#Realperson fiction (RPF)

[steele-soulmate]

Tattooed Wings, CHAPTER 34, Peter Steele & OFC, Soulmate AU

SUMMARY: Mary Claire Bradley meets her soulmate- literally- the famous Peter Steele of metal group Type O Negative. But will obstacles including trauma, stalkers, and toxic family members get in the way of their life?

STORY WARNINGS: mentions of child rape (nothing graphic) PTSD, milk kink, soft smut, grinding, assault

First rewritten reworking 06/24/2023

Second rewritten reworking 10/18/2024

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 1830

My rumbling stomach woke me up early the next morning. I laid there on Peter’s chest for a moment before carefully untangling his arms from around me and getting up out of bed. I leaned over and kissed him before leaving the tent in search of some food.

I returned twenty minutes later with a platter piled high with of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, a party sized bag of Doritos, and a dozen red apples. When I stepped into the tent again, Peter was still asleep. I giggled before seating myself on the floor and beginning to eat as I played my guitar.

 “This is the story of a girl, who had her body broken as a small child,” I sang to myself as I quietly strummed. A sudden grunt from my soulmate made me pause and turn to see him waking up. He sat up and frantically looked around for something, tears beginning to well up in his eyes.

 “Peter?” I asked softly, setting my guitar aside and crawling up to the bed, where he scooped me into his arms and just held me.

 “Don’t ever leave me,” he begged, burying his face into my neck. “Please, sweetheart- don’t leave me.”

 My heart broke into millions of shattered shards at the pure raw need in his voice.

 “Peter…” I dragged him off the bed and into my lap, where I just held him. “Shh, shh, shh now… don’t cry, it’s alright… I’ll never leave you…”

 “Don’t leave me,” he whimpered, leaving a very wet kiss on my neck. “Don’t leave me.”

 “Peter.” I pulled away and made him look me in the eyes- emerald met sapphire. “I’m not going anywhere. Fate chose us for each other, and I’d rather die than abandon you.” I smiled gently at him, reaching up to wipe a tear from his eye before cupping the side of his face in my hand. “I love you.”

 “One of my ex-girlfriends got me hooked on cocaine,” he confessed. “She used that shit as leverage to make me not leave her. Six years… I was with her for six years until my heart stopped beating for four minutes. When I woke up…” he turned his head and held up the hair at his ear, showing me my mermaid tattoo tucked away behind his ear. “That’s when I finally had the strength to dump her and clean up my life. I checked myself into rehab, I took up little hobbies as a way to distract myself from the withdrawal pains… but most importantly of all-” He kissed me deeply, his hand on the back of my neck. “But most importantly of all, I dreamed about you, Mary Claire Bradley. I dreamed about what you would look like, what your voice sounded like, what your hobbies were, what your family is like… just- you. All of you.”

 “And did I meet your expectations?” I whispered, nuzzling into his chest.

 “No, sweetheart,” he cooed, rubbing my back. “You exceeded them.”

 Little girl then decided to practice her solo for Swan Lake as she began kicking and twirling around in my stomach. I gasped and brought my hands to my belly, where my soulmate followed mere moments later, his tearful face sprouting a joyful smile.

 “Another ex-girlfriend of mine had sex with three of my friends behind my back,” he scowled. “I got drunk and went to her apartment, where I tried to kill her husband. I honestly thought she was the one for me. We were together for more than ten years when I proposed to her only to find out she had been cheating on me and that she had gotten married behind my back.”

 I leaned my forehead against his and closed my eyes. As much as I didn’t want to hear about his past girlfriends, I let him rant, knowing that he wanted to be vulnerable with me.

 He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and showed his wrist. I couldn’t help the gasp that sounded as I took his arm in mine and gently traced the scars with my fingers.

 “I tried to kill myself,” he confessed. “October 15th, 1989.”

 “I wasn’t even born then,” I murmured, tears prickling at my eyes. “I was born on September 4th, 1992.”

