left Hogwarts five years before you did. I’ve been trying out for professional Quidditch teams every summer and winter transfer window since. Five years of rejections. Five years playing in the amateur league and working stupid temp jobs in my father’s department at the Ministry. Five years working for that arrogant, blood traitor Gregor McLaggen.”

She walks towards you pointing her wand and you scramble backwards with your good arm. You daren’t take your eyes off her as your fingers search the dry grass for the missing wand.

“But Cerys you - you made it. You got into the Holyhead Harpies… we both did.” The last three words are a plea, trying to appeal to some sense of reason within her, reminding her you were once teammates. For a brief, beautiful few hours after your tryouts together, you thought Cerys might have made a good friend. Until it all went so horribly wrong and she showed you who she really was.

“And do you have any idea how many tryouts I had to endure before I did? Then, when I finally get my shot, who else should swan into their first tryout and get signed? Not even as a Reserve Keeper. And you nearly took it from me. You almost saved every shot but I got two past you -“

“That’s my job! You think I’m not going to save something to make someone else look good at tryouts?”

“There’s an etiquette to these things. Something Mudbloods like you wouldn’t understand. It makes you look arrogant. Like your idiot boyfriend and his traitor father.”

“He’s not an idiot! And they’re not arrogant -“

She slashes her wand downwards and you twist to avoid it but her spell grazes your leg. You wince, feeling it leaving a fresh cut in your calf. You feel something hard sticking into your back.

McLaggen’s dad’s wand.

“Over Quidditch, Cerys? You’d actually kill me over Quidditch?” A minute ago you were ready to die at her hand - to end the pain from the Cruciatus curse. But you’re not dying for this. Quidditch tryouts. Your lifelong dream feels childish as Cerys stands here and declares she’s ready to kill you over it. You slip your hand behind your back and wrap your fingers around your wand.

“This is about more than Quidditch,” Cerys retorts, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “Being pure-blooded used to mean something. Connections. Opportunities. Marrying into a pure bloodline. And now you’ve been handed everything that should have been mine and you’re not even grateful for it.”

“Marriage?” Your disdainful laugh is involuntary but you’re pleased to see that it’s wounded her. “This isn’t about McLaggen, is it?”

“McLaggen. Listen to yourself, calling him by his last name. You talk about him like he’s your pal rather than your boyfriend... Where is he, anyway?” Cerys glances over her shoulder, still keeping her wand pointed at you.

“He’s not here,” you make up wildly. “He’s still locked up under the Imperius curse.”

“The Daily Prophet might have bought Gregor McLaggen’s bullshit story but I saw you two in the Black Dragon and he wasn’t Imperiused. So where is he?”

“He’s not here!” you lie again, your heart thudding so frantically you’re sure she must actually see it betraying you, beating against your ribs.

“Liar. Crucio!”

Your whole body jerks again as the brutal curse takes over your senses once more, your wand jabbing uselessly into your back as you lose control of your fingers. With everything you have, you force yourself to think of Cormac. He must not have been able to crack the enchantment for the bludgers. But at least you’ve bought him enough time to get back to the castle.

“Where is he?!” Her question breaks the curse as your mind swims.

“Why - why do you care?” You ask and it’s only the taste of iron in your lips that makes you register that your face is bleeding.

“The Dark Lord has promised he’ll reward those who are loyal to him. With the Mudbloods out of the way, we can return to the rightful order.” Cerys’s gaze is sharp. “I told you last summer, there are no decent men from pure-blood families left. So I’ve decided that when I’ve gotten rid of you, Cormac McLaggen will suffice.”

“He’d rather die,” you spit back, defiance burning through the pain.

Cerys smirks, her wand steady. “Maybe. But would he risk his family?” You blink up at her, trying to make sense of it all. “I can make sure the Dark Lord learns all about Gregor McLaggen's scheming to undermine him. Getting you out of Azkaban? Pretending his son was kidnapped and under the Imperius curse for all these months? Pure-blood or not, the McLaggens will be executed for being traitors. Unless I get what I want.” Cerys moves closer, amidst the chaos of the burning pitch, her silhouette outlined by the leaping flames that consume what remains of the once-pristine field. “So, where is your boyfriend? I’d hate for him to get hurt in the battle - I have plans for him.”

“Cerys?” bellows Flint’s voice from beyond the flames separating you and Cerys from the rest of the pitch. She ignores him - keeping her wand fixed on you.

