#gave him some of my tattoos and my lost boys shirt

[bugdoesscribbles]

Sirius black

[swordsandholly]

Keep it Casual

NSFW | MDNI

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x fem.plus size.Reader

cw: injury mention, death mention (in passing - no character death), brief weed smoking

Word count: 3.7k

One-shot/Drabble

Boy loves girl, girl loves boy. They’re not allowed to admit it, though. It’s good, right? All the benefits without any of the commitments. It’s what they both want, right?

Johnny MacTavish is an enigma to you in many ways. You’ve known each other for years - ever since you came over to the UK for Uni. He was in basic training then, out drinking when he approached you. His buddies were brutish and rude, only looking to add a soft American to their list of conquests, but Johnny… he spoke to you differently. Looked into your eyes, listened intently, gave you his full attention and nothing less.

You’ve been thick as thieves ever since. Beyond that, even. You and Johnny are entirely indivisble. Even when he’s gone for weeks, months, at a time, you’re inheretnly interlinked. Whether by phone calls or the matching tattoos you got on your ankles one drunken night, you’re connected.

There aren’t any labels for it. When people ask you default to best friends, but that doesn’t quite encapsulate it. There isn’t a word in the English language for what you have. You’re not partners - you’ve both had plenty of those each, however briefly. Even those always end. You and Johnny can’t be torn apart, though.

You know what the problem is. The reason you both keep it this vague, amorphous thing between you. Labels are frightening. Labels make things real. Labels mean you have to tell other people what you are, that suddenly there are expectations to live up to.

Labels feel like a death sentence in his line of work. Too many lost husbands, partners, lovers.

You lay on your belly in bed, legs kicked up in the air as you engross yourself in a book when the door knob clicks to the side. Johnny has a key to your place, of course, just as you have one to his. You don’t bother to get up. The chain always hangs loose when he’s gone - knowing he’ll come around at any moment. The door would stay wide open if it could, just for him.

You hear a thunk as as he drops his duffle on the ground. He didn’t go home yet, just came straight here. His boots fall on the floor next, then his jacket drops quietly in the hallway as he slowly makes his way to your room - to you.

“Bonnie lass…” Johnny greets, crawling across the bed toward you. He managed to get down to just his standard issue t-shirt and boxer briefs before climbing in. He knows you hate outside clothes on the bed.

“Johnny.” You smile, rolling onto your back as he climbs over you. Your fingers card through his mohawk, tugging gently on the strands curling at the base of his neck. “Need a trim there, bud.”

“Aye.” He chuckles. “Was waitin’ tae see ye. No one does it as good as my girl.”

His girl. Your boy. That’s the closest either of you ever get to tempting fate.

You hum. “How was work?”

Work. That word doesn’t even come close to what Johnny does. You can’t say more - can’t utter the word deployment. Coward.

“Ach no’ tha’ bad this time. Go’ my heid knocked around a bit.”

“So the usual?”

“Oi.” He scoffs in mock offense. “Donnae be rude.”

“I’m never rude.” You snicker, turning over and reaching for the top dresser of your nightstand. “Do you want to roll or me?”

“I think I’ve earned some princess treatment.” Johnny flops back on the bed, a finger hooking in the hem of your cotton panties as you sit up. He always does this when he first gets back - has to have some part of him touching some part of you. Not that you’d ever complain. You need it just as much as him, though you’d die before admitting to it.

Those blue eyes bore into you as you roll. It’s tradition - a celebratory joint when he gets back. Then you’ll binge all the TV shows and movies you saved up while he was gone and order an ungodly amount of take out. Indian. His favorite. Sometimes Johnny will go back to his apartment the next day to get some quiet time, maybe visit his parents, before he has to go back to work on the base but other times he’ll stay with you his whole time back home. Just taking up your space and being so domestic it makes your teeth hurt like too-sweet candy.

You always hope he stays.

“First hit for the guest of honor?” You smile, holding the joint out for him.

“Och, yer a blessing, hen.” His hand is warm as it brushes yours when he takes the joint from you, eyes locked on your own. There’s something intense in his stare that you aren’t used to. It makes you look away, almost shy under his gaze. He coughs suddenly, a harsh burst of smoke puffing from his lips.

You can’t help but laugh at him, “Getting weak lungs, soldier boy?”

“Oh, feck off.” He elbows you gently.

Somehow you’ve already got the giggles. It’s just something about being around him that makes everything feel better - brighter. More lively. Even the colors of your ugly little ashtray (the one you painted terribly when Johnny’s niece insisted the three of you go paint pottery while babysitting) feel so much more clear with him near.

“Oh!” His brows shoot up suddenly, as if he just remembered something direly important. “I got somethin’ fer ye. Be right back.”

You watch him jog down the hall - definietly not staring at his butt, no ma’am - and listen to the sounds of Johnny rooting around through his duffle bag. Your lips quirk up into a smile when he lets out a distant “aha!”

He comes back with a small, velvety box, flopping back into bed beside you and criss-crossing his legs. “There was this little artisan shop in a town we stopped through. The Captain wanted tae get his wife somethin’ an’ I saw this an’ thought of ye.”

The box slips into your hands. It’s small and light. You roll it between your palms a couple times before shaking it with a grin. Before you can make one of your usual silly quips about what might be inside, your eyes meet Johnny’s. They’re on fire, sparkling with anticipation for you to open the little gift. He’s gotten you things before (you actually have a shelf dedicated to his nicknacks from around the world) but this seems… different. There’s a heaviness to his expression that you’re not used to.

You glance between him and the box briefly - opening it slowly. Your eyes turn to saucers as you come face to face with a finely crafted silver necklace. A little four pointed star with a sparkling gem in the middle that looks the same icy blue as Johnny’s eyes. Little flecks of pink and green catch the light as you turn it between your fingers.

“Johnny-“ You gasp, at a total loss for words.

“Ye like it?” He asks with an uncharacteristically nervous pitch to his voice. His palms rub together absently as he glances between you and the necklace in your hand.

“I love it.” You smile softly, heart fluttering as Johnny breaks out in a grin of his own. “Put it on me?”

“Course.” He whispers, pushing your hair to the side and locking the clasp with deft fingers. It hangs perfectly underneath your clavicles, resting between the other jewelry you wear daily.

Those hands linger for a moment, before both slowly brush down over your shoulders. Rough, calloused fingers glide across your skin and leave an electric current in their wake as light kisses trail up your neck. “Missed ye, bonnie.”

You sigh and lean back against his broad chest. “Missed you too.”

Teeth sink into the crook of your neck, pulling a gasp from your lips. Large, rough hands grab and knead your tits through your thin tank top. He plucks at your nipples - rolling them between his fingers as he sucks deep marks into your neck.

You open your mouth to complain about leaving visible hickies but all that comes out is a breathy moan. You run your hands up his thighs on either side of you, dragging your nails across his skin in the way that always leaves him panting.

One hand travels down, grabbing onto the softness of your belly appreciatively before continuing. His fingers glide over your covered pussy, teasing you to gasp and squirm under him. Rough fingers continue to pluck at your nipple, eventually pushing their way under your tank top for better access. A low hiss escapes Johnny’s lips as your breasts fall free of the camisole.

“Fuck, bonnie. Can I taste ye? Please? Need ye so bad.” Johnny groans in your ear. “Please.”

How could you ever say no to him? He doesn’t even have to ask, really.

He repositions you on your back, tucking a pillow under your hips. Ever the considerate type. His fingers hook in your panties, a low, pleased rumble echoing through his chest as he shucks off the soaked fabric.

No matter what he’s doing, Johnny’s eyes always find yours. He could be across the most crowded room in the world and, imminently, they’ll find yours. They crinkle at the sides with his smile that pulls the scar on his chin.

“So pretty fer me.” He murmurs, lowering himself between your thighs as he bites and kisses up the soft flesh between your legs.

Johnny is a lot of things, and a total much is easily near the top of the list. Maybe number one, even. He presses his face into your cunt - mouthing over your clit and dragging his tongue down between your lips. It’s almost more for him, you think, the way he drags his tongue through the crease between your thigh and pussy. You can’t complain - you would be a fool to with the way he absolutely worships your body.

A harsh suck to your clit as your back arching. Strong arms wrap around your thick thighs to hold you down as he devours you.

“Taste so good, lass. Sweet as fuckin’ candy.” He moans against your cunt.

“Johnny!” You gasp, hand tangling in his overgrown mohawk. A low moan pulls out of you as he licks from your back hole to your clit before stuffing his tongue as deep in your pussy as he can. Chants of obscenities and pleading and oh, god, Johnny please you’re so good fall from your lips.

You know better than to try to hide your sounds. If he could he’d devour them just as much as he already does you - inject them straight in his veins to live there forever. Two fingers push into you, the stretch causing you to gasp. Johnny chuckles as you buck into the touch. The fingers curl directly up into that spot inside you as he nips at your clit.

Your climax hits you like a train - stars blooming behind your eyes and your back arching sharply. You’re always so sensitive after he’s been gone. So ready to have him again.

“Thassit, tha’s my good girl.” Johnny kisses up your thigh, working you through your orgasm with his fingers. “Ready fer me, baby? Missed this pretty cunt so bad - thought about her every day.”

You nod excitedly - mind too fuzzy and content to come up with the words to respond. Lazily, Johnny reaches over to the nightstand to grab a condom. He knows your home, like you, inside and out. Every nook and cranny might as well be his.

It could be his.

It should be his.

Johnny cups your cheek, kissing you slow and deep. His tongue parting your lips gently before exploring every inch of your mouth. Those rough hands trail down your body with reverence. One going from your cheek, to your sternum, over your belly to sink into the softness of your waist. The other holds tight on your hip as he lines up.

You gasp and moan against each other as he pushes in. The stretch is delicious. Your nails sink into his strong back.

“Practically made fer me, bonnie.” He groans as he moves. It’s slow, languid.

He’s so beautiful. Always has been. No matter how he changes - new hair, new scars, new tattoos - he’s still beautiful. The prettiest man you’ve ever met. You run your fingers through the downey layer of dark hair over his chest - tracing the outlines of his muscles, up over his thick shoulders to cup his cheek.

Your bodies move together easily - a well practiced dance that you’ve perfected over the years.

“Christ.” Johnny gasps into your ear - strong forearms bracket your head, burying you under him. “I lov-“

You turn your head, catching his lips in a kiss. It’s terrible of you, you’re sure, but there’s nothing those words can communicate that a well timed gasp or a perfectly placed caress can’t say better. His nose knocks against yours, your hands travel all over him, seeking out any purchase they can find.

It turns desperate. A clawing need as you rediscover each other for the millionth time. Wet, open mouth kisses against each others skin and bodies moving perfectly in tandem. The light high from smoking leaves your skin warm and buzzing with electricity. It borders on overstimulating - just barely this side of too much.

“Johnny…” You whine, tilting your head back.

“Aye?” He pants, laving at your clavicle. “Gonnae cum f’me? Cream all over my fuckin’ cock?”

All you can manage is a keen, teeth sinking into his shoulder to hide you face form him. A hand tangles in your hair, pulling you down to stare up at him.

“Eyes on me, hen. Want - ah - want ye lookin’ at me when I make ye cum.”

It’s too intense. It always is looking into those baby blues. As if they can see right through to the most buried parts of yourself. Johnny shifts your hips up ever so slightly, the new angle bullying his head against your g-spot with each thrust. Your nails claw across his shoulder blades.

It doesn’t take long before you’re careening over the edge with him, bodies tensing against each other. Clenching down around him like a vice while you gasp for air.

“There she is. Tha’s my girl.” Johnny murmurs against your lips, still rocking into you in short, sloppy motions. Just to drag it out a little longer until you whine at the overstimulation.

You let yourself lay back to catch your breath, floating back to earth while Johnny disappears to toss the condom in the trash. He’s back nearly as fast as he left, pulling you against his chest and burying you both under the soft sheets of your bed.

“Shower?” Johnny whispers into your hair, eventually. You nod against his chest, slowly peeling yourselves apart. Your fingers remain tangled all the way to the bathroom.

He whirls you after you turn on the shower, kissing you slow and deep as you wait for the water to warm up. A warm hand splash across your lower back - keeping you close. You’re left breathless when he finally pulls back, pupils blown so wide in the low evening light that you can hardly see the blue of his eyes.

You sigh to yourself as you step into the shower, grateful that you splurged on the apartment with the especially large bathroom. It definitely wasn’t with Johnny in mind. You’d never make your decisions based around such a nebulous relationship.

Not the size of your bathroom - enough to fit both your wide frame and his broad shoulders.

Not the location of your apartment - only a few blocks from his.

Not keeping his favorite snacks stocked at all times just in case he comes home early.

Not referring to your apartment as his home.

“Lean down a bit.” You smile, pouring a glob of shampoo into your hand for him. Johnny’s always been picky about his hair care. You always make sure it’s on hand in your bathroom.

He does the same for you, of course, when he can, but somehow you both always end up at your place instead. Not that you’d ever complain. You like your place. It’s safe. Warm. A cocoon away from all the parts of the world that have scarred you so deeply.

Johnny groans happily as you scratch his scalp, the quality shampoo cleaning far more deeply than any of that standard issue stuff he gets on deployment ever could. You watch the suds slowly drip down over the lines of his back, breath catching as your eyes settle on a nasty, raised patch of skin you hadn’t seen before.

It looks like a chunk got ripped out of his back, right under his ribs.

“Johnny.” You gasp.

“Hm?” He looks over his shoulder at you, brows raising as he realizes what you’re looking at. “Oh tha’? It’s nothin’. Just go’ a bit knocked around, remember?”

You bite your lip, tamping down the rising fear in your gut. “D-does it hurt?”

“I’m fine, lovie.” Johnny turns, giving you that sparkling, million dollar grin. He knows it scares you, shakes you to the core.

You’ve already lost everyone else in your life, having the ever present threat of losing Johnny as well is too much to handle sometimes. It keeps you up at night, when he’s away, imagining all the worst that could happen to him.

How easy it would be for a simple bullet or knife to shatter your world.

That’s why the two of you keep up this little arrangement. This song and dance at arms length. To spare you. Both of you. Either when he doesn’t come back or you break and run.

You won’t run, though. As much as it hurts, the good is too good to give up. You’ll stay through it all, with just enough distance to keep your sanity.

“Ye with me?” Johnny asks gently, slowly pulling you out of your thoughts and back into the moment.

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry. Long week.” You lie, leaning up on your tip toes to plant a small kiss in the corner of his mouth.

He hums, turning to meet your lips. You let yourself fall into him, fingers running through the hair on his chest, up to the back of his neck. He just feels right under your hands. Perfectly molded to press up against you - hard muscle to balance out the softness of your body. Angles and curves. Push and pull. Sun and moon.

Holy hell, you’ve become a sap.

“Sit.” You point to the chair you drug into the bathroom and Johnny happily plops down - big, fluffy towels tied around your chest and waist respectively. A content smile settles across his face as you slowly work your way across his scalp with the electric razor. You let your fingers to scrape along after you just the way he likes.

When you were young, you watched your mother cut your fathers hair. It seemed so subservient to you. Shameful, almost. You said you’d die before doing that for any man.

You carefully raise each section of his mo-hawk, cutting it down to the exact length Johnny likes to style it. A little on the short side, actually, so that it has time to grow before looking messy. Shearing the sides and taking extra care around his ears. He doesn’t need any more nicks or scars.

Johnny suddenly looks pensive as he watches you in the mirror - carefully taking in each of your movements.

“You’re worrying.” You murmur.

“I-“ He sighs. “It’s nothin’.”

“Johnny.” You level your gaze on his in the mirror, he looks off to the side.

“I’m just- I cannae-“ He sighs. “I miss ye.”

You snort. “I’m right here.”

Johnny shrugs. For once, he stops talking. You hate when he does. It’s the only true hallmark that something is wrong.

“Johnny-“

“Do ye want tae hear a new Ghost joke?” He interrupts. It’s an out. You’ll let him have it.

“Lay it on me.”

“Whit’s the difference between the bird flu and the swine flue?”

“What?”

“One requires tweetment an’ the other requires oinkment.”

A huffy laugh escapes you despite yourself. “That’s terrible.”

“Aye. Imagine listenin’ tae that in a life or death situation. Could be the last thing I hear!”

You giggle, finishing up with shaping the edges of his hairline. “How is it?”

Johnny stands, leaning close to the mirror and running a hand over his hair. Your eyes lock onto that newly forming scar again. It makes your throat feel tight.

He stretches his arms way over his head with a groan. “Think it’s time f’some proper lazin’ about.”

The rest of the night goes by as they usually do when he gets home. Indian take out, a romcom in the background, another round of fucking. Or two. It’s near eleven when you finally settle into the sheets, Johnny long asleep beside you. Comfortably snoring with that angelic peacefulness you only ever see in his sleep.

Will he look that peaceful if he dies?

The thought makes you want to throw up.

It takes all your mental fortitude to push that train of thought away. Opting to lay beside him, eyes flicking across his features as you attempt to memorize them all. The curve of his strong brow, the arch of his nose, the slight part in his lips as he sleeps. Your thumb traces the scar on his chin while you cup his cheek. As if sensing your current state - and, if you’re honest with yourself, you’re sure he can - a strong arm wraps around you to lock you against his chest. You let your legs tangle, breathing him in and following the pattern of the rise and fall of his chest. Real and tangible under your hands.

You’re just so glad that, at least right now, he’s home.

[wynnyfryd]

let’s get experimental, baby

1.9k | E | gratuitous f/f steddie smut | ao3

(written for @steddie-week and cross-posting here for @mrsjellymunson pspsps)

“Are you insane? I can’t just—!” “Yes, you can!” Robin runs her hand down her face, tugging at the skin, clearly done with the conversation. “For the last time, she literally winked and gave me her number and said, and I quote, ‘pass that along to your little lost sheepie.’” “Oh, gross.” “I know. This whole thing is gross for me, honestly, so just— ugh. Just shut up and call her. God, I’m such a good friend.”

“Just shut up and call her,” Stevie mocks under her breath, goosebumps pebbling her skin as she wraps her arms around herself and waits for someone to answer the door. The tank top and running shorts made sense when she left the dorm earlier to play frisbee, but now, with the stars peeking out behind thick clouds and a humid breeze rolling in, she feels a little exposed. Underdressed. Inappropriate, the echo of her mom’s voice chastises in her head. Just a sunburned, silly straight girl, shivering on a stranger’s doorstep with her tits spilling out of her sports bra. Oh, god, she should uncross her arms. She should leave, actually, because this whole thing is stupid, and she’s—

“Hey, there.” 

Eddie swings the door wide open, leaning her shoulder on the frame with an easy, inviting grin. If Stevie’s outfit is inappropriate, then Eddie’s is a downright scandal. She’s not wearing a shirt, for starters, just a tight sports bra that cuts off some tattoos and accentuates others, a riot of black ink on pale skin, soft and stark contrast sprawling over her shoulders and curling around her ribcage, snaking down her sides to slither over sharp hip bones, just visible over a pair of low-slung black sweats. 

Stevie’s mouth is so dry. “Hi,” she squeaks.

Eddie’s eyes glitter in the low light. “Oh, you’re cute.” She sounds pleased. Almost predatory. “Come on in.” 

She steps to the side, bowing a little in a sweeping gesture of welcome, and behind her, a guy with black hair down to his waist leans over the coffee table and rips an insane hit off a three-foot-tall green plastic bong and starts coughing like he might die while another guy pats his back in sympathy. 

“Oh.” Holy shit. “Um.”

Eddie follows Stevie’s gaze; barks a loud laugh and a Jesus Christ at the opaque cloud hanging in her living room. “My roommate, Argyle, and my roommate’s roommate, Jon,” she smirks. “If you can see them through the smoke.”

“You want some?” Argyle offers when he finishes coughing, already working to load another bowl. 

“I’m good.” She scrunches her nose. “Wait, your roommate’s roommate?” she asks Eddie. “But wouldn’t that make him…?” 

The guy, Jon, looks up at her and laughs, holding up air quotes as he turns his attention to Eddie, clearly repeating something he’s heard a dozen times. “Nah, ‘cause I’m ‘not on the lease, I just never leave their house.’” 