 “Fuck,” Peter swore, wrapping his arms around me and squishing me to his chest. “I almost didn’t meet you. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

 “I love you, Peter,” I murmured, pulling away when my stomach complained of hunger once more. “Shut up, you- I’m having a sensitive moment with my soulmate. I’ll feed you in a bit!”

 “Are you hungry?” he asked me. “What do you want to eat?”

 I pointed with my lips to the lunch that I had made and watched as he leaned over to grab a sandwich and an apple. To my surprise, he handed them to me before getting food for himself.

 “I love you,” he cooed at me, kissing me before tearing a bite out of his peanut butter and jelly.

 “I love you too,” I hummed, taking a dainty bite out of my lunch.

 The two of us sat there of the floor of the tent eating lunch in comfortable silence, Peter watching me strum the strings of my guitar as I came up with silly little songs.

 “Sweetheart?” I looked up at Peter, who was munching on an apple. “Do you happen to have paper and a pencil I can use?”

 I stood, setting my guitar next to him as I dug around under my bed before coming up with a blank notebook and gel ink pen, which I handed to him.

 “You can keep the notebook, I have oodles of them just laying around,” I shrugged.

 He took one look at the notebook before giving me an Oscar award worthy stink eye glare. “Seriously?”

 “What?” I bit my lip to stop the laughter as he held up the pink notebook.

 “PINK?” he scoffed. “Sweetheart, why do you enjoy torturing me so?”

 “Because it’s fun!” I taunted him. “Now do you want the notebook or not?” He silently opened the notebook and began to write away, not sparing me a glance as I poured a tankard of water for myself, refilling the cup and offering it to him. He accepted and downed the cup in two gulps before giving it back to me.

 “I don’t really care for the color pink, either,” I told my soulmate as I took out my violin to play around. “My favorite color is blue, Jackie is fond of purple and Sammi adores pink. When we were younger and shared a bedroom, the three of us each had our own wall that we painted our color- mine was a pretty turquoise, Jackie’s was a deep, dark lavender and Sammi’s was an obnoxious hot pink.” I laughed at the memory of the three of us at Home Depot, picking our room colors. “The three of us shared that color loud bedroom until we were about ten years old.”

 “Oh?” I looked up and saw that Peter had stopped writing and was giving me his full, undivided attention.

 “Yeah,” I giggled as I looked away. “Mom and dad would dress the three of us to match when we were babies- Adam, he’s the eldest of my seven brothers, he would be a little turd and play ‘switch the triplets and try to see who can guess who is who’. He would get into so much trouble just for that. What else is terrifying is that the three of us were absolutely identical for the first four years of life. Same towheaded hair color and everything.”

 “Wow.” My soulmate seemed to have forgotten his hatred for the color pink as he leaned forward to finger at my cheek.

 “Yeah,” I sighed, leaning into his hand more. “The three of us started to sneak different outfits with us to school when we were in the third grade. Mom and daddy weren’t any the wiser until our school photos came in. Mom was not at all happy, but she seemed to finally realize that the three of us sisters weren’t the same person, that we girls had to spread our wings and discover our own unique selves.”

 “I love how different the three of you are,” he murmured as I began to play a little tune. “And wow… you’re good at playing the violin.”

 “Gramercy,” I said, bowing my head as I continued to play. “I’ve been known to fiddle around with it.”

 He barked out a loud laugh at my little quip, shaking his head at me.

 “Sweetheart, can I borrow your guitar?” he asked me, grinning at my nod. “Thank you!”

 “What are you doing?” I asked.

 “Writing new music,” he muttered. “Fuck, I’m thinking of writing you a solo piece.”

 “Violin, guitar, voice, or piano?” I asked, blinking at the shocked look on his face. “What? Why the face?”

 “Sweetheart, is there anything you can’t do?” he chuckled.

 “I can’t do math or do science or art my way out of a paper bag,” I shrugged. “The only reason why I was even able to pass those subjects while I was being homeschooled was because of MythBusters. That was truly a great show!”