“What about Flint? Why don’t the two of you go off and have Death Eater babies?” you snarl, grimacing against the dull pain in your shoulder.

She shrugs. “I like them pretty - Crucio,” she says, with an almost lazy flick of her wand.

With every cell of your being screaming under the curse, you force your mind to McLaggen and somehow it lessens to pain. Of the two of you sharing a blanket on a tiny island in the middle of the vast loch, watching blue flames twinkle in a jar. You think of Cho, your fingers braiding her hair as you both sit on the window seat at the top of the lighthouse. Of Marietta, carefully transfiguring the bunch of wildflowers she collected in the garden into a beautiful wreath of sweetpeas, violets and her favourite forget-me-nots. You think about playing Exploding Snap with Carmichael and him leaping onto his chair in an ungracious, goofy victory dance. You think about Leanne transfiguing Carmichael’s chair into a yoga ball, sending him tumbling and making you laugh until your sides hurt. You think about Krum in the kitchen showing you how to make Bulagarian bansita and Davies interrupting to wind him up by insisting that they’re basically pumpkin pasties with cheese. You think about singing Happy Birthday to Katie at a surprise picnic in the garden and her joy when she sees Wood, Angelina and Alicia there too.

You think about all of them. The memories help you endure, drawing out your own torture to keep Cerys occupied, to give them a fighting chance.

When the curse breaks again you squeeze your eyes shut tight, waiting for Cerys to cast the killing curse now she’s finished toying with you. You only dare to open your eyes when a scream is carried to you by the wind.

In the distance somewhere you can hear a man crying out in pain and you hope against hope it’s not any of the others getting themselves hurt in an attempt to rescue you. The thought tightens the vice around your heart, even as you gasp for the air that pain had stolen.

A silhouette rises above the burning sky on a broom and suddenly the atmosphere changes.

Cormac.

Cerys’s focus on you falters when there’s an almighty crunching of something smashing through wood. Her eyes widen as a bludger propels itself through the debris, flying directly towards the two of you. You grab McLaggen’s dad’s wand with your left hand and cast a shield charm around yourself but there’s no need. You’re not the target the bludger is looking for.

With a dull thud of metal meeting a fleshy target, the bludger collides with Cerys directly in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her and sending her off her feet. Another bludger flies downwards and Cerys rolls herself out of the way in just enough time so that it sinks into the ground instead of into her chest.

She gets to her feet and with all your might you push yourself up with your left arm, holding the wand in your practically useless right.

The bludger in the ground shakes and throws itself towards Cerys, sinking into her ribs with a brutal crunch. She doubles over coughing up blood. She looks at you helplessly, blood dripping out of her mouth and down the front of her Death Eater robes, deepening them a darker shade of night.

It’s awful.

You know you should be relieved to see her being bludgeoned to death after she just tortured you. But after spending so much time in Seafarer’s Beacon with McLaggen and those idiotically noble Gryffindors, your heart pleads with you to show her some compassion. To be the bigger person.

Wind rushes as you hear another bludger careering towards her.

“Protego!” you cry, pointing the shield between Cerys and the bludger, grimacing against the effort it’s causing you to even lift your broken arm.

And then a lot of things happen at once.

Cerys levels her wand at you.

You hear McLaggen shouting, “No!”

Your wand trembles under the strain of your pained grip.

She opens her mouth, “Avada Ke-”

McLaggen careers into you on his broom, knocking you aside and onto the ground.

Your broken arm screams as you hit the ground once more.

The shield charm you were casting falters.

The bludger, unyielding and precise, smashes straight into Cerys’s face. The unforgivable curse dies on her lips, unspoken, as silence - a heavy, definitive silence - falls over the scene, punctuated only by the crackling of the flames that have witnessed the turn of fate.

You and McLaggen sit in a heap on the ground. You don’t dare to bring yourself to look at the sickening sight only a few feet away.

You know without looking that Cerys is dead but for some reason - closure perhaps - you need to ask, “Is she…”

And as if for good measure another bludger plummets from the sky towards her as if from nowhere. You yelp and shield your eyes. A thunk of the bludger meeting its target. The sound of liquid on dry grass.

“Dead. Yeah.” McLaggen says in a cold voice but when he tears his gaze away from Cerys his eyes are full of concern for you. “Are you alright? I heard… I heard you screaming.”

You nod but you’re not sure that you are alright. Images of Cerys standing over you, using the Cruciatus Curse on you, streak behind your eyelids every time you blink. Like a camera flash burned onto your retinas. “You did it. You worked out how to enchant the bludgers,” you say, looking out at the burning pitch in front of you, hoping for a change of subject from your own wellbeing.