“Would you prefer I call you what you really are, huh?” Eddie narrows her eyes, playfully mean. “Snack thief? Squatter? Good for nothin’—”

“My sad boy musical stylings enrich your life, and you know it.” 

Another laugh — full volume, all teeth, her chest bouncing with it. Stevie likes how expressive she is. How free. 

“Don’t worry,” Eddie tells her, “they were just heading out.” 

—

“So, how do you want to do this?” Eddie asks after they leave; sitting side by side on the sofa, close but not quite touching, one arm draped casually over the back of the couch.

Steve tries to calm her breathing. Can’t quite manage it. “I— I was hoping you’d tell me?” 

“You were hoping I’d tell you how you want it?” Eddie teases, big, dark eyes running all over Stevie’s face. Stevie flushes bright red — stupid, stupid, oh my god. Why is she so bad at talking? Why did she even agree to this at all? “Hey,” Eddie pulls her back to the moment, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Her fingers are warm, the nails bitten short. “I’m good with that.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure.” She stretches her arms back out over the couch. “Got a lot of experience DMing, so. I don’t mind playing the narrator if that’s what you’re asking for.” 

“I don’t know what I’m asking for,” Stevie mumbles, embarrassed. She doesn’t even know what half that sentence meant, but something about Eddie’s casual confidence makes her want to learn. 

“Listen,” Eddie chews her lip. “We don’t have to do this, you know. I’m not gonna, like, pressure you or whatever, so uh, if you just want to sit here and talk, then we can—”

“No! No, it’s—” A nervous giggle bubbles up. Oh, my god. She cuts herself off with a sharp exhale, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling and her shoulders down her back and willing herself toget it the fuck together. She’s Stevie Harrington, damn it. She knows how to get laid. “I want to do this,” she says, steady and sure. And she should end it at that, but then: “You’re super hot and I want to let you do whatever you want with me, which honestly? I, like, was not expecting that reaction from myself when I agreed to this, y’know? So that’s kinda crazy — and also I don’t really know what my options are here, like I understand the anatomy, obviously, because I have the same stuff, but I don’t, um— and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or say the wrong thing or—”

God, is she Stevie Harrington? Because she’s pretty sure Robin Elizabeth Buckley just took over control of her mouth. 

Eddie’s eyes are doing the glittery thing again. “You think I’m hot?” 

Wow. “Of course that’s the only part you heard.”

“Well, sure.” She licks her teeth, smile going cocky. “You don’t highlight the whole paragraph when you’re studying for a test, do you?” You don’t?? “Do you have a safeword in mind, by the way?” 

“A what?”

Eddie makes a muted noise that sounds a lot like Robin when she sees a service dog she’s not allowed to pet. “Nevermind. You can just say stop or tell me no if you don’t like something I’m doing, mmkay?”

“Well, duh.”

“Mm.” Stevie wishes she understood what the smirk was for this time. “I’ll check in first, too, of course,” Eddie assures, tucking her chin, ringed hand splayed over her heart. “Not gonna just spring shit on you without asking.” 

Stevie’s eyes drift down to Eddie’s chest, to the black painted thumbnail nearly dipping into her cleavage. “What if I’m into that?” 

Eddie throws her head back when she laughs, curls springing free from a messy top bun. “God, you’re cute, you know that?” Her voice dips low, raspy with want as she tips Stevie’s chin up to look at her, her tongue dipping out to wet her lips. “Fuck,” she hums, “Yeah.” 

Stevie’s breath hitches. She sways closer. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm.” Ringed fingers slide into her hair, tugging just a little, sending tingles down her spine. “Real pretty, baby. You gonna let me kiss you?”

“Yeah.” 

Their noses brush. “Say please.”

“Eddie, please.”

—

Stevie’s gonna die. Like Argyle coughing up a lung in the living room earlier, only Stevie’s halfway off Eddie’s mattress with Eddie’s tongue between her legs and she’s pretty sure she’s about to snap in half like a glow stick and fucking orgasm to death. “Stop, stop-stop-stop, oh, my god!” she gasps, wriggling up the bed as another wave threatens to crash over her, her thighs shaking around Eddie’s ears, pulse throbbingagainst the two fingers buried deep inside her. 

Eddie pulls her fingers out and looks up with a feral grin. Red-faced, mouth shining, bangs frizzy with sweat and friction, she crawls her way up Stevie’s body, dragging a trail of wet, happy kisses up her heaving belly as she goes; ducking to kiss one breast and then the other before landing a featherlight kiss on the tip of Stevie’s nose. “All good, sweetheart?” 

Stevie giggles like a schoolgirl. God. She’s never felt like this before, didn’t know sex could be this bubbly. She feels like she’s high. “Yeah. Just need a second, I’m… Wow.”

“Hi Wow, I’m dad.” 

“Oh, my fucking god.” 

Eddie chuckles and bends to nip at Stevie’s jawline, hands squeezing at her waist, sliding down to her hips and back up, thumbs skimming the swell of her breasts. “Jesus Christ, the curves on you,” she mutters, breath hot and fast on Stevie’s throat. “So fucking beautiful, you know that?” Her tongue draws a wet line up to the skin just below Stevie’s ear, and she pauses to suck a bruising kiss there; makes Stevie squirm and whine, high-pitched, nasal noises that should be embarrassing. “Want to eat you out all night,” Eddie confesses in her ear. “Make you come over and over again on my tongue, on my cock—”

“Oh, my god.” 

“Yeah, baby?” She rocks her hips, shifts her weight to wedge a thigh between Stevie’s legs and grind down, firm, steady pressure that isn’t nearly enough. “You want to wrap your pretty legs around me and come all over my strap?” 

“Oh, fuck!” Her eyes fly open, something like panic as she realizes she’s about to come and not yet not without you inside me Eddie please, “I’m— holy shit, Eddie, please, I’m—”

She scrambles to clasp Eddie’s hand and drag it down her trembling body, squeezing the two sticky fingers and hoping Eddie speaks the language of “desperate cum bomb about to blow” — she’s fluent, apparently, because her eyes light up when she gets the message, and she wedges her arm between their bodies and slips her fingers through the slick mess Stevie’s making for her, rubbing over her swollen clit with her thumb as she hooks two fingers inside and says, “Fuck, yeah, baby, that’s it. Show me how badly you want to come, honey; come on, I know you want to, be good for me and come.”

Stevie’s whole body clenches, a star collapsing under its own gravity before it explodes across the cosmos, wave after wave of pleasure as she sobs out Eddie’s name. Eddie kisses her through it, tongue slipping into her mouth in rhythm with her fingers, fucking her slow and sweet and good, no one’s ever been this good before, and Stevie imagines this moment from Eddie’s point of view — how it must feel to make a pretty girl shiver and shake apart, how God must feel when he makes stardust. 

“Holy shit,” Stevie stutters on a winded laugh when she can speak, chest heaving under Eddie’s comforting weight. She kinda likes the way their boobs squish together. “That was…”

“Wow?” Eddie supplies, rolling off to lie on her back. 

“So wow,” Stevie nods. 

They catch their breath in comfortable silence for a second, and then Eddie hops up; comes back with a warm washcloth and a bottle of water. “So,” she says, dragging the damp rag over Stevie’s inner thighs, “I take it the experiment went well?” 

“Who’s experimenting?” Stevie jokes, sitting up to take a sip of her drink. “I think I’m ready to propose after that.” 

“Ha!” Eddie smacks a playful kiss to a mole just above Stevie’s knee. “Maybe dinner first.” 

“I’d like that.” 

It’s too sincere, maybe — too honest, laying all her cards face up on the table, which… historically hasn’t worked out so well for her. But she’s pretty sure the deck is in good hands this time around. Gentle hands with pretty rings and blunt black nails, and when Eddie answers her eyes shine like the night sky. “I think I’d like that, too.”

[wingedhallows]

women shouldn't curse; sirius black

pairing: marauders (sirius black; platonic - flirty) x reader | 1k words prompt: "women shouldn't curse" "get fucked" authors note: hi, i hope u like this :)

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The smoke filled your lungs, a satisfied sigh sounded from your lips. James extended his hand and demanded the bottle in your hand without a word.

You gave it to him and leant your back on the railing of the balcony. The night air caressed your cheek, a shiver made its way down your spine.

“Who was the red head you buttered up earlier?” James asked, Sirius had to chuckle. It was no secret that the young Gryffindor was adored by many, men or women.

He didn’t take up on many offers though. Sirius blew some smoke from his own cigarette and gave James a smirk. “Morrigan.” He answered. Remus had to roll his eyes, taking another sip from his drink.

“She’s been at it since last year.” Remus added, leaning back against the wall.

Lily made her way to the four of you, Marlene right behind her. You held your pack of cigarettes for the blonde girl, who took one with a small smile on her lips.

“You got another one?” She asked, her hands fumbling with Sirius’ lighter. You hummed, of course she would take notice of your newest tattoo.

“Sirius made it.” You answered. “I tatted him as well.” Marlene chuckled and took a closer look.

“God, if I had the guts to be like you.” She spoke with a smirk on her lips.

Sirius and you were very much alike, long hair, piercings, tattoos and the nonchalant demeanor. James liked to label the two of you as long lost twins. 

James, Remus and Sirius were immersed in a conversation about their next big prank, Lily and Marlene had a lot to say about their plans for the summer break, occasionally asking you questions about potential places you could visit, places to check out and what else you should be doing while you all were still so young.

You didn’t pay much attention, the day was long and your social battery was slowly but surely running out. 

“Hi there.” A boy who had placed himself next to you with a beer in hand caught your attention.

He was short, about the same height as Peter. His red hair covered his eyebrows and slightly brushed over his eyes, his teeth sat crooked in his mouth and his stained Beatles shirt didn’t do him much justice either.

“Hello.” You answered, desperate to have this conversation end right now. He didn’t think the same apparently, because he kept talking.

“It’s rare to see Slytherins attend Gryffindor parties, let alone a dashing one as you.” The compliment was fine, it wasn’t something to sweep you off your feet but it was okay. You weren’t smitten though, not even in the slightest.

“I’ve seen you around the common room the past few years and thought to myself that I’d like to take my chance with you.” Your eyebrows lifted the tiniest bit as you registered another failed attempt of flirting.

You didn’t look at him, you were turned to your friends, a clear sign for a normal person but apparently not for this guy.

“My name is Barnaby, I’m a year under you.” He said, his hand suddenly on your elbow. You let your arm fall and decided to end this as fast as possible. This was getting ridiculous.

“Listen Barnaby, I’m not really-”Hello there, who’s that?” Sirius was by your side, his hand swiftly taking his lighter out of your hand to light his next cigarette.

“Hi, my name’s Barnaby.” He tried, his eyes glowing with hatred. He didn’t like Sirius butting in on his god awful attempt of flirting with you, you thanked Sirius internally.

“We were actually talking-”Remus wants to know when the deadline for herbology is.” Sirius interrupted the tosspot. You smirked at Sirius who brushed his hand through his dark locks, his piercings glistening in the dim light.

“The fucking project’s not due till friday.” You answered, blowing some smoke for good measure. Barnaby decided to butt in again.

“Women shouldn’t curse.”

He said, loud and clear. You blinked once, twice. Sirius eyebrows raised as he looked the slime ball up and down.

“What?” Sirius asked, as his eyes narrowed and he took another drag from his cigarette.

“Women shouldn’t use such crass language, it’s unbecoming.” He tried with a shrug of his shoulders.

Sirius took a step forward, to which Barnaby took a step back, immediately intimidated.

“What a bullshit statement is that?” The tosspot took a swig from his beer and looked at you once more before he spoke.

“It’s unbecoming, it’s a shame to hear such language from a woman this pretty.” Sirius was furious by now, his jaw tightened and eyebrows raised in a daring manner.

“You know what’s unbecoming? A bloody idiot like you, looking like this, thinking you could even have a chance with a woman like Y/N. Wake up dude, not a single woman on this planet would dare lay a finger on a cunt like you.”

Barnaby was baffled, his mouth slightly open. You sprung into action and put your hand on Sirius’ shoulder. He took a step back and gave you a curt nod.

“Barnaby, dearest, I don’t think that you should ever speak your opinions on what women should or shouldn’t say. It’s unbecoming to be hit on by a boy who looks like he hasn’t showered once in his lifetime. I’m honestly insulted that you think this could’ve worked, like please get out of my face.”

You turned around, ready to leave this idiot behind with Sirius in hand.Before he walked away, you turned around again. Sirius' hand was warm in yours as you once again faced the bloody git.

“Ah, one more thing. Get fucked.”

Barnaby turned around and left you both behind with fast steps. Sirius squeezed your hand with a chuckle.

“Well done, dove. I’m proud.”

You had to chuckle as you threw your long done cigarette off the balcony.

[bella-goths-wife]

Jealousy at play

James x lost boys daughter, romantic Dimitri x lost boys daughter, father lost boys x daughter reader

Content: a vampiric patron of Dimitri’s bar gets too close to his newest bartender

Warnings: mentions of blood, obsessive behaviour, jealousy, threats of violence

“I still don’t understand why you had to walk me there” you comment with a roll of your eyes as you and Dimitri make your way to his bar, with him lingering slightly behind you to make sure to protect you from any threats from behind

“Because, little bird” Dimitri responds with a playful huff of air “I promised your grandfather that I’d make sure you’d be safe, and a pretty young girl walking alone in the dark on her way to work is definitely not safe”

“I’m not completely helpless y’know” you quip back with a sigh

“I don’t doubt it birdy” he replied with a chuckle “but your sarcastic comments won’t last very long against a supernatural being”

You don’t respond and just glare at his teasing smirk as your arms wrap around yourself to block out the crisp air that you were unfamiliar with after spending your entire life in the humid caves of Santa Carla.

“Cold?” Dimitri asked with an eyebrow piqued in interest

“No” you lie but the wind hits you in that moment and you let out a small shiver

“So you must be shivering from my pure charm then” Dimitri comments with a teasing tone

“I’m just not used to the cold” you say defensively “I’ll get used to it”

“Not before freezing to death you won’t” Dimitri comments with a teasing smile

Before you can make some kind of insulting quip back at him, you feel engulfed by warmth as he puts his suit jacket over your shoulders and lets it cover you

“You can’t-“ your about to protest but Dimitri cuts you off

“What?” He says with a shrug “I’m undead, what’s the cold gonna do to me?”

You just roll your eyes and continue to walk, but you can’t help the small smile that finds your lips.

You absent mindedly play with the necklace around your neck to calm your nervous energy, inadvertently pulling your shirt away from your collar bone slightly and showing a small tattoo off to Dimitri. It was a small bat that laid at the bottom of your collar bone.

“When did you get that done?” Dimitri asks and when you look at him with a confused face, he uses his eyes to motion to your tattoo

“Oh” you say as you subconsciously bring your fingertips to the tattoo and a memory of James holding your hand while you were tattooed forced it’s way into your mind “I got it done when I was fifteen, my ex boyfriends friends owned a tattoo shop and I’d always wanted to get one”

“Bet your dads loved that” Dimitri comments with a small smirk at the thought “what did they do when they found out?”

“Nothing” you answer with a small chuckle “my boyfriend taught me how to care for it and gave me tips on how to keep it hidden, so they never found out”

“And what happened to this boyfriend?” Dimitri asks with a teasing tone before the realisation hits him and his expression morphes into concern that he’s offended you “shit, he’s not dead is he?”

“No he’s not dead” you say in a reassuring tone before letting out a deep sigh and thinking on your next words “we just didn’t work out I guess”

“Did he break your heart?” Dimitri asks intrusively but you don’t seem to care as you nod “did he hurt you?”

“Not physically, he’d never do that” you say with a soft shake of your head “he just tried to keep me in a bad situation and I couldn’t stay just for him, same thing happened with my ex girlfriend, they both just tried to stop me from going into the real work and wanted to keep me in Santa Carla forever”

“Ex boyfriend and ex girlfriend” Dimitri says as he lets out a small whistle, trying to ease the mood as he ruffles your hair playfully “you little player”

“Shut up” you say as your roll your eyes and laugh before beginning to fix your now messed up hair

Dimitri took a moment to just admire you and how you practically glowed under the streetlights of the city and how your laugh sounded like a symphony of angels. You practically looked ethereal under the light of the moon when you smiled.

“We’re here” you point out to a distracted Dimitri as you reach the door of his bar and you wait for him to use his keys to open it up

Dimitri admires you for a few more moments in silence before using his keys to open the door.

“Want me to teach you how to make a Bloody Mary with actual blood?” He asks with a smirk and you just smile and nod in return

———————————————————————

You cringed as you poured the thick substance of blood into a glass for a patron while Dimitri watched on from his seat at the bar with an admiring smile.

You had been working at the bar for a few weeks now and in all honesty, Dimitri had no complaints. You were capable of doing the job with minimal fuss and the smell of your blood attracted vampires from all over the place to come in and have a drink, the fact he got to spend time with you was also a bonus.

But then something made Dimitri frown and his eyes narrow. He watched as a clearly newly turned vampire said something with a suggestive smile and then he only felt his annoyance deepen when he noticed that the comment had made you laugh.

He watched as the vampires eyes looked at you with lust clouded over them, from either your enchanting body or your enchanting blood.

Dimitri called you over once he noticed the vampire beginning to speak again, and you walked over to the other end of the bar to where he had positioned himself.

“You’re running low on type B” Dimitri comments as he gets up and goes behind the bar “why don’t you go get some more from the back and I’ll keep serving our customer?”

You nod as you make your way behind the bar and into the back to where you could reach the cellar. As you do this this, Dimitri turns to the vampiric customer and notices his eyes raking over your figure as you walk away.

“Pretty little thing, isn’t she?” Dimitri comments with what looks like a friendly smirk as he grabs a bottle and refills the man’s drink

“I’ll say” the man says with a crude smile “where did you get one like that?”

“I like to pick up strays, especially pretty ones” Dimitri answers with a smirk “and the smell of her blood, well it’s nothing short of delicious”

“That’s one word for it” the man responds with a laugh “been thinking about talking a bite out of her since I got here”

“That so?” Dimitri asks with a forced smile

“Yeah man, I’d do anything to take a bite out of her” the man says with a crude expression “either her neck or her ass”

“Well, there’s something you’ve got to remember” Dimitri says with a forced laugh

“What’s that?” The man asks curiously

“She’s claimed” Dimitri states as his smile drops and his expression darkens with a protective feeling clouding his chest “so I suggest you pay your tab and leave, unless of course you want me to jump over this bar and rip your throat out with my bare fangs”

The man gulps before nodding and slapping some money on the bar, he then picks his stuff up before taking off practically running out the door.

You returned seconds later as you refilled the empty bottles and looked around.

“Where’d he go?” You ask confused as you look at the empty seat

“Who knows” Dimitri says with a shrug before smirking “maybe he got intimidated by my good lucks and decided to leave”

You roll your eyes but you can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face. Dimitri notices and is reminded of maxs warnings to not become romantic with you and considers them for a brief moment before smirking and watching you laugh at his jokes

Too late max, too late

———————————————————————

Meanwhile with your fathers……

“No way” Paul exclaims at David’s suggestion as he rises from his seat in his position in the circular meeting “we are not turning our daughters ex fling into one of us”

“I wasn’t a fling” James responds with a a defensive tone

“You might as well have been” faith comments passive aggressively before sitting closer to marko when James eyes glare at her

“Why are you still here again?” James asks aggressively

“Enough” David commands with a tired tone “we wouldn’t be turning him for us, we’d be turning him to find our daughter”

“And how would he do that David?” Dwayne asks with a roll of his eyes “we’ve been looking for months, how is tasking a teenager with the same thing we’ve been doing over and over again going to change anything?”

“Because I know her” James exclaims defensively “I’ll be able to find her, and it’ll be a whole lot easier if I have the abilities that come with being a vampire”

“I know her too, I could find her if I was given the chance” faith interjects and marko gives her a nod before James spins round to face her with a sneer

“But you won’t turn, will you?” James asks with a mocking tone “it goes against your little religion”

“Shut up James” faith hisses back with a glare

“It’s because your a coward-“ James hisses back but is interrupted

“Enough you two, always arguing like children” Dwayne yells with an annoyed expression

“It’s decided” David says firmly “I’m turning him and he will get us our daughter back”

“But you can’t-“ Paul goes to protest but marko interrupts

“I think it’s a good idea” he states calmly “I don’t like the kid but he’d make a pretty decent tracker as a vampire, and it’s not like we have any more options”

Dwayne goes to protest but just sighs before nodding, admitting to the truth in his statement.