 He only let out a low hum, holding his arms open to let me know that he wanted a hug. I only giggled before walking over to him, falling to my knees so that I could wrap my arms around him.

 “I love you,” he hummed. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

 “I love you,” I returned, kissing him.

 “Fuck, I can’t wait to call you mine,” he growled, dragging me onto his lap, his hands on my hips as he held me close to him.

 “Twelve and a half more weeks until little girl comes, and then I can be yours,” I murmured, kissing him once more.

 “Fuck,” he gasped. “I can’t wait.”

  TAGLISTS ARE OPEN/ ASK BOX IS OPEN/ REQUESTS ARE OPEN/ PLOT BUNNIES ARE WELCOMED

 If you liked this, then please consider buying me a coffee HERE It only costs $3!!!

 PETER STEELE TAGLIST

@rock-a-noodle

@elianafilthyrose

@ch3rry-c01a​

@rockstarslutt​

@angelxfuckk​

[steele-soulmate]

Tattooed Wings, CHAPTER 51, Peter Steele & OFC, Soulmate AU

SUMMARY: Mary Claire Bradley meets her soulmate- literally- the famous Peter Steele of metal group Type O Negative. But will obstacles including trauma, stalkers, and toxic family members get in the way of their life?

STORY WARNINGS: mentions of child rape (nothing graphic) PTSD, milk kink, soft smut, grinding, assault, fingering

First rewritten reworking 06/20/2023

Second rewritten reworking 11/01/2024

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 1339

“Peter?” I called as I opened the window to air out the smokey kitchen. “I don’t think that last pancake can be salvaged.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he winced as he dropped the pan into the sink to let it soak. “I got distracted by your angelic voice.”

 “Oh, so now you’re pinning the blame on me?” I teased him in a sulky grumble, grabbing a hand towel to use to try to fan the smokey air out the now open window.

 “What?” My soulmate’s green eyes widened comically. “No! I’m not blaming you, if anything it’s my fault entirely for not paying attention to-”

 “Peter,” I cut him off as I snagged the plates and danced out of the kitchen. “It was a mistake. I’m not kicking you down! At lease we now know that the fire alarms work!”

 A loud knock at the door cut us off just as we were settling down to eat.

 “Brooklyn Fire Department!” someone yelled. “Someone called us about a fire alarm going off and we’re just doing a welfare check.”

 “Hold on a minute!” Peter yelled, shooing me off towards his bedroom to dress myself. I moved Mittens from my duffle bag, which she had claimed as her throne and opened it, pulling out an oversized concert t-shirt. I slipped into it, forgoing a bra, and began to look for shorts or leggings or something that I could wear underneath.

 “Hello, can I help you with anything?” I heard Peter politely greet the firefighter on the other side of the door as I gave up hunting for shorts and began to slip into the bottoms that I’d been wearing before our milking session a few hours earlier.

 “Hello, a neighbor called 9-1-1 about a fire alarm going off and requested a welfare check,” the firefighter repeated himself, peering up at my soulmate.

 “Well at least we now know that the fire alarms work!” I called out, repeating myself as I emerged from the bedroom with Mittens trotting at my heel. “Sorry, we were making blueberry pancakes.”

 “Sounds good,” the firefighter smiled, entering at Peter’s invitation. He stepped into the small apartment and glanced around before doing a double take at me. “Well as I live and breathe- Mary Claire Bradley, is that really you?”

 “Yes?” I squeaked, squinting as the firefighter removed his helmet to reveal a broad smile and twinkling hazel eyes. “Oh my God- Tippy!” I ran up to him and hugged him, laughing as he picked me up and kissed my forehead.

 “How’s life been treating you, Shrimpy?” I grinned at my high school nickname. “Whoa, look at you- you’re popping! How far along are you?”