“I’m sorry - I tried to do it faster. But when I heard you screaming…” He drags a hand down his face, smudging the black soot. “I panicked. And I think I overdid it. I didn’t think the bludgers would - would kill. I thought they’d just rough the Death Eaters up a bit. Cause them enough trouble ‘til I could get you out of there. I mean, Flint, Cerys and those two other Death Eaters, they’re - fuck -” He swallows. “They’re dead. It was grim. And I - I killed them.”

“They would have killed you without a second thought.”

He nods, not able to pull his eyes away from the flaming pitch.

You press on. “Flint tried to kill me. And you saw Cerys trying again. And what’s worse -”

“The Cruciatus curse?”

“Well, yes but -”

McLaggen lets out a hollow sort of groan. “I’m sorry I wasn’t faster -”

“No, listen to me. Worse than the Cruciatus curse. After Cerys had killed me she was going to tell You-Know-Who she wanted to marry you after all of this was over.”

“That’s not worse than you enduring the Cruciatus curse,” says McLaggen. “Not to me.”

“I’d take a thousand Cruciatus curses than an entire lifetime spent in a forced marriage to a Death Eater.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” McLaggen trails off, utter disbelief etching his face.

“At first I thought she was just saying it to try and stick the knife in before she killed me. But then she started going on about pure bloodlines again like she did in the Black Dragon last year.”

McLaggen shakes his head. “She’s deluded... Was deluded.”

“Cormac -” Your left hand searches for his fingers and grips them tight. “I thought you’d be safe even if our side lost, because of your family name. But if what Cerys told me is true and we lose, the Muggleborns will be executed and the pure-bloods who resisted will be forced into Death Eater families.”

“Well, it’s like you said. We need to win or die trying.” McLaggen gets to his feet and extends his hand to lift you to yours. You take his with your left and wince as you get up. “Woah - what happened to your arm? Was that when I flew into you?”

“Well, it didn’t help.” You offer him a small smile despite the pulsing pain and inner turmoil. “But no - it was when I had to jump off my broom earlier.”

“Do you want me to fix it?”

“Can you?”

“I’ve never done it before. But I think if I can handle the bludgers, I can handle this. And I remember the spell from when you fixed my nose.”

You hesitate. Arms are trickier than noses. But if you go back to the castle with a broken wand arm then you’re worse than useless. “Yeah. Go on then.”

McLaggen places the tip of his wand against your upper arm. “Episkey.” You inhale sharply as you feel the bone snapping back into place. “You’ll probably need some Skele-gro after this is over,” he says, taking your arm in his hand to examine it. “Can you try using it?”

You flex your fingers, feeling the sensation returning to them and wave your borrowed wand again. “Thanks.”

You draw your gaze from your hand and up at McLaggen as you stand here, both covered in blood, soot and dirt. Even with his wild hair and his singed t-shirt, he’s a sight for sore eyes. In your darkest moments when Cerys was torturing you, even when you were facing death, all you could think about was him.

But now you need to return to the castle and rejoin the battle. Keep fighting. Face death who knows how many more times.

You both jump with a start when a voice rings through the air, as clearly as if the speaker were directly behind you.

“You have fought,” says the amplified high, cold voice, “valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste. Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured.”

Heavy losses. Dead. There are people in the castle who are dead.

You don’t want to think about who.

“I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour.”

“We’ve got to move,” says McLaggen, before the ringing has even stopped in your ear, as he marches over to pick up his broom.

“But he said we’ve got an hour?”

“Yeah, and in about five minutes a hundred Death Eaters will be coming past here on their way to the Forbidden Forest.”

“Fuck.”

“Let’s go,” he says, climbing onto his borrowed school broom.

You pick up your broom that Cerys had discarded. As you grip the familiar handle, your body breathes a sigh of relief. Like an extension of you had been temporarily missing. “I don’t know where yours is,” you say before kicking off into the air. “Maybe we could find it?” you suggest hopefully, peering down at the disastrous state of the pitch as the two of you ascend into the air.

“Doesn’t matter. We don’t have time,” says McLaggen. “And besides, it was already pretty burnt anyway,” he adds.

You smile weakly at his effort to bring some humour back to the situation but it’s short-lived.

As the two of you turn West and fly back towards the castle, your stomach churns in anticipation of what awaits you back at Hogwarts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 20: Avada Kedavra

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