“I’ll turn you tomorrow night” David says firmly to James “it’s not an easy process, so prepare yourself”

David goes to get up but faith stops him

“Wait” she exclaims desperately “I want to be turned too”

“What for?” David questions with a raised brow

“To get her back” faith states firmly “I can’t live without her, I promise to be useful I just want to help her”

“Doesn’t that go against your precious god?” James asks mockingly and faith sends him a glare

“She’s worth more than god, I’d do anything for her” faith states firmly before her expression turns desperate and she turns to David “please David, please turn me too”

David eyes faith for a few moments before sighing

“I’ll do it” he states with an annoyed glare “but only because you tried to make her stay, you’d be dead if it wasn’t for the fact that you helped us”

Faith nods and David storms out of the room with a face like thunder after having to deal with all these childish antics.

The only thing that brings him comfort is the fact that he’s one step closer to getting you back.

He’ll get his precious daughter back to him soon, undead or alive

[kenny-the-ken]

Y O U + M E

Part 1

Soooo!!! Last nights South Park was everything I wanted but didn't know I needed!!! Kenny with his hood I mean,,, I am deceased. I'm having some serious writer's block, so please feel free to send me requests, HCs too!! I wanna get to know you all, and thanks for all the love on my previous fics. I normally hate my writing so knowing you guys like it is amazing!! This fic contains string language, angst, toxic thinking, obsession and sexual themes. ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP!! If you guys like this fic I can write more parts!! Loosely based on the Netflix show YOU!!!

Kenny hasn't been with another girl since the last time, and that was not something he wanted to repeat. That was until his eye was caught by you, and he couldn't tear his eyes away.

You were new here, family just moved to town and you had transferred to South Park High, and he was determined to know more about you.

It's not an obsession, he isn't obsessed, is he? So far he knew your name was y/n, you had moved here from the UK, so quite a far away from home, you were shy, trying your best to fit in, you were alternative in how you dressed, Kenny has already touched himself thinking about you, and he swore it was the best wank he'd ever had! It was clear to him that you were thirsty for that kind of attention, blushing as other boys talked and flirted with you, and his blood boiled, you would be his, who the fuck did these other guys think they were? How dare they even look at you in that way!

Although he didn't blame them, those short skirts, tight tops with too much cleavage and today was the day that Kenny's resolve broke, he could no longer watch from the sidelines, you were wearing the shortest shorts he'd ever seen with knee high socks and a lace bralette, no bra! God he was going insane. You had a flannel shirt tied loosely around your waist and Doc Martin boots on, and god you had tattoos! He swore you were so angelic looking it was sinful, and he knew he had to talk to you, before someone else could shoot their shot. You would be his. He was damned sure of it.

One problem though, how to approach you without creeping you out? You didn't know him, but he knew you, you were both meant for each other, you just didn't know it yet, but how to catch your attention. He'd have to think, and fast.

That was before his perverse thoughts were interrupted by the harsh ringing of the bell.

"Fuck." He muttered under his breath, slamming his locker in annoyance before making his way to English class, plopping down on his seat, lost in his own thoughts as the rest of the class filtered into the room.

He was once again distracted from his thoughts about you by the scent of your perfume, his head rising as you both met each others gaze, you smiled at him, as he gave you a gapped tooth smile back.

Trust the teacher to ruin his shot!

"Quiet class! I have a lot planned for todays lesson so let's cut to the chase, I have paired you all up for group work, you will be working in pairs! This is an analysis of the prose we have been reading, and I expect a presentation and a written essay that both of you must present to the class next week."

She turned her back, writing on the chalk board who was paired together, and Kenny swore his heart skipped a beat when he noticed he was paired with you. He's never wanted to fist bump the air so much in all his life, but he didn't want you to notice him geeking out over you.

"Please sit next to your partner and get started straight away!" You teacher said to the class, and you moved your seat beside Kenny's, you both sharing a desk.

"Hey, I'm y/n, I'm new here from the UK so sorry if some of what I say doesn't make sense, our slang is hard to forget." You laughed, and Kenny nodded.

"Most people can't understand me either." He mumbled, his hood up. Let her see your face, idiot! His brain almost screamed at him as he unzipped his coat, taking his hood down, and it didn't go unnoticed by his friends. They knew he was hot on your tail, and what Kenny wants, he gets.

Your mouth was wide as you studied your partners face, a blush on your cheeks. He was hot, his fluffy blonde hair sitting messily atop his head, his pale skin and subtle freckles and that adorable little gappy smile. Fuck! You'd only moved a week ago and already you were crushing on someone.

"I'm Kenny. We can meet at the park after school and work on our project if you're up for up it?" He offered, you would definitely be turned off if you seen how his family were and what his home was like, and he was not losing you because of his parents and their usual neglectful bullshit.

"Or you could swing by my house? I'll get us coffee and order some pizza?" You offered, twiddling your pen between your thumb and forefinger, trying to avoid direct eye contact out of fear of blushing in front of him.

"That sounds a million times better, thanks." Kenny replied, a small smile on his face, he took this opportunity to sneak a quick look at your cleavage, and he swore he could make out the shape of your hard nipples through your bralette, and were those piercings?! Fuck, what were you doing to him? Don't get hard, Jesus Christ don't get hard!

"Can I have your number? So I can send you my address?" You asked, offering him your phone to punch his number into.

And he gladly accepted, typing his number on to your phone, and while you were distracted talking to Wendy he quickly installed a tracking app on your phone, just so he could know where you were at all times, to keep you safe of course.

"There you go." Kenny replied, holding your phone out to you as you took it from him, smiling at him.

"So... tell me a little about you, Kenny?" His eyebrow quirked at your sudden question. Were you wanting to find out more about him because you were partnered with him and just being friendly? Or did you ask because you were interested in getting to know him, because he wanted to know everything there was to know about you.

"I'm eighteen, I've lived in South Park for my whole life, and I've always been known of the poorest kid of the school, thanks to Eric over there." He said, nodding his head in the direction we're the older boy sat, you could hear him laughing at his own jokes, he seemed like an ass.

"I have a brother and a younger sister, Kevin and Karen. Just a warning though, people here love to gossip, so if anyone is bothering you, let me know." Kenny said kindly, his eyes not tearing from you once, it was as if you two were the only people in the room, god how was he going to control himself when he was in your bedroom, just you two.

"So tell me a little about yourself, y/n." Kenny inquired, and he was genuinely interested, soul mates needed to know all there was about each other, and he was determined to know you, he just hoped that you'd let him.

"Um... I'm eighteen too, I'm an only child, live with my mother, but she has some... problems, y'know?" You said, and Kenny knew exactly what you meant, his parents were the crème de la crème of drug and alcohol addicts, so he knew fine and well what she meant. Maybe they moved here for a new start.

"You smoke?" He asked curiously.

"Yeah, you smoke weed?" You asked back, a small smirk on your face.

"Fuck yeah, I've dabbled with a lot of drugs, I mean, I've been exposed to them all my life." Kenny said, his eyes staring at his table, then back to you.

"I'll buy pizza and get us coffees if you bring the weed, deal?" You asked, putting your hand out to the blonde boy in front of you.

"Deal!" Kenny said, a smirk on his own face as the bell rang for the end of class.

You began packing up your things off your table and into your bag and as you bent down to grab your pen that had fallen on the floor, Kenny thought his eyes had popped fully out of his head. He stared at your ass and your thick thighs and my god how he wanted his head between them.

When you stood back up you finished packing and turned to see Kenny was waiting on you.

"If you wanna grab lunch together you can come with with me?" He asked, a small smile on his face, and boy did he hope that you said yes.

"That sounds lovely. Thanks, Kenny." You replied, throwing your back pack over your shoulder and beginning to walk out of the classroom with Kenny.

You could feel the eyes of other girls burning into the back of you as you both walked down the corridor, chatting together and making jokes as you both erupted into laughter.

Even though he was fully fixated on what you were talking about, Kenny was dazed, he was deep in thought, and it was all about you. About how your shirts hugged that perfectly round ass, how sensitive your nipples would be, what piercings would adorn them, did you have any tattoos that he couldn't see? His mind swirled.

As you both entered the cafeteria, he smiled and waved at his friends, before leading you over to introduce you.

"Guys, this is y/n m, she's new here. Y/n this is Eric, Kyle, Stan, Jimmy, Craig and Tweek." He said, pointing to each individual as he said their names, and you smiled.

"Hey guys, hopefully we can all be friends." You said, taking a seat between Kenny and Kyle.

"Kenny, how did you manage to get this pretty girl to befriend you?" Stan blurred outright, his cheeks going red as he averted both of your gazes.

"Um, we got partnered up together in English and it looks like we have a lot in common, and Kenny seems really nice." You said as the rest of the group nodded as if in sync.

"That makes sense." Kyle said to no one in particular and Kenny was in his own world again. You thought he was nice? He was making a good start, now he had to get you to fall in love with him, and he was pretty sure he knew how.

The rest of the day was pretty much standard procedure as far as Kenny was concerned, you had texted him, telling him to come over at 7pm.

So he had some free time on his hands. And he knew exactly what to do with it.

[jokenotfunny]

Revamped Rewrite of "Atychiphobia , 007" - previously :

Eddie / Steve x platonic!experiment!reader.

( i’m back freakazoids 😄😄😄)

You were born in Chicago, Illinois in 1971, living an ordinary life until strange things began to happen around you. Every time you were upset, objects would burst into flames or fly across the room. Your parents, overwhelmed and out of answers after countless calls, doctor’s appointments, (and even a few visits to your local church if you know what I mean,) you were finally referred to a man named Dr. Brenner. Promising to “help,” Brenner quickly took you in.

So now, at just three years old, you found yourself under Hawkins National Laboratory’s cold lights, meeting others like you—El, (008), a friendly orderly named Peter, and

By 1983, you’d been there a grating ten years. That was also the year you and Eleven made your escape. The outside world was chaotic and overwhelming after so long inside, and soon after fleeing together, you lost each other in the forest.

Days passed, and you were exhausted, hungry, and bruised from wandering through the unfamiliar terrain. Just when you were about to give up, a strange sound cut through the trees. It was unlike anything you’d ever heard. Hypnotized, you followed the sound until you stumbled upon the edge of a trailer park.

The noise grew louder, drawing you to a boy sitting alone on a picnic table, holding a strange object in his hands—a guitar. He couldn’t have been much older than you, but his hair was wild, and his fingers plucked at the guitar strings with a confidence that made the world feel brighter for a moment.

Eddie Munson, sixteen and ever the rebel, had no plans to play quietly. When he heard footsteps, he half-expected a neighbor (probably Mrs. Nolan) coming to yell at him. Instead, he looked up to find a kid in a hospital gown, bare feet covered in dirt and a wide-eyed stare.

“Uh… hi?” he managed.

You just blinked, eyeing the guitar with both fascination and fear.

As Eddie got off the table, you tensed. Eddie noticed your flinch, the dried blood under your nose, and the cuts on your legs, reminding him of the recent news about missing kids. This wasn’t some prank—something had happened to you.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, putting his hands up. “Are you hurt? Do you need help?”

You took a step back, every instinct urging you to run. But then something howled in the distance, freezing you in place. Eddie noticed your fear and softened his tone even more.

“Let’s get inside, alright? I don’t want anyone calling the cops on us. Trust me, they’re not as helpful as you’d think.”

Inside, Eddie gave you a Van Halen shirt and some sweatpants. When you tried changing right there, he quickly stopped you, face red. “Whoa—don’t do that! I mean, not in front of guys you don’t know, okay?” You nodded, a little confused, as he explained and left the room.

When you finally emerged, Eddie set a slice of cold pizza in front of you and tried to get you talking. “Ever had pizza before?”

You shook your head and took a cautious bite, which Eddie watched, amazed as you practically inhaled the slice. After a while, he asked, “So… my name’s Eddie. What’s yours?”

You pointed at your wrist, showing the number tattooed there. “007.”

“Like… James Bond?” He joked, but your blank stare told him you didn’t know what he was talking about. When you pointed at yourself and repeated, “Me,” Eddie got the hint and softened.

“Well, we can work with that. Maybe we call you ‘Seven’ or ‘Van’—you know, like Van Halen! Or maybe ‘Ozzy’?” You nodded, and Eddie laughed, feeling like he was finally getting somewhere.

The next morning, Eddie woke up to find you sitting on the floor, plucking at his guitar’s strings. Normally, he’d have a meltdown seeing anyone handle his guitar, but he could tell you didn’t know any better. When he asked if you liked it, you quickly dropped the guitar and apologized.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Eddie reassured, showing you how to hold it and strum without snapping the strings. You asked him to play “the one from last night,” so he played Black Sabbath’s *Children of the Grave*, the song that had drawn you to him.

Eddie spent the next few days teaching you guitar basics and introducing you to all his favorite bands. You especially liked Sabbath and Ozzy Osbourne’s wild stories, and you loved when he’d crank up the music and start dancing around. “This is *metal*,” he said, grinning as he showed you the classic devil horns hand gesture.

You copied him, saying, “Metal!” which made Eddie laugh, thrilled that you were opening up. He even took you to Main Street once, disguising you with a baseball cap and oversized sunglasses.

But things changed when his uncle, Wayne, came home early. He wasn’t thrilled to find Eddie skipping school, even less thrilled to find a strange girl in his clothes, sitting at the table and listening to him explain D&D.

“Hey, Ed, can we talk?”

Wayne pulled Eddie into the other room, leaving you nervously listening as their voices rose. Eddie tried to explain, but his uncle didn’t want to hear it.

“If something’s wrong, you call the police. What if they think you kidnapped her, Eddie?”

“No way! She’s a kid—she *needed* help!”

The argument kept escalating until Wayne threw his hands up in frustration. You reacted instinctively, raising your hand and sending him flying into the wall. When the dust settled, Eddie was staring at you, stunned, and Wayne was slumped against the wall, wide-eyed.

“I didn’t mean to—I thought he was going to hurt you! I’m sorry!” you shouted, panicking. Before either of them could say anything, you ran out of the trailer, vanishing into the night.

Days passed with no sign of you. Eddie searched everywhere after school, but it was like you’d disappeared. He would’ve thought he’d imagined the whole thing if not for the dent in the wall and the silence hanging over the house since you left.

Two weeks later, Eddie was in his room retuning his guitar when Wayne knocked on the door.

“Hey Ed, i’m about to head out , try not to stay up too late, alright?”

See, Wayne had been informed my Mrs. Nolan, one early afternoon when he arrived back home, that after he would leave for work at night, his nephew would leave the trailer before trailing into the woods for hours at a time. sometimes not until the early hours of the morning.

Which lead to another argument between the two munson men. Shouts of "she's a nosy bitch, who should worry about what her husband does at night instead of my shit!" and "Watch your mouth! If she wasn't watching, what would i do if you went missing too, one night, huh?!"

After that Eddie stopped going out at night, and he also didn't talk much, unless spoken to by Wayne first.

“Okay. Have a good night.” Eddie said monotonously, not looking up from his guitar.

“Oh! and uh, I ran into Garrett from the photo shop. Said these were yours.”

Wayne tossed him a manila envelope, before taking his leave. After a few minutes of back and forth glances at the thing, he finally picked it up out if curiosity.

Inside was a single photo: you and Eddie at the general store, doing the metal sign with your tongues out, smiling.

Eddie’s eyes widened in shock, his breath stuttering a bit. He had proof now—not to show anyone, but proof that you were real, that he hadn’t imagined his “coolest kid ever.” He quickly scribbled “Eddie & Van, Nov. 1983” on the back of the picture and pinned it next to his guitar.

He didn’t know if he’d ever see you again, but at least now he’d have a memory.

It would be three more years before you crossed paths again.

But that’s a story for another time.

[missybee-writes]

Shadow in the Dark: Chapter Two - Munson Magic

Genre: Sci-fi; Romance; Horror

Warnings: (eventual) sexual content; violence; gore; swearing; alcohol and drug use.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!OC

Summary

In July ‘85, an ambitious realtor sells the crumbling Creel house to a family looking for a new start.

Rose McAllister may be living in a grand and gothic murder house in a small Midwest town, but senior year in high school is the stuff of her nightmares: a last chance at a normal school year without being the odd one out, the sick girl, the weirdo from across the pond. Blend in, make it through the year, and make some friends. Stay unnoticed at all costs.

Hawkins, and one seriously loud-mouthed metalhead, is about to flip that carefully laid plan Upside Down.

Chapter one: Cursed

Ao3 link

---

Chapter Two: Munson Magic

Rose

“It’s the most hellish day of your life,” the words trip off Eddie’s tongue with all the gravitas of a stage actor, his eyes peeping over the demon-painted dungeon master’s screen, boring into her soul. “You’ve been betrayed, abandoned, and left to face danger alone. You have one move remaining; a last gambit. What do you do, Rose? Do you take the potion of invisibility and hide from your enemies, or do you face the dragon Iymrith in its lair, ready to face your demise?”

Fight or flight. Be invisible, or show herself and take on her demons. This first Dungeons and Dragons campaign perfectly mirrored her first day at Hawkins High, and probably her whole life. There was something comfortable about being unnoticed, until you realised no one missed your presence at all. The irony of this choice was not lost on Rose.

She’d stumbled into the lair of Hellfire after school three hours ago, finding herself drawn into a campaign with six very intense, very passionate teenage boys in matching shirts. A party of adventurers, led by a manic, charismatic rocker. He could have been obnoxious with his loud personality, impassioned rants, and a decent-sized ego, but somehow he wasn’t. He was kind, with the prettiest eyes she had ever seen. God, no, she couldn’t be thinking about his eyes right now. Or his lips. Or the glimpse of tattoos on the skin of his forearms, or the ...shit . Compose yourself, McAllister.

Gareth and Mike were talking at a thousand miles an hour about hit points and odds of success as she pulled herself together. The guys were on the edge of their seats, waiting for her next move, each one of them already killed by the dragon; the hopes of the party lay upon her shoulders. Her skin prickled beneath the itchy wool of her mum’s cardigan, far too hot and stuffy for the warm September night. Be brave , she told herself. Take out the sword .

“I take the potion,” she said, defeated. “I drain the glass vial in one gulp, and seek refuge in the thick brambles of the forest. If the ice dragon can’t see me, it can’t kill me, right?”

Eddie gave her time to sweat, ignoring the debate of the Hellfire members in the background. “You sure, Lady Thorn?”

God, it really was warm in here. Rose’s hand toyed with the dice. “Yes, but...maybe...agh. I’m starting to worry that my big, completely unexpected entrance tonight has you thinking i’m brave and cool and capable of slaying a dragon. You’re probably thinking i’m Eowyn, Lady of Rohan, wielding swords and kicking arse, and about to punch the Witch-king of Angmar in the bollocks.”

Gareth, who had taken an ill-timed sip from his can of coke, sprayed it back over the table, choking and coughing until Jeff and Chris both slapped him on the back, just a little too hard.

Eddie didn’t even notice, he was staring like she was on fire, lips parted a little bit. “You read Tolkien?”

Rose didn’t hear him; she was mid-ramble, so hot and flushed she had to pull the cardigan off her head clumsily and scrunch it into a ball in her lap. “I’ve built myself up to be a shieldmaiden, but the truth is, i’m just a hobbit. I want to sit by the fire in Bag End, with a nice cup of tea and a book. So maybe I should just take the potion and run from Iymrith.”

“That didn’t work out so well for Frodo, did it?” Dustin finally broke his silence. “When he wore the One Ring he wasn’t exactly invisible, and it led to him being stabbed by the Morgul-knife, carried by the Witch-king of Angmar himself. You might wanna hide, Rose, but the fight has come to you.”

“Henderson speaks wisely,” Eddie admitted begrudgingly. “The time for self-doubt is over, sweetheart. Iymrith the dragon waits for no woman - be she shieldmaiden or hobbit. His wings beat overhead, stirring the canopy of leaves in the forest. He spies your fiery dark red hair in the tree cover, and takes aim.”