 “Twenty eight weeks!” I laughed joyfully, turning to Peter. “Peter, this is Tippy Malone, he was linebacker for the West Side High School Knights and my date to prom my senior year! You and your other football buddies snuck me and my little sisters out of the house, I still cannot believe you guys did that!”

 “I never liked the way your mom treated you,” Tippy answered, setting me back down and taking a step away from me as I curled into Peter’s side. “I tried to help you get out on many occasions, the last I heard, you hightailed it out of her house on your eighteenth birthday, took Jackie and Sammi with you.”

 “Yeah,” I groaned, smiling as Peter wrapped his arm around my shoulders and tugged me in deeper to him. “She tried to not have me to go to Julliard’s on a full scholarship and instead have me to go to a fancy ass Ivy League school for a boring degree like women’s studies or a MRS or whatever. Graduated back in 2016 with my four year in stage acting.”

 “Wow, that’s so cool!” Tippy chuckled.

 “Yeah, you remember Aaron from baseball and James from theater?” I asked. “Well, they got married back in 2019 and I’m a surrogate for them now- little girl is due September 30th!”

 “That’s so cool!” Tippy chuckled as a woman stopped into the house. “Hey Hen, remember me telling you about Mary Claire Bradley from my days at West Side High School? Well, this is her!”

 “Tippy, I only pray that you’ve been telling her all the good things about me, in oppose to all the bad things!” I teased him, grinning wickedly as I extended a hand for her to shake.

 “You’re my boyfriend’s Mary Claire Bradley?” she asked from behind her helmet.

 Peter just stood around, observing as I interacted with my high school friend, clearly itching to walk over to me and pick me up and kiss me deeply- clearly, his anxiety was horrible since the excitement of Thursday’s adventure.

 MEOW

 Felix jumped up onto the table and stole the top pancake before zipping off under the bed.

 “Sweetheart, I think we’d better eat before my cats nix all our food!” Peter scowled at the laughter that came from the three of us.

 “Coming,” I giggled, showing Tippy and Hen to the door. “I’m so sorry, but I’ve been wondering about him for ages! He was the one who ringleaded sneaking me out of my house for prom my senior year of high school, which was the day before my eighteenth birthday! It was truly a spectacular night for certain, my sisters and I were picked up in a limo and then driven to the hotel where we were all getting ready. We got to wear pretty dresses and dance all night, and at the end, I was voted prom queen and given a fancy crown to wear- I ended up giving the crown to a girl in a wheelchair and calling her the true belle of the ball. And then when it was all over, I moved my sisters and I into our new home in the guts of the Upper East Side. I refused to call my mom, instead keeping only Adam in the loop- he was the only other person to know about our plan to get the heck out of dodge, so he wasn’t worried any.”

 “Oh,” Peter hummed as he placed pancakes onto paper plates, shooing away Felix, who came up in hopes of more treats. “No, get away from there!”

 MEOW Felix asked, curling up into a little ball and managing to look cute while at it.

 “Gramercy,” I thanked my soulmate when he handed me a plate and a fork, sitting down next to me at the couch, frowning at Felix, who was laying on the arm on my side, purring happily. “You are such a silly kitty, Felix!”

 The patchwork cat stretched, arching his back before bumping his head against my shoulder, eyeballing my plate the entire while.

 “No,” I said firmly, holding my plate up over my head, deadeyeing the cat while Peter laughed at my misfortune.

 MEOW Mittens suddenly yowled, jumping on Felix and knocking him off of the couch.

 “Well,” I blinked, stuffing my dinner into my mouth. “Okay then.”

  Gramercy, thank you, Old French?

 TAGLISTS ARE OPEN/ ASK BOX IS OPEN/ REQUESTS ARE OPEN/ PLOT BUNNIES ARE WELCOMED

 If you liked this, then please consider buying me a coffee HERE It only costs $3!!!

 PETER STEELE TAGLIST

@rock-a-noodle

@elianafilthyrose

@ch3rry-c01a​

@rockstarslutt​

@angelxfuckk​