Rose panicked. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit...I prize Mike’s single-handed sword from his dead, cold grip and raise it toward the dragon.”

“ Yes , I knew you had it in you,” Gareth choked out, his voice still croaky. “Take the bastard down.”

“But it's madness!” Jeff was spiralling, hyperventilating and shaking his fist. “You can’t just wield a single-handed blade against a dragon with most of its hit points remaining.”

“Jeff’s right, the physics of it would never work,” Dustin agreed, wielding his pencil like a sword. “But we don’t traverse the Forgotten Realms to debate physics, my friends. We do it in the name of adventure. We do it to be heroes!”

The cluttered drama room was buzzing with cheers and applause; Rose lurched to her feet, clutching the edge of the wooden table with her hands. She had no idea what she was doing, but she felt like the moment demanded dramatics.

“I pull back my arm, and launch the sword into the air like a javelin, in the path of the dragon.”

She looked up expectantly at Eddie. He passed the d20, and they all held their breath as she rolled in onto the table. It bounced and clattered, settling on seventeen.

“That’s high, that’s a high number, really high” she babbled. “Did it work?”

“Hold on,” Mike added. “The chances of a random sword hitting the dragon and doing anything other than bouncing off or giving it a little cut is tiny . The DM would have set a ridiculously high target, like 19 or 20. It’s what I would have done.”

Their current DM looked down at a mass of paper and notes behind his demon-painted screen.  He let them sweat, face inscrutable, leaning back in his wooden carved throne. “Kid Wheeler is correct. I’m sorry, Lady Thorn, your sword swings in a parabola through the air, skittering off the dragon’s back.”

“Motherfucker,” Rose groaned and slapped the table, earning a slightly startled look from the younger guys. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jeff says, deflated. “Eddie’s campaigns are sadistic. It’s amazing you even made it to the end alone, especially playing as a nymph. They’re kind of useless, with no-”

“Hold on a minute, did I look like I was finished?” Eddie interrupted. “Cool it for a second. The sword glances off the dragon’s back, but as the blade strikes its scales something flickers...you see a disturbance, and instead of a leathery wing, a humanoid shape takes its place. A humanoid with tentacles coming from its head. Its skin is purple-grey, and covered in a film of mucus, from eating brains!”

“Aw, man, this can’t be happening,” Dustin panicked, pacing around his side of the table. “It’s a goddamned illusion. It wasn’t Iymrith after all.”

“What?” Rose cried out, way too loud.”

“I think Mike’s sword was spelled. It broke an illusion. But that means...” Gareth trailed off.

Dustin sighed heavily. “It’s a Mindflayer.”

“Fuck off!” Mike cried reflexively. “We cannot be doing this again, man. It’s been two months.”

Chris’ mouth gaped open. “Did you guys have a Mindflayer campaign over the summer, or something?”

“Or something alright,” Dustin said, serious as the grave.

Tension quietened the table. They looked at each other over the goblet and flickering candles, working out the consequences of this development. And Rose, as usual, had no bloody clue what was going on, only an instinct to let it play out naturally.

“Wait, this is good news, gentlemen - and lady.” Eddie added quickly. “The Mindflayer is working in your characters’ minds. All your characters are still alive, under the creature’s spell. If the odds are with you, you might just be able to break free and slay it. And thus, the baby-campaign continues next week.“

“Thank the gods,” Jeff sighed. “I’m too attached to my spellcaster to give him up.”

Eddie looked over at her, puppy dog eyes watching her every move, manic energy dialled right down, strangely vulnerable. “ So. That’s the whole Dungeons and Dragons thing. What did you...uh...was it good? I mean, did you enjoy it?”

She couldn’t keep the grin off her face. “Did I enjoy it? That was fucking brilliant. I know my nymph was essentially useless when we had to fight, but I did it...I stood up to the forces of evil; I wasn’t just a hobbit, I was a warrior like Eowyn. I just wished I had been better and actually slain the dragon. Not very impressive, am I...”

They rushed to correct her, all talking at once. “Hold on,” Gareth said loudest. “I saw you humiliate Carver and his letterman assholes within minutes of arriving at school, not just making fun of him personally but undermining the stupid masculine sports-thing, attacking the very pillar of his masculinity. You are totally impressive.”

The Hellfire members were laughing, looking at her in a new light.

“What?” Eddie blustered, head swivelling to look at them all. “What? Where? What? How the fuck did I miss that?”

Gareth shrugged. “This is what happens when you get detention in O’Donnell’s class for ranting about the rigidity of a reading list, man. You miss the best moment of the school year so far. I’ve never seen so many jocks scratch their heads at once.”

Rose snorted with laughter very inelegantly, and flushed red with embarrassment. “It was just like that gorilla impression Eddie did in the cafeteria today.”

Eddie gawped even wider. “You saw me, sweetheart? And here I thought the mouthbreathers juggling their big bouncy balls were the only spectators. Damn. Damn . I am speechless. Words have failed me. And there is never a moment when I don’t have something to say.”

“Clearly not that speechless. You’re still talking,” Jeff mumbed.

Eddie folded his arms over his chest, showing off tattoos, lit by the candles and spotlights. Bats. Intriguing.

“So you liked it?” He asked again. As she glanced at the others, she wondered how many new members they really took on. Six guys, most of whom seemed to know each other well. Admittedly not the type to sit at the top of the food chain in a school environment. Not a single girl amongst them.

“Liked it?” She put her hand to her chest. “I feel like I've just fought off the hordes of hell itself. My heart is racing.”

Eddie’s eyes dropped to her chest; her laughter died on her lips, as realised what she felt beneath the palm of her hand. Not the scratchy cardigan stolen from her mum this morning - that was dropped to the floor, forgotten in the throes of battle - but instead skin, with a ridge of twisted scar tissue snaking up the middle of her sternum, ending halfway to her collarbones. Shit .

She looked down, and picked up the cardigan, holding it up to her chest, but the nervous looks on their faces told her everything she’d needed to know. They’d already seen it.

“Hey,” Eddie said, soft as velvet. “You don’t need to...uh...hide yourself or anything. And I don’t just mean the badass scar, I mean... you , y’know? We’re the freaks, sweetheart. I was a little worried that this apparently perfect girl had stumbled in here, and we were gonna find out you were a preppy asshole, or something. Which you are not, by the way. Very cool. Very unique.”

Rose dipped her head, her face flushing hot. She dropped the cardigan, mustering up the courage to say something, anything. 

“This is totally unfair,” Dustin burst out, lighthearted and smiling. “Look at you, showing off your collarbones and everything. I don’t even have collarbones. Watch this...”

He flexed his shoulders forward, and they moved at an unnatural angle and almost met at his front, to the surprise of the older guys.

“Cleidocranial dysplasia,” he grinned, metal-clad teeth on display. “Had a few missing teeth, too, but these babies are new. Look out, sophomore year, Dustin Henderson is going to have a full set of teeth. I’ll be unstoppable.”

He did a little tiger-like roar, and it was the lamest, most brilliant thing Rose had ever heard in her life. She collapsed with laughter, holding her aching sides.

“I’ve seen this act more times than I can count,” Mike grumbled like an old man. “It gets old.”

Eddie was beaming at the head of the table at his little freak show. “That is metal, Henderson. Very metal. How about you, princess? How’d you get the battle scar?” His eyes widened and he made a goofy gesture with his arms. “You don’t have to talk about it, not if you don’t want to. Not an order, not that I even can order you, though i’d kinda like...i’d kinda like to shut up now.”

Rose’s head ducked down, and pulled a thread from the cardigan in her lap absentmindedly. “I was born with a congenital heart defect. Everything was fine until I was thirteen, then it wasn’t fine. I’d go blue in the lips and get breathless. They kept me in hospital for almost a year, told me I had a very small chance of survival because the deformity was so rare, they didn’t even have treatment for it yet. Between thirteen and sixteen I was in and out of hospital more than school.”

“That must have been tough,” Mike said quietly, his quiet demeanour and hidden empathy surprising for a boy of fourteen. “My girlfriend missed a lot of school too, for...uh...similar reasons. It was really hard for her to make friends.”

“You find out who your true friends are when things get really bad,” Rose admitted bitterly. “They dropped off one by one. When I was well enough to go to school they weren't mean or anything, but they weren’t really friends any more either. By the time I was sixteen the hospital had developed a very experimental surgery. Cracked me open like a lobster, gave me this beautiful scar, and - despite the bit in the middle where I died on the table - I woke up, and felt...normal. OK, I was shit for a few months, but then I was normal as any person with a heart condition can be. They fixed up the old ticker and sent me on my way.”

“Hold on...you DIED?” Eddie’s strangled voice echoed across the prop room. “Like, heart stopped? Clinically dead?”

“Yep. For quite a long time. It was a miracle that they resuscitated me, actually. I don’t remember anything. No alternate dimensions, no grey purgatory, no light at the end of a tunnel. Just a feeling of weightlessness, like I was floating in water, no sight or sound. Then I was coming around in the ward, off my head on morphine.”

“That is fucking intense, McAllister. That’s goes beyond metal, that’s...that’s fucking magical.”

“Doesn’t feel magical,” Rose glanced down at herself. The scar was the width and length of a pencil; two years had seen it fade from angry red to a pinkish silver, still standing out from the creamy pale skin. When she looked in the mirror it was all she could see, despite her mother’s words of encouragement, telling her to wear it with pride.

“Scars are fucking cool. Look, I pay to get stabbed with needles so I can have something half as cool as that. See?” Eddie dragged down the collar of his shirt; her eyes trailed down his neck - oh my god, his neck - to more ink scratched across his skin, a figure she couldn’t make out, obscured beneath a guitar pick necklace.

“Did they hurt?” She asked tentatively.

“These babies? Not really. More like a very intense tickle. Except when it went over bone, then I was crying like a little girl. Weeping, snotty, begging for mercy, the whole deal.”

Eddie was a lot . Leather chains at his wrist and on his jeans, demon on his shirt, attitude bordering on obnoxious when it came to the jocks in the cafeteria. Yet Rose could see that in the privacy of the drama room he was goofy, patient, utterly enthusiastic, and possibly even a little bit vulnerable. It was almost enough to give her whiplash.

“I thought a dungeon master would be made of sterner stuff.” She teased.

His grin was brighter than the stage lights in the background. “Oh yeah? You haven’t seen what a DM can really do, sweetheart. Next semester's next campaign is going to be mind blowing. My best yet. If you...uh...I haven’t had time to talk to the guys about this, but do you wanna stick around for it, maybe?”

Rose looked at her watch. It was nearly seven; hours had blown by, her mood totally transformed since the incident in the locker room almost four hours ago. “I don’t think I can, my mum is probably outside waiting for me.”

Eddie grabbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I kind of meant next time. We meet on Fridays, same time, same place. If you want to. No pressure; like Gareth said before, hanging out with Hellfire isn’t exactly a fast track to popularity or an easy life around here.”

“You want me to come back? Really?”

“Hellfire has had girls before, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jeff explained. “But not since Ronnie graduated in ‘84. I don’t mind.”

Gareth was also enthusiastic. “If you can voice the female characters we come across on our travels, I'm totally in. It’s not been the same since my voice dropped at the end of freshman year.”

“This is so exciting,” Dustin gushed. “We’re gonna have to create a character for you. We can run you through classes, alignments, preferred weaponry...the possibilities are endless! We could even meet at lunch or in the library or something, to flesh you out before next week’s session.”

Mike snapped his fingers. “As long as it brings balance to the party, right? I’m a paladin, that’s like a knight. Jeff’s a spellcaster, Chris a fighter, Dustin’s a bard...Lucas - you’ll meet him next week - is a ranger. We are really in need of a cleric, though. We haven’t had one since our friend Will the Wise moved to California.”

Rose was trying to piece it all together, but it was a lot of new information. “What do clerics do?”

“They heal,” Eddie said, fidgeting in his seat. “Clerics are conduits of otherworldly power. I can kind of see it, but it’s a little...predictable.”

“Predictable?”

Eddie kept her on edge, gaze sweeping over her, nodding to himself.  He leaned so close she could smell cigarettes, Old Spice, and something musky, uniquely man . Her throat went dry.

“You are anything but predictable, McAllister. You survived death; you’re probably told you should forget it, move on, pretend it didn’t happen. That shit stays with you, but you can take charge of it. Own it. You know, I can see you as a necromancer.”

It was like Eddie Munson, freak, dungeon master, could see right into her mess of a mind. Plucked out her greatest fear and twisted into a strength. 

Dustin took in a shocked breath. “Oooh, that is so perfect. You survived death, and now you raise others from the dead to do your bidding. Liches - or necromancers, same thing - are kinda evil though, and they are not usually part of the adventurers party. And I would have pegged you as chaotic good.”

“Chaotic neutral,” Eddie mused, holding onto his chin. “You’re good most of the time, but you can also be very bad if you want to be.”

He was trying to kill her, wasn't he? Finish off the job, heart beating overtime.

Her lips tugged upward into a reluctant smile. “I like it. I think I really like it. But my Tolkien metaphors are going to be completely confused. I’m a hobbit by nature, I want to be Eowyn of Rohan, but i’m really Sauron the Necromancer himself? Can I even play with you if I'm evil?”

“Eh, we’ll work on it.” Eddie breezed over it, chin propped up on his hands. “I am all powerful after all. Might have to make some adjustments to the upcoming campaign, but I think it's going to work out in the end.”

The clickety-clack of footsteps echoed down the distant hall. “Rose?” A very familiar voice called out. 

“Shit,” Rose launched out of her seat. “I have to go, that’s my mum.”

Eddie looked resigned. “I get it. Parentals will be scared of the princess hanging out with the freaky cultists, huh?”

Rose barked out a sharp laugh, scrambling over to the costume rack, looking for the leather satchel she threw dramatically into the corner on entering the room this afternoon. “That’s a low roll and a miss, dungeon master. She may look like an English librarian, but...you’re the Fellowship, she’s the Balrog.”

“Balrog,” Eddie echoed, leaping over to help Rose. “Scary, Flame of Udun, lurks beneath mountains. Got it.”

“Rosebud, are you here? Is everything alright? ” Her mother called out, voice drawing closer with each step.

Eddie popped up from the costume pile with a satchel in his hand and a curious look on his face. “Rosebud, huh? Cute.”

Oh wonderful, now he knew her humiliating childhood nickname. She snatched the bag from him, and paused, desperate to say something funny, something smooth, or at least something memorable before she left. Instead, she went beetroot red and mumbled incoherently. 

“Huh?” Eddie squinted.

Okay, charisma is lacking. Honesty might have to do.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely, to Eddie and all the guys all watching behind him. “This could have been a really bad day, but thanks to you, it was bloody lovely.”

“Rose!”

“The Balrog calls,” she paused at the door, taking one last look at the Hellfire boys over her shoulder. “Wish me luck.”

---

Eddie

“Uh...gentlemen?” Eddie asked, hands running through his hair. “Did I concuss myself under that table, or did that whole session really just happen?”

The prop room was somehow smaller, darker now that she had gone. If it wasn’t for the extra chair squished to the right of his throne, and the incredibly unusual stillness of the six guys behind him, Eddie Munson would swear he just experienced a three-hour fever dream. 

“I like her,” Henderson’s first to break the silence, throwing out his chipper verdict on the freaking angel that just upended Hellfire. “She was neat.”

“ Neat ?” Eddie wheeled around, revved up, no outlet for his thousand-mile-an-hour thoughts. Crap, he needed to dial it down a notch. “Yeah, neat. A little raw, but a lot of potential.”

They were laser-focused on him, but he couldn’t afford to scare the freshmen off now, not when Hellfire had two, three if you counted Sinclair, recruits who were really fucking into the game. 

Worthy apprentices, at last. Kids who could carry Hellfire forward and make sure it didn’t die next year, with only Gareth left. Cause, goddamn it, Eddie had gone through his last first day at the monkey house that was Hawkins High. There was no fourth shot at senior year, not when he’d be turning twenty in the spring, and the school board wouldn’t allow an adult over twenty to re-enroll. Three strikes and you’re out, Munson. Off the bench, out of the team, and a dozen other tired sports metaphors his old man would have used if he were here.

Gareth, Jeff and Chris were being weird. Quiet. Still . Watching Eddie as he packed up the DM’s board and pieces, gathering up his story notes and scoring sheets with a gentle tap, tap, tap of all the papers, fitting them inside the box neatly. The maps were a little smudged from Gareth spitting out all that coke, but he could let them dry out by the overworked little space heater in the trailer tonight, and trace fresh new ones this weekend.

“Well?” He snapped. “Are you gonna help pack up, or sit there like a bunch of drooling cave trolls?”

The rest of the guys were waiting for something to happen, but it was Gareth who broke first. He raised a single mocking eyebrow. “So are you planning a spring wedding? Or wanna cut to the chase, and ask her to elope to Vegas? I can see you in an Elvis jumpsuit.”

Eddie fidgeted, rings tapping against the table, mouth twitching. Keep it together.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Gareth,” he denied casually, shrugging on his leather jacket and battle vest. Armour donned, shields up, ready to deny, deny, deny. “If you really don’t want her to join we can work something out, but I think she’s like us...I think she needs this.”

More raised eyebrows from the older guys. 

A girl called out; Eddie’s heart skipped, but it was merely Wheeler’s big sister, the prissy one who ran the paper. Dustin and Mike threw together their stuff in record time, completely whipped by the voice in the hall.

“That’s Nancy,” Mike explained. “See you guys on Monday.”

“Great campaign, Dungeon Master,” Dustin saluted him at the door, over his ‘Thinking Cap’ , before disappearing into the night.

They really were good kids. It had only been three weeks since he spotted Dustin roaming the cafeteria in his Weird Al shirt, scoping the tables and cliques who sat at them, searching for his own place in the school ecosystem. Eddie had offered them shelter at the freak table, sensing kindred spirits. There was something about Dustin and Mike, they completely owned their nerdiness, in a mature way freshman Eddie had definitely lacked. Lucas was different; sure, he was great at D&D and clearly had a tight friendship with the other freshies, but he was a little less comfortable owning it. He’d watch the jocks table with envy, wince every time someone threw a joke or an insult Hellfire’s way. 

Gareth, Jeff and Chris? They’d been playing together for years. Greatest friends he had in Hawkins, or at all , now that his childhood best friend Ronnie was in the Big Apple, her book smarts earning her a place at NYU after their first senior year. Her Granny Ecker still lived in the trailer behind Eddie and his Uncle Wayne’s. They were stuck together like magnets once, but now their polarity was reversed, distance growing with each phone call; Ronnie talking about law school and all the excitement of living in Brooklyn, Eddie chiming in every now and then with a new campaign plan, the latest class he was failing, the same old crap she had left behind a year and a half ago. Poles apart. Damn, he must have paid attention in Mr Kaminski’s physics class to remember that shit. Either that, or Henderson’s insanely smart brain was rubbing off after barely a month.

But Gareth, Jeff and Chris weren’t just Hellfire, they were Corroded Coffin too. Hours at Hellfire and even more hours practising in Gareth’s garage brought them pretty close, close enough for Eddie to know they were not going to let this go, not without giving him shit about it.

Chris shook his head. “ I couldn’t pull off what you just did in a hundred years. Talking to girls one on one is...kind of my kryptonite. How do you do it, man?”

“Do what, huh?” He fired back quickly. “Make a new potential member welcome to the group?”

Gareth chuckled mercilessly, dropping his voice to imitate Eddie. “You’re good most of the time, but you can also be very bad if you want to be... I don’t recall you saying that stuff to Wheeler or Henderson, or any of us when we joined. And you definitely didn’t call us fairer than the sunrise over the Greypeak mountains .”

Eddie placed the D&D box gently back on the table, and his composure broke. He collapsed forward onto his forearms, shaggy hair shielding him from his friends and their judgement. Hidden, he could give voice to the chaotic new thoughts swirling in his already-chaotic brain. 

“Shit. Jesus H. Christ. I came on too strong. I came on too strong, right? Did I just make myself out to be a grade-A asshole? I...uh...I know i’m lacking an off switch most of the time, but was it too much? Was I bad?”

Gareth wouldn’t let it lie. His face was smug - okay, Eddie couldn’t actually see his face, but he could feel it in his voice, in his friend's aura. “Bad at what ? Say it, Eds. Come on.”

Eddie burrowed deeper into the table, voice muffled beneath all that hair. “Perhaps, maybe, it could be possible that I like the fair maiden Rose. In a...more than platonic way.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Gareth said, matter-of-fact. “It was obvious.”

Eddie sighed like it was the end of the world. “Let me just crawl away and die. Better yet, put me out of my misery, crack me over the head with that goblet. Lights out, goodnight. Nice to have known you. Jeff, you can have my Warlock. Chris, I bequeath to you my tapes and posters. Gareth, you little shit, you get nothing, not even the dirty magazines under my bed. Bury me in my battle vest. Wayne will have to make peace with my untimely death.”

“This is dramatic, even for you,” Chris gave his verdict. “It’s just a girl. I’ve seen you talk to girls before, after gigs and stuff.”

Just a girl. Sure. Just a girl whose smile lit up the room like the fourth of fucking July, fireworks spinning in his head, fizzing in his ears. Who used Lord of the Rings analogies to adorably find her place in the world. A girl who laughed at Dustin’s goofy jokes, threw herself into D&D without judgement or hesitation, totally giving herself over to the adventure. A girl who wasn’t cheerleader-pretty, but timelessly beautiful, like she should be in a fancy laced-up gown on the cover of Granny Ecker’s historical romance novels, the ones that always seemed to have a shirtless guy wearing a kilt. 

He didn’t just have butterflies in his stomach, it was like a horde of winged demons were trying to claw their way out. Brain not yet caught up, body trying to give him a warning. Girls like that don’t wind up with Eddie the Freak, resident of Hawkins’ finest trailer park, the friendly neighbourhood drug dealer. 

Gareth turned to Chris. “So how lame was he, on a scale of one to ten?”

“I thought it was kind of suave,” Chris replied, shrugging on his own leather jacket. “Like James Bond.”

“Oh, come on! Double-oh-seven has a little less verbal diarrhoea than our DM. And far cooler cars and gadgets.”

They bickered back and forth as Eddie waded in his own misery, replaying the whole campaign and how she’d reacted to it. She was nervous, yeah, but she got into it. Great improv skills.

“She likes you back, by the way.” Jeff added nonchalantly. 

Eddie’s head snapped up. “Oh, right, cause you can read minds now.”

Jeff kicked Eddie under the table. “I have three sisters, so yeah, I have insider intel into the female species. She looked at you like Tara looks at Michael Jackson when Thriller comes on MTV.”

Chris’s mouth drops open. “Ew, like the werewolf part? I guess Eddie has a lot of hair.”

“No, dude,” Jeff replies. “The normal part with the girlfriend at the movies, before he turns. Okay, after he turns too. Women are a complicated species, Chris. They’re into all sorts of weird stuff.”

A switch had fried in Eddie’s brain. “Which means?”

“Weird stuff? Like vampires and-”

“No, Jeff!” Eddie launched out off the table and grabbed him by the shoulders. “The look your sister has for Michael Jackson. What does the look mean?!”

Jeff gritted his teeth, like it physically pained him to talk about his irritating older sister, who he heard just moved to college somewhere in Georgia. “It means Rose was all blushing and smiling, hung on your every word. I’m not saying she’s crushing on you, but she isn’t not crushing on you, if you know what i’m saying.”

She didn’t not like him. That’s only one step away from actually liking him. And liking him was just one step away from a hangout, a date, maybe even move in for a kiss - and now all he could picture was her lips. Seriously good lips. Full, cupid’s bow, beauty mark near the corner of her mouth. So pretty when she smiled. Hope flared his heart, like those electric paddle-thingys had just jolted him back to life.

“I knew it,” Eddie said.

Gareth wasn’t convinced. “Weren’t you just doubting yourself?”

“Munson magic,” Eddie ignored him, swooping round the table, Reeboks tapping on the linoleum, moving to the music in his own heart. “Eddie the Bard worked on his charisma for so long, it had to pay off eventually. Ability off the charts...I got it, man. I got the Munson magic.”

Jeff stepped out of his way and almost tripped, looking over at the costume rack in the corner. “There’s something i’ve got to tell you, but first you have to promise any of this isn’t going to make Hellfire weird.”

Eddie crossed his fingers over his heart. “I will not bring girl drama to Hellfire. I promise on my wicked, hellbound soul. Now tell me!”

Jeff tipped his chin toward something in the pink taffeta dress dominating the costume rack, a chunky silver rectangle, with a cord snaking out the top. “Cinderella left her slipper behind. You might wanna give it back to her on Monday, Prince Charming.”

Eddie gasped dramatically, hand slapped to his chest. “A walkman. Rose’s walkman.”

He was over there in a shot, tripping over the costumes, slamming onto his knees by the precious object. He picked it up gingerly; there was nothing remarkable about the lump of plastic, nothing to tell him more about its owner. But what lay inside tempted him beyond belief. He clicked the button, popped open the top of the cassette holder, and inspected its contents. There were no printed stickers on the black cassette tape, only the faint shadow of a permanent marker on the clear part: Study mix.

“Holy shit, it's a mixtape,” he half-squealed at the guys. He felt like a prospector striking gold, nuggets sparkling in his hands. Scraps of information, carefully chosen slices of her mind for him to study. An introduction to the music that makes her tick. And music was the heart of everything, a window into the mind.

“You know who gives out mixtapes? Boyfriends.” Gareth, that goddamn contrarian, said sarcastically.

Eddie pointed at him, skull ring sparking in the light of the now-stubby melting candles. “That’s it, you're out Emerson. Expelled from Hellfire.”

Gareth spread his arms wide, face scrunched up and ready for a fight. “What the fuck? You just said-”

“I’m kidding, i’m kidding,” Eddie interrupted quickly, “Besides, she’s just moved, she knows nobody. I don’t think it's a boyfriend. If she has one back in England...well that would suck, but long distance doesn’t exactly work out for most people, does it?”

“Real classy, Munson,” Gareth shot back.

“Cool it, Gareth. I just wanna talk to her some more, get to know her. No need to invent drama that doesn’t exist.”

“Whatever,” Gareth shrugged. “Are you still okay to give me a ride home?”

“Of course, man. Gotta pay you back for using your garage as our practice room. I need your opinion on some potential W.A.S.P covers for our next set at The Hideout, we can talk about it on the way home.”

That perked Gareth right up. Eddie might have new apprentices, but Gareth was the first freshman he’d sheltered under his tattooed, scrawny wing when Carver and his jock squad singled him out for a beating a couple of years ago. Hobbits have got to stick together, and when they fought together, there was nothing they couldn’t take on, be it a cave troll, Jason Carver, or the disdain and fear of the entire small-minded town.

Still, Eddie slipped the walkman into the pocket of his jacket, and every now and then he would slip his hand in and touch it, just to make sure it wasn’t a fever dream after all.

---

Forest Hills Trailer Park was never quiet, not even on a Friday night. Eddie’s van skittered into the makeshift parking space by the trailer he shared with Uncle Wayne; the whirring engine and glam metal notes of W.A.S.P disappeared as he cut off the engine, and the dusky September night was filled with dogs barking, a screaming match between the couple in the RV round the corner, and a dog chained up somewhere near the forest edge. God knows it wasn’t the finely manicured neighbourhood of Loch Nora, or even the more modest single storey ranch homes that made up most of Hawkins, but it was home.

Eddie launched up the steps and flapped open the door, humming Love Child under his breath and tapping it on his thigh. His battle vest and jacket were thrown onto the wall hook, and he made a quick sweep of the fridge; the remains of the tuna casserole Granny Ecker brought over on Monday were looking a little sad and dried, and Eddie could not be bothered to cook up the eggs and bacon. He grabbed a can of Miller Lite and an apple, and slammed the door shut.

“Now I know your momma didn’t raise you to be a savage, Eddie Munson. Softer next time, please.” A southern drawl came from the corner of the room.

“Holy fuck!” Eddie’s arms flailed about, catching the Miller Lite mid air and dropping the apple on the patterned carpet.

“She didn’t teach you to cuss, neither,” Uncle Wayne muttered from his recliner chair, peering over the paper, lit by a cosy lamp. The trailer was so busy with mugs and hats Wayne had picked up on the road in his truck driver days that he went unnoticed amongst the clutter.

“You’re scaring the life outta me, Uncle Wayne,” Eddie laughed nervously. “It’s Friday, shouldn’t you be at the plant?”

Wayne watched the apple roll across the floor, scooping down to pick it up when it got close. “I swapped shifts with Carl so he can see his granddaughter’s ballet recital next week. Taking a Tuesday shift instead. I was gonna head out to the country bar in Carterville with a couple of old buddies but they came down with the stomach flu, so you’ll have to put up with your old uncle tonight.”

“You’re...uh...you’re no trouble Uncle Wayne. It’s me that you’ve gotta put up with.” Eddie said glumly, catching sight of the pullout bed in the corner of the living room. “I can go out for a while if you want some peace.”

That pullout bed was a squishy, metal-framed reminder that his uncle had given up his bedroom and his freedom full time after the incident a couple of years ago that led to Eddie’s childhood home going up in flames, and his ex-con of a father - okay, definitely still a con - fleeing town. Even before then, when his dad was in the drunk tank or on a bender somewhere Eddie would be left alone for days or weeks, rescued by Uncle Wayne and taken back to the unlikely safe haven of the trailer park for a while. His uncle's unconditional love and endless patience got Eddie through a clusterfuck of a childhood. He’d never be able to thank him enough for it. Guilt remained, even after he started dealing to bring in some money to help keep the dilapidated home together, and ensure he could pay for his own clothes and van, lifting some of the burden of raising a kid you didn’t even ask for.

“Hey now,” Wayne dropped his paper on the side table and fixed Eddie with a serious look. “I ain’t trying to drive you out. Trailers’ not exactly a palace, but there’s enough room for the two of us. There somethin’ on your mind, son?”

Uncle Wayne motioned for Eddie to sit on the couch next to him, so he kicked off his Reeboks and collapsed in the seat, cracking open the Miller Lite and reclining in silence as he took the first foamy hit of it, yeasty and soothing on his tongue. His uncle lit up a Marlboro Red, tip flaring orange red in the dim trailer.

“Do you think i’m like Dad?” Eddie said, looking absentmindedly at the ceiling with its numerous water and tobacco stains.

He hummed thoughtfully. “What makes you ask?”

“I don’t know, I just...I’ve been thinking about him lately. The way he is with people. He’s an asshole, goes without saying. But he’s got that charm about him, something people are drawn to. I guess I think I had something similar, but I don’t want to be like him. I don’t want to hurt people the way he does.”

“Ed,” Wayne says softly, leaning on the arm of his chair. “Al Munson might be able to charm the birds from the trees, but it's a shallow kind of charming. Scrubs off real quick, and by the time people realise what my brother’s truly like, he’s split town and left behind a trail of gambling debts and broken hearts. That included you and your momma more than once, bless her soul. You might have his charm, Eddie, but yours ain’t shallow. It runs deep,” Wayne smiled a crooked smile, etched deep into his weathered skin. “Plus, Al had a receding hairline, and you’ve got a hell of a head of hair. Needs a cut, though. Startin’ to look like a shaggy dog.”

Eddie bit back a smile, touched more than he could say. “Don’t mess with the hair. I’m like Samson, it holds all my power.”

“No, son. That’s all in here,” Wayne taps the space on his plaid-covered chest, right over his heart. 

Eddie dips his head. “Don’t go soft on me, old man.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He sipped his beer, sitting quiet and peaceful as Wayne put on some Western on the little TV by the door. Gunslingers chased each other across the desert, or ran after a runaway train, Eddie wasn’t really focused on movie detail, instead just basking in quiet, comfortable companionship. Wayne asked nothing of him, and that was what made him want to open up.

“There’s a girl,” Eddie ventured, twisting the metal can around in his hands. 

“Is that so?”

“It’s nothing. Stupid, really. But it’s got me thinking about dad, and life and repeating senior year, and...everything.”

“That’s heavy.”

“Yup,” Eddie agreed, draining the can in one last swig.

Wayne cleared his throat politely. “You gonna be bringing this girl around sometime?”

“Woah, hit the brakes, Uncle Wayne. I’ve only known her for about three hours. It was a good three hours though, you should have seen me. I was smooth. She said I made her first day in American high school bloody lovely. ”

Wayne twisted around to face Eddie. “Your girl. She new in town, moved over from England by any chance?”

“How’d you guess?”

A dark shadow passed over his uncle’s face, mouth pressed into a line, eyes narrowed. “Her stepdad is Jerry Gruber, we used to run around in the same group as kids. You’d remember him, he used to head up the engineering office for the plant, left back in ‘81 to work for the Department for Energy. Got himself a job in Europe after that, and a wife and stepdaughter too. Came back last month.”

Eddie’s brows creased; she’d spoken about a stepdad, but he didn’t clock the name at the time. “Yeah, that fits. She said as much.”

“Listen,” Wayne leaned in, voice deep and rumbling. “Jerry bought the old Creel house on Morehead. He’s more foolish than I ever thought...that place ain’t right, Eddie. The only thing that came outta the Creel place is pure evil, and Hawkins ain’t a normal town, no matter how everybody here turns a blind eye to things. I don’t care if you’re sweet on this girl, promise you won’t go there.”

Jesus H. Christ. That place was notorious in Hawkins, a genuine murder house boarded up for years after some gruesome shit went down when he was a little kid. Every middle schooler had been dared to go up to that place and face the ghosts inside, Eddie included. But all that demonic stuff was bullshit. Nothing there but empty rooms, broken glass, and a metric fuck ton of dust. He didn’t even know the place had been sold. He tried to imagine Rose living in a gothic murder mansion, and came up short.

“Have you found my stash, or something? You’re not making sense, unc-”

Wayne grabbed his wrist. “Promise me, son. Promise me you won’t go to that fuckin’ house.”

Wayne didn’t cuss, and he was not physical, not even when Eddie was at his worst. “Alright, Uncle Wayne. I won’t.”

“You mean it?” “I swear on my Warlock,” he added quickly, raising his free hand up, palm splayed wide. “That place is straight out of a slasher movie. No desire to go there.”

“Good,” Wayne gruffed, as he let go. “I’m sorry, son. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Eddie rubbed his wrist. The man’s grip was surprisingly strong, but then he did manual labour at the plant, not some cosy office job. “Don’t sweat it.”

“And Eddie, don’t get caught up in your head with the girl. A bit of that Munson magic does a whole lotta good, son, when it's coming from you . Don’t let anybody tell you that you’re not good enough. Including yourself.”

Eddie scoffed and zoned back in on the TV, cogs whirring like overtime; his uncle had gone back to the paper, totally normal. That was weird...Wayne wasn’t superstitious. He’d probably watched a few too many horror movies. It was nearly that time of year; Halloween coming up, tacky plastic decorations in the window of Melvald’s General Store, leaves crispy and golden. Something in the air, maybe.

An orchestra swelled as the shootout in the western movie reached its peak. The rogue gunslinger got the bad guy, and something about the music clicked in his brain; he’d almost forgotten about the walkman tucked in his jacket. 

Eddie pushed to his feet and crushed the beer can, tossing it in the trash can with a clatter. He padded over to the coat hook, socked feet slipping on the kitchen lino, eager hands pulling the walkman out of the jacket pocket, tapping his fingers against the plastic.

“I gotta go study,” he explained to Wayne. 

His uncle’s face had never looked so confused. “Homework on a Friday night. Are you sick again, comin’ down with a fever? We ain’t got no tylenol, but I can go out to the seven-eleven and get some.”

“I’m sick alright. But the diagnosis is looking good, Uncle Wayne.”

Wayne gawped. “What the hell are you studying, biology?”

He grabbed another beer on the way to his room, shutting the refrigerator door softly this time, little headphones and walkman clutched tight to his chest. He gave his uncle a classic Eddie wild grin. “Music 101: Intro to Fair Maidens.”

[melpomenelamusa]

Pity Party Pt. 1 - Chimeras

~Original story~

Previous

CW: Lady whumpee, lady whumper, pet whump, exhibition, electrocution, shock collar, physical abuse, blood and injury.

A couple of weeks passed. Fidi still hadn't gotten completely used to Tigri's company, but she enjoyed it. The boy was funny and witty, and allowed her to get a little joy and novelty into her monotonous and boring life.

Unlike her, Tigri didn't think twice before showing his discontent with Madame Lavenza's requests, either through his expressions (rolling his eyes or pouting) or muttering curses under his breath whenever he had the chance, which in many cases got him into trouble and punishment.

The only time he seemed to put a pause on his little war against the millionaire woman was when, one day, she gave him a pair of glasses. They weren't like typical glasses, because instead of temples, they had a strap that went around the head, more like goggles.

"I'm nearsighted," Tigri explained to Fidi, reunited again in the boy's room to chat and hang out. “As you can tell by my ears, I can't wear regular glasses. My parents had a hard time getting the ones I had before. I lost them when I was kidnapped; but I'm glad to have them back with me. I was fed up with not being able to see well from a distance.”

Although Tigri used to be defiant and brave in Fidi's presence, the girl knew that deep down he was the one who was more scared. And she didn't blame him. It hadn't been just once when Fidi found him curled up in some corner of the mansion, trying to hide his swollen and wet eyes or the marks on his body left by whatever punishment Madame Lavenza had decided to give him that time.

"I'm fine," he would say, always. "We´ll escape from here and then we'll remember these moments and laugh."

Fidi wanted to think that would be the case.

That day, during breakfast, Madame Lavenza informed them that they were going to a special event.

"I was invited to a cocktail party, which will have a pet exhibition as a show. All you have to do is stay still and quiet and look pretty for the public. Some people might even want to touch you or take pictures with you. Do whatever people want, but don't embarrass me.”

The woman looked back at her phone before waving them off.

“I’m busy. Someone will bring you your clothes later. We’ll leave at four.”

Shortly after noon, a maid brought the outfit Fidi would wear to her room for the event. It was a short, tight-fitting green dress made of stretchy, light-reflecting fabric. Fidi couldn’t help but think that it was an extremely boring and ungraceful garment, made only to make her uncomfortable and to highlight the non-existent curves of her body. The shoes were transparent stilettos, which the girl didn’t know how she would be able to bear for however long the exhibition would last.

When she got dressed and looked in the mirror, she could only compare herself to a green bean pod. Her completely uncovered arms and legs revealed her scales, which cast small pearly sparkles in the light.

After the stylist in charge finished with her make-up, Fidi went out into the hall. There she met Tigri. The boy was wearing gold leather pants and a long-sleeved, see-through shirt, which perfectly showed off the dark skin underneath. Fidi could also notice for the first time the black stripes that covered the boy's back, like tattoos.

"Nice... stripes," she said.

"Nice scales, I guess."

They remained in an awkward silence, waiting for Madame Lavenza to finish getting ready.

"Be honest with me," Tigri said, almost whispering so only Fidi could hear. "How horrible will it be?"

"I'm not going to lie to you," the girl replied. Her feet were already starting to hurt just standing. "It might be horrible. But it will pass. It always does."

The vehicle arrived and Madame Lavenza gave the order to leave. The journey, as always, was silent. Fidi watched through the tinted car window most of the time, only stealing a few glances at Tigri, whose head rested on Madame Lavenza's lap, while the woman ran her spider-like fingers through the boy's orange curls. From his expression and the way his tail moved, it was clear that he was uncomfortable and nervous.

They arrived at a huge white building that resembled a box and walked forward. There were already many people inside. Scattered around the room were small circular platforms, where the chimera children would stay for the duration of the exhibition. Fidi had already been to a couple of similar events before and knew how they worked. It was like going to a museum to see statues, except that these ones breathed and felt and didn't want to be there.

The girl looked around the guests and the other chimera children present, looking for a pair of long, golden ears; but she didn't find them. She spotted Fredrik near the bar chatting with another man, but found no trace of the rabbit girl. She didn't know whether to feel relief or fear. Truth be told, she hated seeing Neli attend these kinds of events. She hated seeing the disgusting looks men gave her or the hands that dared to touch her body without her consent.

Maybe it's best that she's not here, Fidi thought.

The exhibition began and went on as normal. Fidi just had to stay still on her little platform and look pretty. Maybe it was because of her yellow eyes and her permanently vertical pupil, her face as pale as a corpse and her skinny body, but usually, people didn't stop for long in front of her. There was always the sick man who always made unpleasant comments about her appearance or vulgar insinuations, but at least Fidi never worried about harassment. She supposed that in such cases it was worth taking Madame Lavenza's words into account and considering herself an "exotic beauty."

She couldn't say the same for Tigri. His platform was a little further behind her, so she couldn't see him; but she could hear some murmurs and noticed how large groups of people gathered in that direction. Whether he took it well or badly, it seemed that Tigri was proving quite popular.

The minutes passed extremely slowly. Fidi's feet were killing her because of her heels, feeling as if she had stakes in the soles of her feet, and she couldn't wait for the moment when she could return to the mansion and fall into bed.

It was then that she heard the scream.

A woman screamed, and then more followed, along with the murmur of several frightened and surprised people. Fidi couldn't help but turn around immediately, and what she saw gave her goosebumps: There was a woman on the ground, the one who had screamed first. Her right arm was streaked with four bloody lines. And in front of her, still on his platform, was Tigri, breathing heavily. The fingers of the boy's right hand were stained with blood.

"Make way!" a voice shouted, and a trio of security guards began to push people aside. One of them pointed a gun at Tigri. "Hands up!" he ordered.

Tigri didn't do anything. Maybe no one else saw it, but it was then that Fidi noticed: the boy's wide, unfocused eyes, his chest rising and falling frantically, his hands and shoulders shaking...

"I said hands up!"

Fidi moved. Her feet pricked her with thousands of needles with each step, but she didn't care, and ran until she was between Tigri and the gun.

"Don't shoot!" she screamed. Her voice came out shriller than usual, revealing her distress. "Please don't shoot, he's having a panic attack!"

Her words seemed to have some effect, as the guard lowered his gun slightly. The girl didn't waste a second then turning to her partner, who was on the verge of hyperventilating.

"Tigri, listen to me, breathe with me. 1, 2, 3..."

Fidi inhaled deeply, counting from one to three before exhaling and repeating the next combo. Tigri tried to follow the girl's instructions, and although her breathing was still unstable and her whole body seemed to want to collapse, he inhaled and exhaled with her until his breathing was acquiring a more normal rhythm.

"Good, good, like that," said the girl. She was beginning to feel some relief when suddenly a strong electric current ran through her body. Fidi let out a scream and fell to her knees on the floor.

"Fidi!" Tigri shouted, trying to reach her.

"One more move and I'll turn up the voltage!"

Fidi didn't have to see to recognize the voice, approaching along with the particular clicking of heels. Nor did she need to look up to know that she would find herself facing the angry face of Madame Lavenza.

"You are an insolent animal," she heard her say furiously.

"This is all your fault, you fucking bitch!" Tigri replied.

Fidi observed the scene, feeling her heart in her throat. This was not good at all, and everything seemed to indicate that it was not going to end well for anyone.

Madame Lavenza raised her eyebrows and twisted her swollen lips in an expression of complete indignation.

"You're going to pay for this!" she exclaimed.

Tigri hunched his back and spread his arms. His curved fingers revealed his sharp claws. Madame Lavenza took a step forward; but instead of going towards the tiger boy, she turned towards the snake girl and without warning kicked her in the face.

Fidi fell to the ground from the force of the impact. A thread of saliva and blood slid from the corner of her lips down her chin and her tongue filled with a metallic taste. Before she could do anything else, the woman grabbed her hair and slammed her head into the tiled floor. Pain exploded in the girl's temple, whose gaze became blurred for a few moments. The fingers left her hair, but the relief was short-lived, because a few seconds later another current of electricity made her writhe and scream on the floor.

"Leave her alone!" Tigri demanded. His voice sounded desperate.

"You'll have to ask me in a nicer way, kitty," Madame Lavenza said in a sing-song tone.

Once again electricity shot through Fidi's body. The girl didn't even know if she was screaming, because her ears only picked up the pounding of her pulse and the crying of her muscles and organs. Her throat burned and her mouth tasted of blood.

Tigri said something again, but the girl couldn't make out the words. Out of sheer instinct, Fidi stretched out her arms, crawling to try to get away, her body sliding pitifully across the smooth tiled floor. She didn't get very far before something thin and painful dug into the middle of her back, preventing her from moving forward.

A voice spoke over her head, mocking. Again someone pulled her hair and began to drag her in the opposite direction. The friction hurt the skin on the girl's legs, who was too weak to try to stand up or fight to free herself from the grip. She tried to open her eyes, which had apparently been held tightly shut, but she could barely make out amorphous blobs sailing across her field of vision.

It was then that someone pushed her head and her face slammed into something hard. The thing shattered into pieces. Fidi felt tiny cuts begin to burn on her face and blood trickle down and mix with the tears on her skin. The hand holding her head released it and Fidi fell to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The instant her skull collided with the ground her consciousness faded away.

Next

Taglist: @scoundrelwithboba @morning-star-whump @lancedoncrimsonwings @3-2-whump @whumped-by-glitter @string-of-broken-hearts

I really like this chapter, sorry Fidi qwq The next chapter will be this same event, but from Tigri's pov. Thank you so much for reading! Take a little star ⭐

[siilvan]

OC File: Emiel "Nightfall" Scholten de Ridder

uh y'all want another oc bio? my boy? my son? petra's "little" brother? mini's husband in some universes?

as per petra's post... thank you to my mutuals with their wonderful ocs and everyone who gave support for petra, it's genuinely giving me the confidence that i've desperately lacked despite making ocs since i was 11 years old 😭

profile art to come soon, men are hard to draw 👻

very long post BTC (again)...

again, credit to cptnprice for the file!!

GENERAL

Name: Emiel "Nightfall" Scholten de Ridder II

Nicknames/Aliases: Nightfall, Night, "The Reaper", Stalker-5, STAR 1, Jonkie (by Mylène)

Rank: Sergeant

Gender: Male

Birth Date: September 17, 1993

Nationality: Dutch

Affiliations: Royal Netherlands Army, Korps Commandotroepen, Coalition (Warcom), Task Force 141, SpecGru

Birthplace: Rotterdam, Netherlands

Current Residence: The Hague, Netherlands

APPEARANCE

Hair Color: Dark Brown

Eye Color: Green

Height: 6'4" (1.93 m)

Weight: 220 lbs (100 kg)

Build: Athletic (Big. Slutty waist.)

Blood Type: O-

Marks: Arm tattoos (pictured below), scar across face (think smth similar to Adler's scar), scarring around left wrist, black prosthetic left hand

Faceclaim: Wouter Peelen

DETAILS

Sexuality: Bisexual (no preference king)

Languages: Dutch (native), English (C2), German (C1), Russian (B1), Arabic (B2)

Education: Intelligence Studies BA from the University of Amsterdam

Preferred Hairstyles: Keeps it decently short and manageable pre-MWII, lets it grow out to shoulder length after (it gets curly <3)

Preferred Mission Attire: Usually wears stylized combat fatigues (think Reaper Ghost or SC), also wears normal long-sleeved shirts, jeans, cargos, hoodies, or t-shirts depending on the weather. Wears black 99% of the time, occasionally blue or white. The most key part of his outfit: mask. Almost always is wearing at least a half mask, often wears a balaclava or full-face mask (think Io or Atom). Typically wears a hood if he's got a mask on, too. Winter Soldier-Stitch (Black Ops) vibes.

Preferred Civilian Attire: Like his sister, very casual. Jeans typically, with plain t-shirts, henleys, flannels. Wears hoodies, bomber jackets, leather jackets, anything to keep him cozy. Again, wears black 99% of the time. Occasionally brown, blue, green, or white. Likes layering, simultaneously looks put-together and disheveled.

Favorite Color: Black, Ultramarine (iykyk)

Favorite Flower: Marigold

PERSONALITY

Myers-Briggs Type: INFJ-T. Introverted, intuitive, feeling, judging, and turbulent. Night prefers to make a difference and seek fulfillment in quieter ways, like hobbies with no "goal" or work that can go uncredited. He strives to prove himself via helping others, often shouldering burdens that others shy away from for the sake of getting things done without forcing those around him to suffer discomfort. Insight, passion, altruism, and principled tendencies often conflict with defensiveness, stubbornness, perfectionism, and forgoing his beliefs and values for the sake of the "greater good."

FAMILY

Father: Colonel Hendrik "Chimera" Scholten de Ridder. Former KCT commander and military legend-turned terrorist. (deceased)

Mother: Johanna Scholten de Ridder (née van den Bos). Former MEDINT analyst for the BVD and MID. (deceased)

Sister: Lieutenant Mylène "Petra" Scholten de Ridder. KCT operative and one of the commanding officers of TF141; MEDINT and chemical warfare expert. The two keep in contact despite the covert nature of Night's assignments.

Uncle: Unnamed paternal uncle. Father's younger brother, civilian military engineer. Lost his life in a terrorist attack in the mid-1990s. (deceased)

Aunt: Special Agent Merel "Songbird" van den Bos. Mother's older sister, former agent for the BVD and MID. Specialist in foreign relations and espionage. May or may not be living in the USA and married to Frank Woods (spoiler: she is).

Grandfather: General Emiel Scholten de Ridder. Paternal grandfather, former commander of the Royal Netherlands Army. Yes, he's named after him. (deceased)

SKILLS

Fighting Style: Adaptable, but prefers to avoid direct fights. Studied kickboxing, Wing Chun, and Krav Maga in his youth – CQC is influenced by these.

Weapons: Can use whatever is available.

Preferred Weapons: MCPR-300 (22″ OMX-456 barrel, Corio Laz-44 V3 laser, Nilsound 90 muzzle, .300 Mag Explosive ammunition), X13 Auto, Fairbairn-Sykes fighting knife, karambit, throwing knives

Special Skills: Specializes in sniper techniques, special reconnaissance, VIP protection, prime target elimination, demolitions, and sabotage. Has passed every marksman test with flying colors; never misses a shot, even in the worst conditions. Does his best work alone and in the dark. Swift and deadly.

Hobbies: Cooking, baking, reading, sports (baseball, climbing, kickboxing, swimming, soccer), music (guitar), photography, motorcycling

Former Hobbies: Did archery in his youth. Doesn't have time for it anymore, but it should be obvious why he's a sniper now.

TRIVIA

The name Emiel can mean "to strive, excel, rival, emulating", Scholten refers to a schout (government official that handled administration of justice), and de Ridder means "the knight".

His callsign Nightfall is in reference to his preference to work in the dark – both literally and figuratively. It's also a play on the phrase "lights out", since his work is best described as "putting people to sleep." (Because he's an assassin-type. Get it?)

Took interest in guitar shortly after he turned six, right before his mom died. He didn't play for years after her death, but decided to pick it up again as a young adult.

Greatly resembles his father and the other men on his paternal side. He's been described as having his mother's eyes and some of her "softer" features, though. Absolutely built like a brick wall.

Jokes about having a lot of experience, has slept with maybe 3 people in his entire life – and, none since his capture in 2017. He's willing to date, but is incredibly reserved after that incident. He desperately needs someone who can ground him.

Much like his sister, he skipped a year in primary school, which is why he graduated at 17 despite attending a VWO school.

His prosthetic hand is primarily made of titanium! It's also detachable so, yes, he will throw it at someone when they ask him to give them a hand with something.

Can and will sleep whenever and wherever is available. It's not uncommon to find him dozing off in a corner, on a couch, or even on top of a wall that he's scaled. He never sleeps hard, so it's easy to wake him up.

Is a very occasional smoker. Petra hounds him over it, so he only smokes when he's not at risk of getting caught by her. He's very health-conscious, otherwise!

TATTOOS

source 1 source 2

Tattoo One (Right Arm) A full sleeve blackwork tattoo with sun, celestial, and water themes. The sun is often seen as a symbol of life, light, warmth, power, positivity, and clarity. The celestials of the night sky can represent the unknown, mystery, the unconscious mind, and one's own deepest thoughts, desires, and fears. It can also be seen as an introspective and reflective symbol. Water, similarly to the sun, is seen as a universal representation of life, with other symbols including depth, ephemerality, sadness, purification, hope, and rejuvenation.

Tattoo Two (Left Shoulder) A compass, much like his sister! The symbolism is fairly obvious, no? Guidance, direction, the interconnected nature of every direction. The compass can serve as a reminder that one is free to choose the course of their life, or to help them find the path again after losing their way. It can also be seen as a symbol of awakening and self discovery for these very same reasons.

BACKGROUND

⋆ CW: themes of child abuse, torture, violence, and overall mary sue levels of tragedy

Born on September 17, 1993 in the city of Rotterdam, Netherlands, to Hendrik Scholten de Ridder and Johanna Scholten de Ridder, Emiel had a normal – if not privileged, thanks to his family's prominent histories – early childhood. From birth, he had a close relationship with his older sister, Mylène, who he quickly came to rely on for guidance and support.

In the late fall of 1999, when Emiel was only 6 years old, his mother was killed by enemies of his father originally seeking to hold her and the children hostage for ransom. This event, paired with the traumas he sustained over his years in the military, drove his father to "near insanity" as he became consumed with paranoia and grief. The rest of his and his sister's adolescence was defined by the trauma of his father's abuse; he subjected the siblings to rigorous physical and psychological training in order to mold them into "perfect soldiers" and prevent any further loss.

Despite this, his father was publicly viewed as a war hero. He would often leave the two alone when he was on deployment, forcing Mylène to care for herself and Emiel with nothing more than a roof over their heads and grocery money provided. The siblings developed an unbreakable bond during this time that would extend into their adulthoods, rendering them a synergic duo both at home and in the field, with Emiel promising to repay his sister for her efforts someday.

After finishing secondary school at 17, Emiel enlisted in the Royal Netherlands Army, serving in the Regiment Huzaren van Boreel in the 11 Air Assault Brigade. He also studied at the University of Amsterdam – taking online classes – and frequently visited his sister during her time in the 400 Medical Battalion, eventually graduating with a BA in Intelligence Studies. He spent 3 years participating in air assault and armored reconnaissance operations before passing selection for the Korps Commandotroepen in 2014, wherein he was quickly recognized for his natural skills in anything covert.

Specializing in sniper techniques, prime target elimination, VIP protection, demolitions, and sabotage, Emiel established himself as an elite operative who excels in hostile areas and hazardous environments. His exceptional accuracy and uncanny proficiency when operating in the shadows eventually earned him the nickname "Nightfall".

In early 2015, Nightfall joined his sister – now a KCT lieutenant nicknamed "Petra" – Captain Price of the British SAS, and Nikolai in an unsanctioned operation to kill or capture Chimera after the latter was discovered to be a traitor. The small team managed to track the Colonel and his supporters to a base deep in the Alps, where they successfully wiped out the entire group and killed Chimera. After the mission, much like his sister, Nightfall felt indebted to Price.

From then on, he continued to carry out covert and overt operations worldwide. Sometime in the next year, Nightfall managed to wipe out an entire base of Al-Qatala soldiers in one night without a single alarm being raised. The sole survivor referred to him as "The Reaper" when describing him, as he hunted every enemy whilst cloaked in darkness. Nightfall was later awarded the Military William Order, the Bronze Lion, and the Cross of Merit for both this operation and his following work within the KCT, establishing himself – or rather, his marksmanship – as a minor legend within the elite commando corps.

Another year later, around mid-2017, however, Nightfall was assigned to a unit led by Captain Price and Petra, tasked with infiltrating and securing an Al-Qatala base located in Kastovia. He served as the team’s scout sniper and overwatch during the mission, until he lost contact with the rest of the team. When the rest of the team finally reached his location to investigate, several IEDs planted in the area went off and forced the group to retreat. Despite his sister's attempts to rescue him, Nightfall was declared dead in absentia after demolition teams failed to locate his body the following day.

In reality, Nightfall was alive, being held as a prisoner of war by Al-Qatala’s commanders. The explosions caused him to lose one of his hands and left his face scarred. For the next two and a half years, Nightfall was interrogated, tortured, and subjected to inhumane conditions while imprisoned in Eastern Europe, though he still tried to support and protect the other POWs in the prison, regardless of which side they supported or whether they were civilian or military.

About a month after the formation of Task Force 141, CIA Station Chief Kate Laswell pinpointed the location of a prison in Georgia believed to be used by Al-Qatala to hold POWs. Reconnaissance of the prison confirmed this and the identity of several of the prisoners; Nightfall was identified as one of the POWs. His sister, leading an elite KCT unit, raided the location shortly thereafter, securing the captives, Nightfall, and intel about Al-Qatala's plans.

Following his rescue and intensive recovery in the hospital, Nightfall was deployed in Verdansk alongside other Coalition operatives under Armistice, where he relentlessly worked to prove himself once more.

As a valuable ally to the 141 and a near-fabled assassin with a long list of confirmed kills and countless unconfirmed, Nightfall has pledged his life and his very conscious to his work, his only saving grace being the characteristic pitch black masks obscuring his face every time he appears in the field – on the rare occasion he's visible, that is.

[thenarryparable]

"Tangerine, sugar, honey, sweet"

sub tangerine x gn/top reader

its pretty tame I'd say just uh, SMUT

Thursday is going to kill me. Mother im sorry dont look at this. I have lost myself-

(praise k*nk, sub/dom roles, degr*dation, b*ndage...all of it)

Tangerine laid down in bed while you finished up in the shower, washing off a load of stress and anxiety from the job you, Lemon and Tangerine had done today. Taking care of Wataru with all the stupid White Death associates without a job, wanting revenge was stressful to say the least.

You turned off the shower when you were finished and told him he could go next before you got an idea. Tangerine was pretty tense, always tense. Especially when it came to even seeing you a bit naked, always scared of doing something "Wrong and immoral" as he put it.

Why not let out some of that tension?

From the job, from trying not to 'fuck anything up', let's knock out too birds with one stone.

Tangerine sat up and said "Thanks, che-" then he looked back and saw you taking off your towel, revealing the sweet body you had, the one he cherished. "On another thought, I dont need to take a fucking shower now, luv" got him.

"Why is that?" you asked. "You fucking know why you sly prick" he muttered through gritted teeth as he walked over to you, nudging you for consent before going further. "Is this okay, luv?" he whispered, clearly nervous. "Yes" you whispered back, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

He goes to wrap his hands around your waist before you grip his tie and pin him onto the bed, he looked so cute, so vulnerable this way. He didn't expect that from the weak whine and gasp you got from his filthy mouth. "Oh my, desperate are we?" he nodded.

"Why that won't fly with me love, you need some self-control before you go making a mess everywhere." you undo his tie and wrap it around his wrists, "Green light?" he nods, as you make a knot. "Now, let's get you undressed baby boy. Carefully now, don't need to mess up your suit, you look very handsome in it, so accessible as well," you say teasing the fly of his blue, pinstriped slacks that snagged onto his body so beautifully.

He whimpered, Tangerine couldn't think straight at this point. "Tangerine~" you purred as you pulled his fly down, making him twitch and tense up. "Oh baby, relax...deep breaths" you said as you stroked his thigh, pulling down his trousers.

"Oh dear, you are quite, ha...rigid to say the least" Tangerine blushed more, from embarrassment. "Now let's get the rest of this off your marvelously shaped frame, shall we?" Tangerine nodded as you unbuttoned his vest, and his shirt. Exposing all of his tattoos and scars, especially the one on his neck.

He let out a sob as you pressed a kiss against it, his shaft throbbing in pain. Even you could feel it, sore against your stomach as you held him down, his legs spread out against your exposed body and soon, his.

"You ready my sweet, Tangerine?" you asked with, a mischievous look in your eyes. "Y-yes" he choked out, as you felt at the seam of his soft boxers that were now, tight. You carefully took his cock out, him mewling as you took it into your hands.

You gave him a few gentle pumps, letting him get adjusted to the pace before remembering, lube. You slow down and stop before grabbing a small bottle of it from Tangerines dresser. "Forgot this!" you said, as Tangerine groaned.

You poured some into your hands before making your hands busy again, listening to Tangerine pant and moan as you pumped his thick cock, faster and faster. Sweet, sticky, cum leaking from his swollen cock. His breath became more and more hitched and heavy as you worked.

He arched his back as he reached his climax, spilling out white sticky liquid all over your hand. You grinned and pulled your hand away, as he had gone limp. "Good boy" you praised as you untied his wrists. "Now lets go get you cleaned up, sweetheart" you said as you took off his shirt and vest completely this time now that he's untied and helped him to the bathroom.

You took a clean rag out of the cabinet and cleaned him off. You then started a bath, he tried to refuse your care but you insisted that he'd bathe. You helped him into the warm bath and grabbed some rose-scented soap and rubbed it all over his gorgeous bare skin.

You then moved onto his soft curls and poured some coconut oil and shampoo into your hands and massaged his scalp, his head rubbing against your hands like a kitty. "Thank you, luv" his whisper sounding like a purr. "You're welcome, hun" you said as you helped him lean back and get the soap out of his hair.

"I love you" he said, as you helped him out of the tub, drying him off with a towel.

"I love you too, sweet boy" you responded, pressing a soft kiss against his cheek.

[spooky-things-au]

Chapter 5 out of 6 is done! We're almost there to be done with first episode! Happy December anyone too! :D

(Chapter is undercut)

Spooky Things

Season 1. The beginning

Episode 1. The vanishing of Ross Lynn

Chapter 5. It's up to us now

Back at "Boys n' Grills", with last costumer leaving few minutes ago, Vivana and Tom managed to give their full attention to the child.

Upon seeing him, they immediately knew something was off. The child was dirty when he arrived. But now, he was, at least, Vivana managed to clean his exposed hands and face. Tom gave the boy one extra shirt, their boss had, that now hanged over the kid's body like a dress. God, he was so small... how old was he even?

Neither of them could be sure where this little boy came from... but, if how they found him told them anything... he was starving. So right now, Vivana payed for some food, they provided to the child. Gratefully, the little kid attacked the food, quickly devouring it as if afraid it would be taken away.

"Geez." The female worker shook her head, sitting across the boy in break room. "Your parents forget to feed you? Is that why you ran away?" She asked, but the boy was still not turning away from the food. "They, uh... They hurt you?"

Still silence. Then Tom decided to take over, as he looked over the boy once more, taking a notice of his original clothes and his head... the gown. The buzz cut... he frowned.

"Are you okay?" Tom asked. "Did you go to the hospital? Were they the ones, that scared you?" He continued softly. "You got scared so much that you ran off and you wound up here... is that it so?"

The child still kept quiet. The two shared the look again, before sighing.

"Alright." Vivana said, before pulling the basket from the kid, who tried to get it back, bit Tom put his hand on the boy's. "Wait a second, I will give this back, and you can have as much as you want, I promise." 

"Maybe even some ice cream too!" Tom added, smiling down to the boy, who looked at him a bit confused.

"But you gotta answer our questions first." Vivana got kid's attention again. "We got a deal?"

The boy just stayed quiet, not saying a word, he raised his feet, hugging his knees. Tom sighed out once more. He felt terrible for this little guy... he seemed to scared and lost. It rinded him of a kicked puppy... He highly doubted he had a stable or safe home. If any home at all.

"How about we start with the easy stuff?" He smiled, sitting next to Vivana, who smiled, nodding to the idea. "My name's Thomas Jefferson. Everyone calls me Tom."

He put out a hand to the child. He just tilted his head, as if not knowing what he wanted.

"It goes like this." Vivana then joined the handshake with Tom. "My name is Vivana." She pretended to introduce herself, chuckling, before looking back to the child. "Now, it's your turn."

Tom put his hand out to mysterious boy once more. He looked between the man and hand for few second... before hesitantly reaching for it with his own, letting Tom wrap his hand around it like he previously did with Vivana.

They both smiled. They had progress.

"See. I got you." Tom said, nodding to the boy. "Don't worry. It's okay. Nice to meet you, yeah." He then turned to kids' eyes to look into them. "And you are?"

The child looked at him for a second, before turning away, still silent. Not that occurred to them they didn't even hear anything from him... not even a quiet noise... could he be mute? Vivana sighed out, great, it could be another set back. She looked the little kid over once more, before spotting something on his wrist... a small, barely noticeable tattoo. 11.

"Eleven..." She whispered to herself, gently taking kid's hand to look it over again.

"What's that?" Tom asked to the child. "Do you know what's it mean?"

Suddenly, the kid pulled his hand away, putting it inside side in, hiding the number. "No." A small, but determined voice said.

Two workers looked at him, surprised and stunned.

"Well, I'll be damned." "He speaks..."

"No?" Viviana asked once more, looking at the child. "No, what?"

He stayed quiet this time, still holding his hand close. Vivana sighed out in frustration.

"Alright." She said, standing up, the basket in her hands. "I guess no more food, then-"

Tom looked at her in shock. "Viv, you can't just-!"

"Eleven." They were suddenly cut off.

The two turned to the child, in confusion. He was looking at them with determined, but confused face. They expected him to explain it... but he didn't.

"Yeah..." Vivana said once more, looking at the kid. "What's it mean?"

He raised his hand, pointing to himself. "Eleven."

Two adults exchanged glances once more. 'I'm gonna call somebody on it' Tom silently said to Vivana, who just nodded. After he left, she stayed with the boy.

"Alright, then..."

She lowered the basket next to him again, letting him continue eating peacefully. Or, well... faster as the kid started. The young woman chuckled.

"Hey, take it easy, kid, I'm not taking that again..." She smiled to the boy.

Meanwhile, Tom sighed out, looking at the scene from outside of their ear reach. He was on the phone, calling local CPS.

"Yeah, look, all we know is that he's scared to death..." He stated into the phone. "Yeah, we both have suspension he's been abused or... kidnapped or something." He sighed out, shaking his head.

God, his heart pained for this poor child. He was so... young. Kids this age should be out, playing and learning of the world... not having to deal with... whatever this little guy has gone through. The scared look in his eyes was just... wrong.

He then sighed out again, listening to person on other side of the line. "Yeah, it'd be great if someone would come by." He finally smiled, before named the address of the place.

Jaune walked to a small makeshift wooden fort in woods. She kneeled down, pressing on the "doorbell" button. There was a small light inside, but no sound.

"Ring-a-ding-ding!" The woman sang cheerfully, before giggling lightly, when a small voice also laughed on inside. "Anybody home?"

"Password?" Riss' voice heard from inside, sending his mother into confusion for a second, before she mumbled something under her breath. A

"Um... Rada..." She tried to remember the word, before looking up. "...Radagast?"

For a second, there was silence, before a light sound of approval came from inside. "Yeah. You may enter."

Jaune opened the curtain into the fort, smiling when she saw her little boy there. Ross was looking at box of hair dye, his gray beanie to side, as he was fiddling with stroke of his blonde hair. He was recently starting to look into dying his hair, and Aaron brought him a box for him few weeks prior, but he still hasn't decided when to do it or not.

"Still thinking of it, aren't you?" She asked, sitting next to her son. "Well, my offer still stands, if you want to match for awhile still..." She chuckled lightly, giving her son a small smile.

"I know, mom, thanks..." Ross laid his head against her shoulder.

Jaune looked down at her son with a light smile, holding him close to herself.

"Well... I don't mean to break this, but..." She then reached to her pocket. "Guess what? I got off early and..." She pulled out two movie tickets, showing them to her son. "Ta-da! The Cabin in the Woods."

Ross' eyes widened, as he looked onto the two pieces of paper in his mom's hand. "I..." He looked between the tickets and his mother. "I thought I wasn't allowed to see it..!"

"Well, I changed my mind." Jaune chuckled at his surprise. "As long as you don't have nightmares for a week." She then lightly poked his nose.

"Mooom..." Thd boy whined lightly "I won't. I don't get scared like that anymore."

"Oh, yeah?" Jaune raised her eyebrow, looking down at the child. "Not even of clowns?"

"No." Ross rolled his eyes.

"What about my witch?" She lifted her hand, starting to wriggle her finger over her son's face.

"No." Ross said again, before Jaune pulled him closer to herself, as she started to lightly tickle his side, making his giggle. "Mom, stop it! I'm not five anymore!"

"But Ross Lynn..." Jaune whined, chuckling herself, not letting go of her child. "I'm going to cook you up in my-"

"Stop!" The boy laughed out once more, finally getting out of his mother's grasp. "That's so stupid..." He laughed out to himself.

And then Jaune once more pulled him into a hug.

"Mom!"

The laughter of mother and son was heard through the small patch of woods, as at the moment, it was only them in their own little world.

But that was last year.

Now, Jaune stood by the small fort, looking at it with worried look. It was empty. Just like all other places, she thought her son might have went to. He wasn't anywhere she knew he liked or could do for hiding.

She let out a sigh, standing up. She looked back. She could see Aaron and Lila in short distance, and John with his coworkers... and her neighbors... and few other people... all of them had flashlights, screaming into forest... they all were yelling Ross' name and asking him to come out. They were officially volunteers to help searching for her son.

She frowned at the flashlight in her own hand. It was already 5 PM. The sun started setting on the horizon and it would be dark soon... and it was November... the thought of her little boy out there, in this weather shared her out of her mind.

But not only that... something was telling to her like the possibility of him catching a cold should be last thing she should worry about.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

"We should be out there right now. We should be helping look for him!"

Robert raised from his seat. It wasn't fair! His friend was missing and he was under house arrest now! They should be also be looking for Ross!

"We've been over this, Robert..." Radford sighed out, already tired of this topic with his brother. "Uncle John says-"

"I don't care what Uncle John said!" The young boy said, staring at his brother.

"Robert." Robin chimed in, turning head away from 7 year old next to her.

"We have to do something, Robin!" The pre-teen wasn't coming down. "For all we know, Ross can be hurt! Or in danger... or worse!"

"Then there's more reason to stay put." Robin added sternly.

"Robin..!" Robert whined.

"No, all of us are staying home." Young woman continued. "End of discussion. Nobody leaves this house until we all know Ross is okay."

"I had my plans canceled as well." Radford looked down, still serious. "Believe me, Robert, I like this not one bit more than you do."

"You're just pissed off 'cause you wanna hang out with Kevin..." Robert rolled his eyes.

"Robert!" Robin scolded, getting a small whine from the small girl, before she looked down to the child next to her. "Oh God, sorry, Becky, I didn't mean to yell..."

"It's not about..!" Radford tried to excuse himself, but when he couldn't find what to say... he just sighed out, covering his (blushing) face with his hand. "You are such a douchebag, Rob..."

"Language!" Robin said again, looking between two men in the house. She then turned back to the small girl, who was grasping into her shirt with her hands. "Shh, It's okay..." She cooed softly, trying to calm down the child, teaching for a cup to give it to the girl. "It's okay, Becky... Here, have some juice, okay?"

The tense aura held over the table. So much for a peaceful dinner.

"You see, Robert? You see what happens?" Radford again looked at his brother, who, at this point, could only see red.

"What happens when what?!" Robert raised from his seat. "When I'm the only normal one here!?" He shouted across the room. "My FRIEND is missing and I'm worried out out my mind! I have no idea what's going on and I feel like the only one that cares about Ross!"

"Robert, calm down." Robin tried to calm her younger brother down. "You know we all- ROBERT!"

But the boy was already gone.

Radford looked between the seat and doorway. Soon enough, there was a slam from Robert's door. Few second later, he heard Becky start crying, so Robert took her to her room to calm the poor girl down.

He sighed out. Great. Just fucking great! The man covered his face, brearhing in and out.

He didn't know how parents did it. This was too much! He tried to do what he could... but how could he make Robert understand? Sure, he could see why he was acting out, his friend was missing and Robert was an emotional child... not to mention puberty. This crap was no joke.

But at the same time, how could he do all this? Radford just graduated college this year and trying to figure out himself. It was hard enough with his parents with the way they were... but then they just up and left his younger siblings on his shoulders. He seriously hoped Becky wouldn't remember them... all three of them deserved so much better.

Breathing out once more, Radford stood up, going to his younger brother's room. There was already some noise, but he still tried to knock. Nobody replied. Not big deal, he'll talk with Robert in the morning... maybe they'd come to some sort of agreement then.

After sending a quick message to Robin, Radford walked outside.

He needed a fucking break...

Robert was sitting on his bed, hugging his pillow. He knew he overdid it with yelling at Radford, but he couldn't help it! He was scared and worried! He didn't know how to let out these emotions other than to scream.

When he heard a knock on his door, he stayed quiet... he knew it was his brother... but he didn't want to face him just yet. He already made a mental note to try and apologize to him in the morning... but right now, he needed to calm down.

Then, there was a flash from his phone.

It was a message from Susie.

💗 Hey, is anyone on?

👽 Hey, I'm here

💥 Yep, here too

💥 How are you holding up, guys?

💗 Not good...

💗 I'm worried about Ross

Robert sighed, before typing his reply.

👽 Yeah

👽 Same here

💥 Tell me about it. This all is crazy!

And after that, there was no other updates from them for few minutes, that normally would mean the end of their talk... Robert was about to put his phone away... but then Susie sent a message again. About their yesterday's campaign.

💗 Hey... I was thinking...

💗 Our game yesterday? Ross' spell. He cast Fireball.

💥 Yes, Susie, we know, we all were there.

💥 What's your point?

💗 My point is...

💗 He could've cast Protection, but went for Fireball.

💗 He could've played it safe, but he didn't.

Robert's eyes widened. He got what Susie was getting on.

👽 He put himself in danger to help the party.

The girl's reply didn't wait to come in.

💗 Exacly. He put himself in danger for us. And now, that he's in danger... he needs our help to save him.

💗 The adults did everything they could... and now...

💗 It's up to us...

💥 Meet near Castle Lynn?

Even if there was no other messages after it... they all knew they agreed to it. And so, this was their destination.

Armed with his bag and jacket, Robert sneaked out through window of his room. His door was locked, so he wasn't worried about his siblings deciding to peek in. Unlike their parents... they respected his privacy.

And even if they did notice him missing, he couldn't bring himself to care at the moment.

He was on a mission.

@crossover-enthusiast @catsockpuppet @spookuzm @ferf-bish @sunny6677 @momentokori @nottapossum @nostalgic-soda

[verytalented]

Tattoos and piercings

Pairings; Yuta x fem reader Series of short stories  Smut Word count: 867 Warning; public sex, blowjob

As a female tattoo artist, you get a lot of criticism and complaints. But nothing can stop you from doing your job right? Of course, some guys into the shop that are very hot. One of your regulars is very hot. You've known him before being a tattoo artist, and he was one of your very first clients. You couldn't help but developed a slight crush on him. And it's not like your crazy in love with him it's more that he makes your heart flutter when you see him.

But today was the same as others some people getting their tattoos and piercings while others schedule appointments and such. You started to get ready to clean all your equipment when you heard the bell of the shop door ring, and soon after followed a slight commotion. You look up only to see The guy you've been crushing on you couldn't help but smile a little it's been a while. You found yourself staring you soon lock eyes with him he gives you a slight smirk before looking away to talk to his friends. You couldn't help but get nervous all of sudden. He was with old friends Mark, and johnny. You knew mark and johnny from college and that's how you meet Yuta.

The three boys started to walk toward you. "Hey Y/N it's been a while," Johnny said with a charming smile. "I know right its, been a couple of months. What have you guys been up to?" You ask while smiling, You then started cleaning your tools and such. "Well mark lost a bet and here we are getting a good tattoo for Markie pooh" Johnny replied again. "I didn't think I was gonna lose," Mark said in defeat as he sat down in the chair. You chuckled, "What did you even do to get a tattoo?". You asked out of curiosity. "I don't even wanna talk about" he sighed. "And I'm just here for moral support," Yuta said while slipping his hands into his pockets. - After a while, You gave mark a small tattoo under his chest that said 'Candian Man'. "oh that didn't hurt at all" mark said with a smile. You chuckled you then began to tell mark about the tattoo and how to take care of it. He nodded. "Dude, that's a lot to do" he sighed once more. "Well, if you need help just asked Yuta I'm sure he'll help you." You said and then pat his back in reassurance. "Anyone else wanna get something?" You ask and look at the three boys. "I'll stay for a bit you guys can go ahead," Yuta said before sitting down in your chair. "Oh okay," johnny said while smiling. "What but I-" Mark was soon gonna say something before getting pushed out of the shop with johnny.

"So what you getting," you said with a smile. "I just want you to look at my body," He said. "Your, what?" You said in disbelief. He soon came closer to your ear and whisper ever so slightly. "Do I have to repeat myself?" He hinted. You never knew how straightforward he could be. "Let's go somewhere private then," you said while getting up and he followed behind you. - You soon went into one of the private rooms in the back of the shop that was meant for piercing that was going on in the private areas of the body. Yuta then sat down in the chair that was in the middle of the room. "May I?" You asked. Nodded his head yes. You began to take off his shirt and look at all the tattoos he had your hands hovering over his tattoos. Just you doing that you notice that he already had something going on in his pants. "You don't mind helping me do you Y/N?" He asked as you look him in the eyes.

Both of you made it over to the couch in the corner of the room. You started two started kissing with his hands made it to your hips bringing you closer to him. This kiss got more heated. You moaned into the kiss and wanted more. You then started to kiss his neck. he moan in pleasure. "shit, I want more Y/n" You then got up and got on your knees, and started to unzip his pants.

His dick was so hard you could see pre cum leaking from the tip. You began to do kitten licks on the tip. "Y/n come on," he said with a sigh. You then began to use your hands on the parts you couldn't reach. You started to swirl your tongue around his tip then went down further on his dick. "Oh shit." He moaned while gripping the couch, He couldn't help but thrust his hips into your mouth. You gagged a little before going back down on his dick. Seeing that he was close you went fast. His breath began to get heavy. "Shit I'm gonna cum." He said in a hurry. He held onto the couch before coming down your throat.

You wiped your brown lips before looking at him and smiling. "That was fun."

Like and reblog Masterlist and requestlist

[erodasfishtacos]

This was an ask but I lost it - it was a prompt for the tropes to get a text about a guy hitting on them in a grocery store

Okay but work with me here

There is actually a guy hitting on them.

Have a Good Friday bubbies 💕

-

With three growing boys came a lot of groceries, on top of Harry who was a garbage disposal himself and ate like crazy - came the need for two groceries carts.

Harry had wandered off to pick up a forgotten item with Ezra in the little seat, Easton and Cash in the cart among the food item.

It was just YN waiting in a ridiculously long line to check out when a cart pulls behind her, and she hears someone cough to get her attention.

She turns to look and it’s a younger man with a white smile and a raised brow, “I just wanted to let you know you’re very beautiful.”

YN has to stop from making a face, instead pulls up her phone and sends out a quick text before sliding it back in her purse.

yn: better hurry up, some guy is hitting on me

She would normally ignore the comment but she’s just waiting for her husband to come and have a fit so she entertains the conversation.

“Thanks, that’s very sweet of you,” YN gives him a small smile and his eyes dart to her chest before reading it - it was a pretty plain tee with a Yankees logo on it.

“Fan of the Yankees? You’re too pretty to like baseball too,” The man laughs like the joke he said was just comical.

“Who’s you’re favorite player?” YN asks with a curious grin.

“Oh, Styles for sure. Have you heard of him, honey?” The man asks patronizingly like she’s a dumb, band-wagon fan.

“Uh, Styles?” She replies dumbly with wide eyes, “Is he the catcher?”

“Can I help y’mate?” Harry interrupts rudely, maneuvering his cart full of children in front of the man talking to his wife.

The guy legitimately gasps, “Y-you-you’re Har-Harry Styles.”

“Oh my god, that is Harry Styles!” YN remarks with faux surprise to irk her husband but it gets ruined when Ezra screeches, “Mama!”

Harry rolls her eyes at her but she doesn’t miss the little curve to his lip.

“I am. What can I help you with?” He asks gruffly, his hand going to cup the back of his wife’s neck protectively.

“I was ju-uh? I was talking er to this girl because of her s-shirt,” He rambles, the man’s hands were shaking with excitement and nerves.

“This girl is m’wife and I’d appreciate if you left her alone now,” Harry glares, “I think she’s off the market based on the fact that she gave me these three babies in tha’ cart.”

YN giggles when Harry gives her skin a slight squeeze, he was so hot when he was protective of her and their babies.

“Ca-can I have a signature?”

Easton furrows his brow, tossing the box of cereal to the side in the cart, and huffs out, “Leave us alone!”

Harry laughs, moving to shush him and shrug, “Y’heard him, leave us alone.”

And if that man goes around telling everyone Harry Styles is an asshole after that…well Harry couldn’t give a flying fuck.

-

YN didn’t need Harry to tell a man to fuck off, obviously not, but it doesn’t mean that it wasn’t an opportunity to rile him up.

It’s in the pasta aisle, Harry had went to find the Cheerios that Beau had suddenly demanded with puppy dog eyes.

As she reaches for a box on the top shelf, someone steps behind her and grabs it for her - encroaching on her personal space.

“Here you go, doll,” A clean-shaven, business-looking man smiles as he hands her the box and steps back from her.

Beau and Olive were sitting in the cart, playing with the few toys YN had brought along to keep them entertained.

“Thanks,” YN scoffs but then realizes this is a perfect opportunity to fuck with her husband so she sweetens her tone and smiles, “You’re so tall.”

As he begins rambling, YN pulls out her cell phone and sends a quick text to her husbands.

yn: some guys in aisle six is trying to make me his house wife

She sees the message is read but he doesn’t reply.

It’s less than a minute before he’s striding back down the aisle - looking hotter than fucking ever if you asked his wife.

He was in his normal black skinny jeans and plain black tee, his curls pulled into a bun, black leather boots, and his body covered completely with tattoos.

“Can I fuckin’ help you?” Harry barks, right off the bat, lightly pushing his wife behind him in his normal protector mode.

“I was just offer some help to this beautiful lady,” The man smiles obnoxiously, puffing out his chest to appear bigger.

“My wife doesn’t need y’help,” He replies with a scoff, he was taller than the men and much more muscular - there was no chance.

The man falters for a moment before shrugging, “I just wouldn’t expect such an stunning girl to be with fuckin’ tattooed up scum like you. She’ll leave you.”

Harry has to use all of his self-control to not knock this man out, “Look at those fuckin’ babies, look exactly like me, don’t they? Because I put them in her. Pretty sure she isn’t gonna leave me.”

“Low life,” The man scoffs.

But then, Harry is narrowing his eyes, “Wait a minute, I know you. You’re Henry Clark.”

It’s obvious Henry is confused to how this man knows his name by his raised eyebrows.

“How do you know me?” He challenges.

“Because you owe me money,” Harry replies with a crooked grin.

“I don’t even know you!” Henry laughs with a honking, annoying sound.

“Oh, y’know me,” Harry is still smiling, he pulls up his tee slightly where he has a tattoo on his abdomen that matches the slogan on his gun.

Smile! You’ve met the devil!

Henry’s wide grin falls and his face pales without a seconds notice.

“Daddy, please!” Olive whines angrily after Beau smacks a box of crackers out of her hand with a baby giggle at his sister’s irritation.

“Excuse me a minute, don’t move,” Harry replies with a shit-eating smile, he lifts his shirt a bit more to flash his gun before turning to his kids.

YN had been distracted at looking over their grocery list, unconcerned about what was going on.

“Whassit, button?” Harry murmurs, thumbing away the tears on her ruddy cheeks.

“S’being mean,” Olive squeaks with sad, puppy eyes and a poured bottom lip - making grabby hands for her father, “Pick m’up, daddy.”

“S’kay, Beau - y’need to be nice t’your sister,” He tells his son seriously before turning back to the quivering man, “There better be £50,000 at the Third Street Shipping Ware house by midnight or I’m coming to find you.”

“Stop talkin’ daddy,” Olive complains, wanting his attention on her and not this random man. Her small hand comes to pat at his cheek, finger curiously touching the tattoo there.

“F-fine,” Henry agrees with a stutter, a sheen of sweat forming on his brow.

Harry snags a bag of cookies of the shelf to distract his daughter as he finishes their conversation, “If y’not there, I’ll gladly painted m’walls with y’blood.”

“I-I wi-will,” The man agrees, wiping his brow.

“Also, if y’tell anyone about m’babies - I’ll not only kill you but every single person you’ve ever loved if you even think about mentioning m’children,” Harry touches his gun with his free hand, “I have bullets w’your name on it.”

“Daddy, no more. Cuddle now?” Olive interrupts, unbothered or concerned by her father’s tight jaw and dangerous eyes.

“Get lost,” He demands before turning away from the man and kissing his daughter’s temple, “Y’want a cuddle, hm?”

“Please,” She whimpers, giggling when she feels her father’s slight scratchy stubble on her cheek before he’s hugging her close to his chest - protective and safe.

-

[earlgreydream]

rough.

| draco x reader | angst | smut |

enemies to lovers 🖤

anon requested. theyre enemies but deep down theres a sexual tension and one day theyre on vacation and have to stay in one room together

cw: angst, name-calling (degradation), hate-fucking, very slightly dubcon

.

“I can’t stand you! I don’t want to stay in a room with you!” You shouted, shoving him away from you.

“I’m just as angry as you! I don’t know how the hell this happened!” Draco snapped, pushing past you into your shared hotel room.

You had gone on vacation to America with some of your schoolmates, and due to a mix up in the planning, you and Draco had ended up in the same hotel room. To make matters worse, the room only had one bed.

Draco was your sworn enemy since first year. He’d embarrassed you in front of the Weasley twins, the boys you had a crush on, and you’d retaliated by tainting the love potion he gave to Pansy. It had started seven years of fighting and backbiting, the two of you always at each other’s throats and never seeing eye to eye.

It had become second nature to fight with Draco. Screaming matches with him lit a specific fire in your belly— different from anything else. It burned through you, igniting every nerve in your body. You thought it was anger, though it proved to be more when nothing satiated the rage, and your mind began to wander.

The electrically charged energy between you was hard to ignore. It was like a live wire, blazing everything in its wake, or an oil spill, turning everything flammable.

.

“Malfoy-” you started, but you were cut off by his sharp glare.

“I was going to suggest that we change quickly and meet the others in the lobby. I was going to ask if I could use the loo, but I was going to give you the courtesy of offering it first,” you hissed, and he shook his head.

“Go, it’s fine.”

You stepped into the bathroom, closing the door. You were desperate for some distance from Draco. You freshened up in the mirror, not taking too long so you didn’t get him even more agitated than he already was.

“What are we going to do about-?”

“We’re going to worry about it when the time comes,” you interrupted, glancing at the one bed.

The bathroom door slammed shut, leaving you alone in the small room. There wasn’t a couch— and the chair simply wasn’t adequate. Ultimately, you both knew the two of you were going to end up in bed together that night, whether you liked it or not.

A deep sigh left your lips, and you grabbed your bag, preparing to meet your friends downstairs. Draco locked the door behind the two of you, and the elevator ride was painfully silent. 

.

“My two favorite people. Sorry about the room situation,” Theo grinned, opening his arms as you walked up to him. 

You stepped into his chest, letting tattooed limbs wrap around you. He kissed the top of your head, grinning into your hair. 

“If Malfoy’s mean to you, you just let me know, okay? I’ll take care of him,” Theo promised you, finally getting you to giggle. 

“Maybe tell her not to be a right bi-”

“Draco, baby, try a little harder,” Theo hummed, kissing Malfoy’s cheek before getting pushed off. You laughed at them. 

Seven years, and you still wondered how it was possible for Theo-- the sweetest boy in the world, to be best friends with Draco Malfoy-- the devil’s incarnate. 

“Come on, we’ll get breakfast then catch the ferry,” Cedric said, handing out ferry passes to your group: Draco, Theo, Blaise, Fred, George, Hermione, Ginny, Pansy, Cedric, and you. 

Hermione took your hand, pulling you from the Slytherin boys. 

“It’s going to be fun. And besides, we’ll only be sleeping in the rooms. It’s not a problem,” Hermione assured you, the girls walking ahead of the others.

“Except there is only one bed,” you muttered, and Ginny and Pansy spun to look at you. 

“Are you serious?” Ginny giggled, and you smacked her arm. 

“It is not funny!”

They held their hands up in defense, though their amusement was clear. You took the subway to the ferry, crowded with American muggles. 

“Careful!” Draco hissed in your ear, catching you ask you lost your balance. His hand went around your waist, pinning you to his chest. 

“M’sorry, I slipped!” you were thankful for him holding onto you, even if you’d never admit it. You gripped the pole for support, trying not to lean into him too much. He helped you off of the train, and you took Theo’s hand as you boarded the ferry. 

“Look at the statue!” you gasped, admiring the skyline and leaning on the railing of the boat as you road to Staten Island. 

“Don’t fall,” Draco came to your other side. 

“Are you serious? Draco, I’m not a child!” you snapped.

“You’re leaning on the railing, and we can’t be using magic to drag you out of the water!”

You shot him an indignant look, and climbed up to stand on the railing. Even Theo looked anxious at your actions. 

“Get the fuck down, right now.” Draco’s grey eyes were wide, and you stared back at him, daring him to touch you. 

“We’re going to dock, and it’ll knock the-” Theo was interrupted before he could finish his sentence. The boat stopped suddenly, and as you caught yourself, Draco grabbed your waist, pulling you off of the railing. 

You shrieked, struggling away as he pulled you down. He refused to let go of you, and you tried to shove him off. 

“Knock it off. And quit doing dangerous shit,” Draco swatted your ass through your denim shorts, making Theo choke on his water bottle. You immediately stilled, staring at him in horror. 

“Did you just spank me?” You gasped, startled. 

He let go of you, answering with only a cold look. You shook your head and went to join the others, Theo and Draco falling into conversation with Cedric and Blaise. 

“What happened back there? We heard you yelling,” Hermione asked, grinning behind her oversized mirrored sunglasses.

“Draco just being an ass. It’s fine,” you said, stealing her sunglasses and putting them on. 

“Come on, let’s go have some fun.”

. 

You spent the day sightseeing, walking around Staten Island before going back to Manhattan. The sun was warm overhead, the summer heat getting to your minds. You’d managed to avoid bickering with Draco most of the day, but now the sun was hanging low in the sky, casting a golden-orange glow over everything. You were drinking cocktails at a place near Times Square, tired from being on your feet all day.

“Tomorrow we’re going to the MET,” Theo said, checking the plans. 

You stayed out late, talking and laughing until the lights of the city had drowned out the ink-black sky. You were tired, a little buzzed, overly hot, and you wanted to sleep. 

.

“What the hell was that on the ferry? Do you think you can just-?” Draco grabbed your arm, cutting off your rant that you’d saved until you were in private, not wanting to fight in front of your friends. Your back hit the hotel room door, Draco’s chest pressed up against yours.

“Do I think I can just what? Knock that bullshit little smirk off of your face?” Draco seethed. 

“Tell me what to do!” You pushed his shoulders, though he didn’t move.

“It’s clear that you can’t be trusted to make good choices on your own.”

“That’s rich coming from you-” you hissed, feeling the familiar burning spread through your abdomen. 

“You should learn a little respect,” Draco’s hand wrapped around your throat, the rings on his fingers cold against your warm skin. A moan escaped you before you could stop it, and his eyebrows shot up. 

“Is this what you need? Do you just need to have the bitch fucked out of you?” You squirmed, gripping his wrist and trying to pry his hand off of your throat. 

You were seething, the energy between you becoming intensely sexually charged. You hated yourself for growing aroused, but you couldn’t keep the heat from spreading through your body, and you were becoming keenly aware of your throbbing sex. 

Draco pushed his knee between your thighs, and you shook your head. 

“No, no.”

“No? You aren’t horny and desperate? I know how much you hate me, and I know you’ve been dying to release all that pent up energy. You’re going to be sleeping in the same bed with me tonight, trapped under the sheets with my body. If you don’t act now, you’ll have to go untouched for the next week of this trip...” he smirked, knowing he had leverage, able to see how desperate you were. 

Truly, Draco was desperate for you too. You made him so angry, but you managed to turn him on as you got under his skin. He was aroused now, growing harder as he watched you squirm in pure need. He was waiting to hear you say yes, to give in. He may have hated you, but he wasn’t an animal. 

You bit your lip so hard you tasted metal, trying to hold in a scream. Your chest heaved with heavy breaths, your eyes narrowed into a glare. His thigh was pressed against your sex, and you fought against the urge to grind against him, desperate for friction. 

“Fuck,” you swore, and Draco squeezed your throat, making you whimper. 

“Is that a no, Y/N? Do you want me to let go of you? Let you go finger yourself in the shower?” he mocked you. 

“I hate you.”

“I know. It’s mutual, love.”

“Alright, Draco. Please fuck me. But this doesn’t mean anything!”

He smirked, letting go of you and tossing his shirt aside. You rid your own clothes with his, freezing as your eyes lingered on his naked body. The need and arousal pulsing through your body was overpowering, and just the sight of him was making you falter. 

“Do you need me to do everything for you? Get over here,” Draco’s hand wrapped around your elbow, tugging you toward him. He ripped your panties off, the veins in his hand flexing at the display of strength.

“Draco!”

“Save it.”

Draco hauled you to the bed, bending you over the edge. You struggled, trying to sit up. He shoved your head back down, pressing your chest against the duvet. 

“Are you serious?” you snapped as he gripped your wrists in one hand, holding them at the small of your back. 

“You’re going to lay here and be good or you’re not going to get fucked at all,” Draco threatened, and you burned in shame. You stopped straining yourself to look at him, residing to resting your head on your side, ceasing your struggle against his hold. 

A choked groan left your lips as Draco slammed into your cunt all at once. He buried himself deep enough to where his hips were pressed to your ass, his body bent over yours. Draco slammed into you, frustration powering his rough thrusts. You writhed under his strong grip, moaning and squealing as he tore into your tight heat. Even with how wet you were, your body spasmed at the force. 

It felt primal, rough, and dirty. 

Fucking Draco was scandalous, even for you. The two of you getting so angry that the energy had to be channeled into sex felt deviant, Draco’s cock tainting your innocence with every thrust. 

You felt better than Draco had imagined. Your noises were erotic, encouraging him more than the momentum he was gaining. He kicked your legs further apart, shoving himself deeper into your sex. Your moan was muffled by the duvet, squeezing your eyes shut. It felt like he was tearing you open, and you couldn’t get enough. Your head was spinning, and your fingers flexed, the only part of your body you could move freely against his hold. 

“You’re fucking divine,” Draco breathed, reaching his hand under the two of you. His fingers found the area where your bodies connected, sliding upward through your folds. 

“Draco, fuck, please!” you cried, arching your back as he pressed against your nerves. 

“Please what, love? Are you going to quit being contrary?”

“Yes, I’ll do anything, just please touch me there,” you begged, abandoning your stubbornness.

You buried your face in the bed and screamed, your back curving into a bow as he fucked into you in time with the circles he was tracing with skilled fingers.

Draco swore as you pulsed around him, squeezing his cock as you cried from euphoria. Electricity shot through your limbs, your orgasm ripping through your body. Draco was quick to follow, pulling out and coming over your ass, watching you shudder and throb around nothing. 

As his memories being frustrated with you returned, he continued his assault on your clit, pinching you harshly to watch you writhe and scream. 

“Draco, Draco, I’m sorry, I’ll be nice, just stop!” you squealed, trying to kick him as he overstimulated you. 

He released you as you asked, taking in the sight of your absolutely wrecked body. Your arms were shaking as you brought them under you, trying to push yourself up onto your elbows. You heaved in deep breaths, still trembling as you came down from your high. 

Draco wiped down your skin for you, finding some decency. 

“Hey, look at me. You alright?” Draco held your jaw, tilting your face up. You nodded, and he slid boxers up his leg before digging for something in his jacket pocket. 

“Y/N. Come here,” Draco’s voice was low and husky, his back to you. 

You forced yourself to stand up, your legs weak as you stepped toward him. You followed Draco onto the balcony, where he sat down on a lounge chair. Ringed fingers wrapped around your wrist, pulling you to sit sideways on his lap. 

His touch was no longer aggressive or harsh, but instead moving you with authority. You held a blanket loosely around your body, shielding you from the cool night air. 

Draco didn’t speak as he pulled a cigarette from the box, putting it between his lips. He lit the end before setting the box and the lighter on the table, leaning his head back and taking a drag. He held your jaw, pressing his lips against yours before exhaling the smoke into your mouth. 

He turned, watching the city lights glitter around you. He offered you the cigarette, and you accepted, sharing with him. 

“Our secret?” you asked softly, and his silver gaze connected with his.

“Our secret.”

“Do you still hate me?” 

The corners of Draco’s lips pulled up, and his fingers brushed over your bare back, his hand resting at the base of your spine. 

“Only when it serves me, I suppose,” he murmured, and you fought off a smile.

“You’ll not bite me in my sleep then?”

“Full of questions. I make no promises, I’ve found I rather like how you taste.”

He kissed you then, under the city lights, tasting like smoke and sage and secrets. 

[sappyscarab]

Vanilla Butterflies

i needed a new start, somewhere to show me its heart. so i wandered until a train flew by, bringing vanilla scented butterflies behind.

a crowd of people got off, blocking my view.

i can see me lost in the chase, desperately trying to follow that engine to the place the butterflies came from.

it must be magical space, something brand new. but that train passed me by, not even batting an eye.

so i just spent the rest of the day getting lost in austin.

went back to that train station every day, hoping to see the butterflies again. every time i arrived it was too late.

myself and one other were always left there to accept our fate. so i finally introduced myself in hopes our pain could relate.

that's when i met a boy who said, " i can take you there." but you have to trust me. i wish i knew then how much february twenty-fourteen, would someday mean to me.

you talked of a shiny new town, no sidewalks worn down. no one to break my heart. you said you'd give me that new start.

we were only eighteen. when our lives turned into something out of a movie scene. we cancelled our plans just in case one of us called, planned how we'd spend our days in the new land.

we spent our days getting lost in austin.

he told me of of castles and pink skies, lips like strawberry white wine, something you would only find in a dream, was getting closer to me.

we spent hours on his trampoline, seeing how high we could fly, he held my hands and spun me around, carried me on his back around this old town.

tattooed hearts on my wrist to remember that first kiss. squished into a warm car filled with cigar smoke searching for his castle he spoke.

he filled my hair with his fingers. his favorite blue t-shirt sticking to me. can't forget the night he gave me his key, echoes of our future with the butterflies still lingers.

we were spending more days getting lost in austin

he loved my hands wrapped around his neck and the songs i sang to him. now ballads about robbers will forever send ghost kisses around his collar.

wrapped up in blankets. i told enchanting stories of princes and how they would hold their princess. spoke words like a scholar of how our love would be in novels.

i cried like a baby when i thought i wasn't enough for him. he told me how someday i'd be among the vanilla butterflies too.

we spent our days getting lost in austin.

he tried his hardest to get me there, but impatience took over my head and i left him to get some air. i told him i still couldn't see, that the clouds were blocking my view.

this town wasn't good enough, so i packed up my stuff. i wanted to try on my own. maybe he didn't want me to go.

so i spent awhile getting lost in austin.

when i came back to reality, it was too late. i was standing at the station. no butterflies were waiting. that boy i spent the summer with was not here, that's when i knew.

butterflies weren't on the train. the place i made in my brain, i never needed. the dream was all askew.

i wandered until that boy walked by, bringing vanilla scented butterflies behind. he was too far to speak to. i followed him through the traffic, trying to make sure he knew,

i wanted to spend my days getting lost in austin.

that dream wasn't what i thought, i was home all along, needed his eyes to get lost in. i forgot who made me new. i forgot who loved me too.

so scared i would never know where the vanilla butterflies go, didn't realize the direction they flew. the butterflies never went away, they were arriving with you.

i left you all alone when i went searching on my own. i'm so sorry i did that to you. by the time the traffic cleared he wasn't there. knew i fucked up our home.

cancelled my plans just in case he would call. i lost myself in the rush of it all, wish i knew what i'd done. didn't know you'd be my first love, just wanted feel your touch again.

i wish i spent more days getting lost in austin.

now i just stare at this pen, not knowing the combination of words to describe the castle you built in my mind.

tried to forget him. met a new boy who took everything from me. stole what butterflies i had left from my breath, then left me for dead.

miss the taste of the your strawberry white wine. you put me on your back and taught me to the fly, while the weight of my love made you weak. you let me live in a dream.

if i could see you again, i'd hope you let me pretend

i was spending the rest of my days getting lost in, austin.

September 2014 - SappyScarab